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“I thought you wanted… I thought you meant…” Good God, he’d been hard as rock. And huge.
He decided laughing would be better than screaming. “Darlin’, you do that again, I’m going to embarrass myself, and we’ll have to start all over. If it’s all the same to you, I’d just like to touch you for a while.”
“I don’t mind, but you’re…”
“I know what I am. You said you’d do what I want,” he reminded her, fighting to keep his voice from growing rough with need. “I want you to look at me, look right at me now.”
When she did, he skimmed his hands over her breasts again. He could see surprised pleasure ripple over her face, hear it in her quickening breaths. So he began to murmur to her, endearments, foolishness, gauging her reaction.
When her eyes closed, he lifted her slowly off her feet, holding her suspended, trailing his mouth down from hers and over her throat, her collarbone, and at last to her breast.
Her hands clamped on his shoulders and her body arched as arrows—bullets—of hot sensation pierced through her flesh and straight to her center to burn. She shook her head, struggling to clear it.
“Devin.”
He laved his tongue over her. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No. No.”
“Thank God.”
When she was quivering, when her hands were clutching and flexing on his skin, he lowered her to the floor again, until his mouth was fixed on hers. Her
hands were fisted in his hair, her breath was coming fast. Her lips were hot.
And still she stiffened, just for an instant, when he unhooked her slacks.
She wouldn’t spoil it. That she promised herself. Whatever came now didn’t matter, because what came before had been so lovely. She’d never felt these pulls, these yearnings. Or she’d somehow forgotten them. His hands were hard, the palms rough, but he used them so gently on her. She would have been happy to have him go on touching her, just like this, forever. She could blissfully have drowned in those wonderful ripples of sensations.
Now he was uncovering the rest of her, and she knew it would be over soon. But he would hold her when he was done. He would hold her close and warm, she was sure of it. That would be enough.
When he picked her up and cradled her against his chest, she smiled. The candlelight was lovely, and she felt an intense sense of tenderness, of sweetness. He’d made her feel wanted. She laid her lips against his, curled her arms around his neck, keeping them there as he lowered her to the cot so that the springs squeaked under their weight.
She opened her eyes in confusion when he didn’t push inside her. Instead, he was curved beside her, his eyes on her face, his hand stroking up and down her torso.
“Don’t rush me,” he said mildly. “I’m enjoying myself.”
To her astonishment, he began to talk to her about her body, her skin, her eyes, her legs. And the things he was murmuring sent flashes of new heat inside her.
She was grateful he didn’t seem to need her to talk back. She was having trouble breathing again.
She was so incredibly sweet, so amazingly innocent. That was what kept his need locked away, kept his hands from taking quickly. Twelve years, he thought, listening to the way her breath caught, then burst out, when he skimmed a finger up the inside of her thigh. When a man had waited so long, he could be as patient as a saint, though his blood churned like a riptide.
He lowered his mouth to her breast again. So small, and firm, and smelling like spring. Under his lips he felt her heart thundering, felt her skin quiver. And knew he pleasured her.
He wanted to give her more, to give her everything, to know she craved as he did. So he stroked and suckled, arousing himself and her until she began to writhe under him and he knew she was climbing toward the edge. And he would be the one to show her that the fall was sweet.
It was too hot. She was burning from the inside out and couldn’t keep still. She ached, and nothing she could do seemed to soothe the throbbing. Something inside her was racing for something else, and she strained away from it. It was too big, too huge, too terrifying. The air was thick, the sensations were too fast and too many. She moaned and bit down on her lip to stop the sound.
“You can yell,” Devin told her, his own voice ragged. “You can scream if you want. Nobody can hear but me. Just let go, Cassie.”
“I can’t.”
He dipped his fingers inside her, and his head spun. She was hot and wet and more ready than she knew. “Don’t ask me to stop,” he murmured against her mouth. “Don’t ask me.”
“No. No, don’t.”
She did scream then, a sound that should have shocked her, it was so wild and wanton. But her body was too busy rearing up toward him, poised on a spear of dark, drenching pleasure such as she’d never known. Everything inside her came to a fist, tensed violently, painfully, then burst free. She collapsed, weak as water, and thought she heard him groan.
