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“Sarah?” he breathed. She sighed again. A bad dream, perhaps.
Her skin was cream silk beneath his fingers when he stroked her arm to calm her. He stroked again.
“James?” Her eyes opened and found him.
“You were dreaming.”
“Mm.” Her eyelids drifted shut. “You look like the shadow of a giant.”
“Do I?” Her skin enticed him still. He dragged the pad of his thumb farther, dipping into the crook of her elbow, feeling her pulse. When he moved higher, he felt chill bumps rise on her arm, but there wasn’t even a hint of cold in the air. “You look like an angel.”
Her soft laugh swirled through the room. “Do angels ever have too much wine after dinner?”
“Did you have too much wine, cheeky girl?”
“I did,” she groaned. “But the room has finally ceased its spinning. I hope you are not horrified.”
He smiled down at his tipsy wife. “Not horrified at all. But perhaps I should drag the chamber pot close?”
“Hush.”
So he did, and watched her body relax and settle, her lips maintaining their soft smile. His hand continued its path to her shoulder. He dipped his fingers beneath the strap of her gown, spread them over her skin. So soft. His little finger ventured lower.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as her body went still, but then her deep breath raised his hand, and he could no longer resist the temptation to lower his mouth to the bare curve of her shoulder.
Sarah did not respond at first. He felt a familiar guilt press his heart. He wanted her. He wanted her even when she held her breath and waited for him to be done with it. So he wasn’t surprised when her muscles turned to stone beneath him.
But when he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to her flesh, Sarah sighed, her muscles relaxed, and James’s heartbeat thundered.
* * *
His mouth was on her, heat and wetness. Nothing more than that quiet, simple kiss on her shoulder. But the warmth spread out from there when he drew slightly at her skin. He’d put his mouth to her flesh in the past, had even licked her breasts, her nipples. Somehow, the thought of that affected her more on this night than the actual sensations had before. She breathed and waited.
His hand slipped over her gown, as if he’d read her mind, and his palm cupped her breast as his tongue licked at her shoulder. The two feelings somehow tangled up and made her gasp.
Horrified, she shut her mouth and held her breath. She needn’t have bothered. He seemed not to notice at all, just kept licking her skin in little whips of fire, kept his hot palm curved over her breast. His tongue trailed closer to the wide strap of her nightgown. Then he skipped over it entirely, and that wet heat was on her neck.
“Oh.” That felt lovely. Lovely. So very wicked. Or perhaps the wickedness was his thumb moving like butterfly wings over her breast. Her nipple pushed up to meet the attention, and suddenly the butterfly wings disappeared under sizzling sparks.
Startled, she flung her hand out . . . and found that sparks were not the only startling thing about the night. Her knuckles met up with something hot and hard and surrounded by crisp hair.
They both gasped, James perhaps a little more loudly.
She had never touched him there, had never . . . “I’m sorry,” she whispered in horror. “I didn’t mean to. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” But he sounded hurt. Sounded as if he were holding his breath. “Sarah?”
“Y-yes?” His hand tightened on her breast, his thumb and finger pinched her nipple, and brightness trailed through her body. When she recovered from that, she realized she arched up, pressing herself boldly into his grip, mewling a little. Whatever James had been about to say, he forgot it, and his mouth covered hers.
She’d never thought him a poor kisser, but these kinds of kisses had always seemed a bit . . . sloppy. Too intimate. But tonight when his tongue slipped against hers, it was the exact right thing. Somehow appeasing and inflaming at once. Enough and not nearly enough.
Sarah turned toward him and kissed him back. That was the end of conscious thought fo
r her. All further sensation tangled up in a great mess of mouths and hands and fingers. He caressed her breasts and stroked her belly, then pulled her nightgown up and off. Then his mouth was on one nipple and his hand on the other and the whole of his hard body pressed against her side. She could feel his shaft snug against her thigh, and his mouth sucking and his fingers exploring lower, until all she could think was, please, please, please.
He was so slow, so gentle, and by the time his fingers snuck into the dark curls between her thighs, Sarah was beside herself. Whimpering and writhing, wanting so much what she had hoped to avoid on other nights. She wanted to be had. Taken. Entered.
His hand stroked her, and Sarah had to hold her breath lest she scream. His fingers slipped easily against her, lubricated by her body, and he ceased to kiss her breasts and merely panted against her damp skin.
