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She did wonder who that woman had been, and she considered sharing the old, secret memory at last. But what if that ruined the mood somehow? She would spontaneously combust if he stopped now. “I’m right here. Wearing only a wad of cloth around my waist, aching for you, Rafe. Oh, and my arms are starting to get tired....”
“Aching for me, did you say?”
“Let me put my arms down. I’ll show you how much.”
“In a minute.”
“Seriously. You’re a dead man.”
But then he leaned close again. She smelled toothpaste and heat. Electric now, the scent of him. Electric and burning. His beard-rough cheek brushed her shoulder, and his warm breath ghosted across her upper chest. He whispered something. She couldn’t quite make out the word.
But then it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the caress of his breath, the brush of his black, silky hair on her skin.
And then...oh, then...
He stuck out his tongue and flicked her right nipple with it. And then he blew on it, bringing a shiver that coursed through every inch of her body.
That did it. She moaned.
And then he leaned even closer. He took that nipple in his mouth.
It was too much.
She lowered her arms and speared her fingers in his hair and held him close to her while he did truly wonderful things, first to that right breast and then to the other one.
And then he pulled back. She growled low in her throat and tried to reach for him.
“Wait,” he commanded.
“Fine.” She sat still, glaring at him, as he took her wrinkled clump of nightgown and started easing it up. With a small moan of impatience, she lifted her arms again and, at last, the thing was off and out of her way.
She went for his boxers, to get rid of them, too.
But he beat her to it, whipping them down and off and tossing them between the bed curtains toward a chair.
With a low cry, she reached for him.
And he didn’t refuse her that time. He wrapped his steely arms around her and he took her down to the pillows, surrounding her in his heat and his hardness. The sheer size of him thrilled her. It was like being swallowed by manliness, just to have him hold her close in his arms. And she did glory in it.
He touched her, those big hands wandering. She lifted her body toward him, offering him everything, yearning only for him to take it—take all of her. Right now.
But of course, what he took was his time.
His hot mouth opened on her skin. She felt the quick, wet swipe of his tongue. And then the sharp nip of his teeth.
She made noises, pleading noises.
But he wouldn’t hurry. He touched her all over. And where his hands went, his hot mouth followed.
She lost herself in pure sensation and she really didn’t care if she ever got found. For the longest, sweetest time, he lay with his head between her open thighs, kissing her endlessly, using his clever tongue and hungry mouth to drive her mad.
Beautifully, happily, completely mad.
She clutched the sheet in her fists and lifted herself higher, tighter against that thrilling, relentless kiss. Heat curled up her spine, exploded across her chest, and then raced back down to her core, where it opened her up, hollowed her out, sent currents of pleasure pulsing along every burning nerve.
And he went on kissing her.
When she came, crying out his name, he only kept on using his rough tongue, soft lips and sharp teeth to make her come again.
And then, after the third time, when she was limp and drowsing, and hardly able to move, he swept up her body and covered her, bracing on his forearms to keep from crushing her.
Rafe. All over her, pressing her down in the most delicious way. His erection nestled, hard and so ready, right where she wanted him. Right where she needed him.
She groaned, aroused all over again. A moment before, she’d been limp. Finished.
That hadn’t lasted long.
She groaned again, sliding her arms around him, down low at his waist. And then lower. She clutched his rock-hard buttocks in either hand—so good, the feel of his tight skin and hard muscles under her palms, the slick of sweat between their bodies, the press of him, there, where she was so ready for him.
“Rafe...”
“Shh...”
“Please...” She rocked her hips, lifting her legs to wrap them around him, trying to lure him in.
It worked, to a degree. The tip slid in. And she was so wet and open. Her body called to his.
Why wouldn’t he answer?
“Wait,” he whispered. So softly. So patiently.
She growled low in her throat. “I mean it.” She opened her eyes and looked into his midnight black ones. “I will kill you....”
The scar pulled at the corner of his lip, a mockery of a smile. “Don’t worry. You have. You are.”
And suddenly, she not only desperately needed him inside her, she wanted to cry. “I was afraid we would never have this again.”
