“That,” she sighed and fell back voluntarily into the pillows. “I want that!”
“I know.”
Smug rogue.
“Poor Blackbird. So uncomfortable. This will help, I promise.”
Distant bells clanged in her mind, a warning not to give in to him so easily. But her body had other ideas. Without meaning to do so, she bucked up and whimpered against his hand.
“Shh.”
“Shush me again and I’ll—”
The rest of her thought drowned in the rush of sensation. The devil had slid beneath the sheet and set his mouth where his hand had been. They were connected in the same way the beasts carved into the tester were connected.
Now, she knew why the act had been depicted above and in the scandalous book.
She gazed up in wonder even as his tongue glided repeatedly over a place she couldn’t even name. How could this be so incredible?
So sensually vital?
Then, he threaded his fingers through hers dragged her hand above his head. He forced her to palm her own breasts,intensifying the magic, pleasurable strain his mouth was busy weaving.
Her body’s tension grew thick, the air around her thin. She stretched her mouth to breathe but couldn’t find the power to inhale. Then, as if every sensation had instantly contracted, she became a pulsing ball.
Finally, the coil snapped, breaking her consciousness. Glittering fragments whizzed behind her closed eyes, making color and light of darkness.
She wafted back to earth, loose limbed and dazed.
“What happened?”
“La petite mort—the little death.”
She didn’t feel dead. Right now, she felt…the opposite of dead.
She stretched her arms above her head, eyeing what she could see of the dark-haired curiosity who’d just done unspeakable things to her body.
How had he made her feel so full of possibility? As full as a bright Spring morning. And why was she suddenly—inexplicably—overflowing with goodwill?
Goodwill toward a man she’d, not moments ago, wanted to destroy.
He must be a sorcerer more powerful than the great Merlin.
He crawled back into place beside her. As he collapsed on his back, the impact of his head hitting the pillow sent part of the covering over her face. With a scowl, she blew it away, too weary to move.
He dropped one large, hot hand over her belly. She angled her head so she could see his face. He was “gazing” down at her as if he could see through the blindfold.
Was he equally stunned?
For a mad moment, she wanted to see his eyes.
He’d touched her in places she’d tried never to think about. He’d made her feel things she hadn’t known she could feel. He’d opened a floodgate of unanticipated emotions.
She’d wanted power—power over him. But even blindfolded he’d been the victor—no, not victor, he’d simply made her want to curl up under his strong arm…
Absurd, this part of her that wanted to cuddle up against his chest. As if a man like him would whisper words of reassurance.
Of care.
