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reamy velvet centre. ‘Oh, yes, you want me quite badly, don’t you, Sparrow?’
She gave an incoherent choked cry that mingled with his hoarse sound of pleasure as he felt the slickness of her desire coat his fingers and explored the hot swollen folds of her womanhood where they curled protectively over the hidden kernel that had ripened into secret prominence.
‘Sweet, sweet honey,’ he murmured with impassioned reverence as he gently parted the petal-soft pleats of sensitised flesh between her legs, opening her moist heart to his exquisitely skilful and oh-so-delicate touch. ‘Let it flow for me, baby…. Show me how sweet and hot and ready you are….’ He nudged the tight little bud with the very tip of his finger and Nora felt it pulse with pleasure, sending a stream of sensation showering through her body, cascading over her breasts and belly and thighs like stinging sparks of incandescent fire.
Her spine arched, the rotation of her hips pushing her deeper back into the cup of his loins and he reacted violently to the invitation, dragging her panties roughly down her legs and tossing them carelessly over the bannister to flutter to the tiles below.
Nora felt the pressure of his denim-clad thighs suddenly ease on the back of her legs and heard a rustle and the rasp of a zip, the soft metallic hiss sending a flutter of apprehension beating along her singing veins.
She didn’t want it to happen like this; she wanted to be able to see everything that he was feeling, to look into his eyes as he came into her, to touch him and fully participate in every glorious moment of anticipated bliss, not merely accepting, but loving, sharing in his mysterious male essence…
‘Please—’ She tried to twist an arm free and cried out with pain when she banged an elbow against an overhanging tread.
‘What’s the matter?’ He instantly shifted, rolling her over and frowning down into her watering eyes. His mouth twitched when she confessed that she had hit her funny bone.
‘It’s nothing to laugh at!’ She practised her brand new pout. ‘I’m probably going to have a lot of bruises later.’
His eyes darkened. ‘I’m sorry; I’ll kiss them better,’ he said, lifting her slender arm and pressing his mouth to the tender curve of her elbow. His gaze fell to her bent legs. ‘Every single one of them—wherever they might be,’ he added gruffly, making her aware that he was lying propped between her splayed knees, and the bottom of the shirt had wiffled up around her waist. She blushed furiously and tried to push it down but he got there first.
‘Here, let me help you with that.’ He gripped the lower edges of the shirt and reared upwards, ripping them violently apart, scattering buttons in all directions, leaving Nora quivering with delicious shock and quite forgetting her physical discomfort.
‘That’s better!’ he announced with raw satisfaction as he studied her blush-pink and cinnamon-speckled nudity draped over the stairs, lingering longest on the downy triangle of autumn-brown curls which sheltered the treasure he had already begun to plunder.
Nora felt as if she was burning up under his fiery inspection, her limbs too heavy with molten desire to rise in defence of her modesty, fascinated by the ragged rise and fall of his deep chest and the compact ripple of his flat abdomen where it arrowed into the open fly of his unzipped jeans. Wanton curiosity led her to discover that his tan did go all the way, disappearing into the bold black thicket of hair that filled out the base of the ‘V’.
‘You’re not wearing anything under your jeans,’ she blurted, and he looked down at himself, indecently amused by her prudish surprise. This, from a sexy sparrow without the remaining wisp of a feather to fly with!
‘Shortly to be remedied!’ he murmured with a shameless smile, reaching into his back pocket to produce a slim wallet, from which he extracted a small familiar-looking package.
Bracing himself on one arm, he leaned forward until the ends of his loosened belt brushed her inner thighs, the cold kiss of the buckle making her skin jump. He dipped his head to place a kiss between her tip-tilted breasts, at the same time placing the feather-light gift in her hand. She blinked at it uncomprehendingly and he urged softly, ‘I want you to put it on me….’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh! But I—Sh-shouldn’t we wait until we get into the bedroom?’
‘Not when we’re going to need it right here. Right now,’ he advised her with hoarse intensity, letting her feel the fine tremors of barely leashed tension that racked his body, his hand silking over the hollow of her hip to toy pointedly with one of her dewy-damp curls.
Make love on the stairs? How outrageous, how reckless, how daring! How very un-Nora! Her eyes skittered down to the blatant invitation of his open jeans, and up again. Incurably honest, she had to try, ‘I’m not very…’ She tailed off, thinking better of mentioning that Ryan had always been in too much of a hurry to waste time with her inept fumbling! ‘I—It may take me a bit longer than you’re used to, to put it on,’ she confessed awkwardly.
‘Oh, really?’ His eyelids drooped, turning his eyes into glittering slits of smouldering approval. ‘You promise?’
Her flustered response gave him licence to torment her with more sizzling suggestions. ‘I’ll help you, then, shall I? It might even take longer that way….’
And with that he threaded his fingers around the back of her head and slanted his open mouth fiercely across hers, flooding her with the rich taste and scent of aroused male, inciting her to new levels of excitement with low, throaty sounds of carnal hunger. The insecurity of their awkward, slanting position and the odd protrusions and difficult angles only heightened the erotic intensity, emphasising the voraciousness of their need. Nora gloried in the textures of his turbulent loving—the prickly roughness of his jaw, the silkiness of his tongue, the oiled sweep of his muscles, the feathery stroke of his hair. Caught up in the passion of the moment, she was hardly aware of him picking up her empty hand until he forced it down into his open jeans, moulding her fingers around the thick shaft that tucked down one leg, tenting the heavy fabric. Nora gasped as she touched the swollen hardness she had secretly fantasised about—hot and smooth as satin-wrapped steel, yet pulsating with life, with the promise of eternity, of new life…
He gave a clotted moan of pleasure as her fingers fluttered curiously down to find the lightly lubricated tip, trapped against his thigh by the cut of his jeans, measuring his full length as more than the span of her hand. His grip on her wrist tightened involuntarily, his hips thrusting to increase the friction of her palm, and he groaned.
‘That’s right, Sparrow…Now take me out,’ he begged roughly, and it was Blake, the expert, who was fumbling as he guided her to free his swollen flesh from the prison of denim and sheath him in the snug new covering. True to her warning, she was not very deft, afraid of hurting him and a little awed by his size. She handled him with gentle care, until the prince of sexual self-mastery was sweating and shaking and gritting his teeth to stop himself coming like an inexperienced schoolboy before she even had the damned thing halfway on! It didn’t help him that he could see she was just as aroused herself, her rosy breasts tight and swollen as they dipped and swayed, the pert nipples yearning for his mouth.
‘That’s enough,’ he shuddered at last, pushing her hands away and kicking off the confining jeans so that he could scoop her bottom to the edge of the stair and drive gratifyingly deep at his first thrust.
Nora was seduced, invaded, conquered and won in that first instant of possession. The blunt force of his entry was almost painful, but it was a sweet, savage, soul-satisfying pain that she sought again and again, the liquid heat of her body quickly adjusting to his daunting size, accepting him, welcoming him, drawing him deeper with tiny rhythmic convulsions of muscle which resonated in every nerve and cell of her being. His face was tight, his expression tense with concentration, his grey eyes intent on reading the unspoken signals that told him of her intoxicating enthusiasm for his every move.
Her rapturous response unleashed an insatiable demand, his increasingly urgent thrusts lifting her body, drivi
ng her sideways with every cycle of surge and retreat until her back was jammed against the balusters, the small of her back riding the ridge of a stair. Her hands slipped on his perspiration-slick shoulders and she anchored herself by wrapping her arms around him, splaying her fingers over the thrilling bunch and flex of his long back, trying to relieve the pressure on her back by twining her supple legs around his plunging hips.
He must have seen the gathering cloud in her golden eyes for suddenly he gave a convulsive heave and the world was awhirl and when she recovered her equilibrium she found herself on top of him, seated astride his lap as his broad back took the brunt of their combined weight against the stairs, his legs drawn up behind her back, providing her with extra support. Startled, she began to push up on to her knees, but he caught her hips and re-seated her with a jolting thrust.
‘Don’t leave me,’ he ground out, the earthy plea paralysing her heart, making her faint with wild and foolish hopes.
