Page 66 of The Language of Love

Her eyelids fluttered in an expression of bliss that was pure torment for his constricted, throbbing cock. “It was delicious.”

Don’t do it, Henry!

But he couldn’t stop himself. He slid his hand beneath her jaw until the tips of his fingers were resting in the silky-smooth hair at the nape of her neck. “You look delicious, Annis. Are you?”

Her lips parted and her already uneven breathing roughened even more. “W-what?”

“I’m going to kiss you.” Henry paused, giving her a chance to back away or slap him or call him a cad.

But she leaned into his touch and raised her lips to his.

***

A light, warm breath brushed her lips before he touched her.

Oh.

Her brain uttered that one syllable and then stopped churning as abruptly as a wheel with a spoke jammed through it.

His lips were soft, so incredibly soft—and warm—and they pressed against hers with a tenderness that made her body turn to water.

His big hand slid around the back of her neck. “Steady,” he murmured.

Annis swayed beneath his gentle hold while his mouth moved over hers with teasing, phantom touches, until she felt dizzy and had to set her hands on his massive shoulders to keep from pitching backwards.

“Open for me,” he whispered.

Open?

Annis forced her eyes open and encountered his, hot and black and liquid.

His lips curved into that slow, lazy smile that obliterated her wits. “Your mouth, darling.”

She startled at the endearment, her lips parting.

“Mmmm.” He traced her lower lip with his tongue. And then again, and again, each time delving a little deeper into her mouth.

Mr. Leech had kissed her, of course, but his kisses had been closed-mouthed pecks. Even those four times when they’d done a lot more than kiss, he had behaved staidly and hastily—at least compared to this.

This was… well, this was unlike anything she’d imagined in the dead of the night when she’d slipped her fingers between her thighs to drive away the nagging ache.

Her mind seemed to fracture, until there were three, maybe more, distinct Annis’s. One reveled in the sheer sensuality flowing through her body, one scolded and warned, and one stared in open-mouthed shock.

And then there was the fourth Annis, a greedy, demanding one that gradually subdued the others, growing larger, braver, more insistent.

A guttural sound slid from between her lips; she wanted—needed—to be closer.

Annis skimmed her hands from his shoulders to his neck, pressing herself against him, thrusting her fingers into his thick hair, desperately wishing that she’d taken off her gloves.

He groaned and the world tilted as he wrapped one muscular arm around her waist and lifted her as easily as if she were a child before carefully laying her out on the blanket and then stretching out beside her.

Annis reached for him, not caring how bold her behavior might appear.

Henry reached for her, too, his powerful arms encircling her and pulling her snug against the length of his long, hard body.

They might have kissed for a minute or ten or an hour; she lost track of time. At first, she was content to savor his commanding, confident touches. But slowly, before she knew what he was doing, he’d lured her deeper until she noticed—with a shock—that she was exploring his mouth with her tongue, her strokes less skilled than his, but pleasing him, if his moans were anything to go by.

“You feel so good,” Henry murmured against her jaw, which he was nibbling and licking.