His gaze came back to hers, his brow furrowed. “I’m not taking you from behind.” He gave her the smallest of smiles that warmed and touched her heart. “We’re not dogs, and I promised you would take pleasure in our coupling.”
Still standing, he bent at the waist, lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth working the familiar magic to which she was becoming accustomed. Strong sweeps of his tongue that encouraged hers to respond in kind. She desperately wanted to comb her fingers through his hair, hold him near. Instead she raised her arms and clutched the pillow. It was a poor substitute, but it served to anchor her.
She felt one of his hands gliding leisurely from her knee, along her thigh, halting at her hip to massage gently, before skimming along her side until he was cupping her ribs. Another hesitation. Then the flat of his roughened hand was curving around the underside of her breast. Kneading tenderly as though he feared bruising her. His thumb—she thought it was his thumb—circled her nipple. It puckered. She moaned.
He dragged his mouth from hers, along the column of her throat, along her collarbone, nibbling, nipping, soothing with his tongue. Opening her eyes, she gazed down on his bent dark head. He hovered over her, only his mouth and hand touching her. She wanted to feel the press of him over the full length of her. Was that the way it should be done? She didn’t know. She only knew that she desired him, all of him.
The room was growing warm, as though they’d built a fire at its edges. But perhaps it was only she heating up, as passion—as he—licked at her skin.
He trailed his mouth lower, lower, over the swell of her breast, lower still until it replaced his thumb and his tongue was swirling, taunting. He closed his mouth over the tautened peak and suckled. She sighed a raspy note that came from deep within her, and twisted toward him.
“Do you like that?” he asked, blowing on the dampened skin, driving her to madness.
“Yes. Why can’t I hold you?”
“Because you can’t.”
It wasn’t an answer. She wanted to disobey him, but would all these lovely sensations dissipate if she did what he commanded her not to? Just one little touch, she wanted to beg, just one little stroke of her fingers over his back. Not a hold really, but she dared not risk it.
His hand traveled down, came to rest between her thighs. His fingers stroked, circled.
“Oh. Rafe—”
“Shh. Just enjoy.”
Enjoy? She thought she might take flight. She wasn’t certain how she remained anchored on the bed.
Slowly, slowly, he slipped a finger inside her most intimate place.
“Dear God, but you’re already so wet, so hot ... so damned tight.” He turned his face toward her then, and she could see the strain in his features. “I’ve never known such tightness.”
“Is that bad?”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Not for me, but I fear you’ll find it unpleasant.”
“It’s not been unpleasant thus far. I don’t want you to stop.”
“Selfish bastard that I am, I want you too badly now to stop.” She didn’t believe him. She thought if she said no he would cease his attentions, but then she thought she might die. She loved having his hands and mouth on her, loved all the sensations he was stirring to life.
Placing both his hands on her inner thighs, he spread her legs and bent his head.
And kissed her there.
“Oh God.”
He remained standing. It seemed a terribly awkward uncomfortable position for him, but he seemed not to mind at all as his mouth slowly began to follow the path his hand had taken. Another kiss, a swirl of his tongue, a gentle suckling. Over and over. The attentions changed, but the outcome remained: an intense pressure that built and built until she thought she might scream.
She rolled her head from side to side, reached for him, remembered that she couldn’t touch him, and dug her fingers into the sheets instead. She wanted him. It was torment not to touch his firm flesh, not to feel his warmth while he worked so diligently to increase hers.
Her breaths began to come in pants. She heard little cries, coming from her, small sounds that she couldn’t hold in, couldn’t control. Madness, this was madness.
One hand tiptoed up her torso, covered her breast, squeezed, pinched, touched lightly. All the while his mouth worked feverishly. The pressure built, her body tensed—
“Oh, my word!”
Pleasure shot through her, out of her, as her body convulsed, her back arched. Crying out, she yanked on the sheets, needing to hold onto something to keep her anchored. Breathing harshly, she sank back down, unable to believe what she’d just experienced.
He moved swiftly, wedging himself between her thighs, hovering over her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, straight, the muscles bunched, his once icy eyes a fiery blue. “Forgive me,” he rasped, before thrusting forward.
