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‘Of course, I’d enjoy it much more if you weren’t wearing this,’ he murmured against her ear, his fingers on the bow-tied shoulder straps of her nightgown.
She really ought to move away from him; she knew that, but he had already untied the bows and her heart was thudding so hard she thought it might well break through her ribs, especially now that his hand was resting against it.
‘Lucy…’
Her tongue touched her dry upper lip as she caught the fevered undertone of arousal hoarsening his voice.
‘Don’t do that!’ He was looking at her mouth, and obediently, as though she had no will of her own, her tongue retreated.
It was like a dream, everything totally unreal, especially the unmistakable tremor in his hands as they locked on her now bare shoulders, his tongue touching the still dry tension of her mouth, stroking, moistening, totally capturing her senses until she moaned softly under her need to feel his mouth against her own, reaching up to tug his head downwards, her fingers curling into the thick tousled hair, her face lifting eagerly towards him as she shuddered beneath the fierce onslaught of his kiss.
Since she was quite well aware that Saul would never, ever kiss her with this starving hunger, there was no need for her to try and rationalise anything. This was not reality; it could not be, and hence there was no need for her to resist or fight it—or to conceal her feelings, her need and love that welled up inside her, finding expression in the trembling softness of her body against his as her lips parted eagerly to the fierce thrust of his tongue.
His hands swept upwards, his fingers gentle on the vulnerable contours of her throat and then fiercely locking in her hair, tightening against her scalp as desire flowed between them fuelled by the hot urgency of their mouths.
Still kissing her, Saul thrust aside the bed-clothes, and instinctively she moved towards him, welcoming the weight of his body against her own, her nipples hardening into taut desire as they pushed protestingly against the fine silk that separated them.
When Saul wrenched his mouth from her own, Lucy felt so totally bereft that she wanted to cry. She reached for him, her hands encountering only the thick silkiness of his hair, her fingers clenching convulsively into his scalp as his head cupped her breast, his mouth tugging feverishly at its swollen crest, too hungry for her to wait until he had pushed aside the fine silk.
Her heart thumped frantically, her body arching in a delirium of remembered pleasure.
‘Lucy.’
His head lay against her breast, the wet silk clinging to her skin. Caught up in the fever of her own arousal Lucy recognised the thick drugging quality of his desire. His voice was raw with it, as unfamiliar to her as the shudders that convulsed his body.
‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’
The words were hoarse with self-imposed restraint, his body hard and aroused against her own. He wanted her, Lucy thought frantically. He did want her, no matter what he might say, and she wanted him. The fact that she could arouse him to physical desire gave her new hope. Perhaps after all something could be salvaged, something made of their marriage. Perhaps if she told him the truth about Neville…
Despite what he had said, he hadn’t moved, and now he bent again towards her body, his lips gently caressing the fullness of her breast, as though unable to resist their temptation. Shivers of pleasure rippled through her, drowning her in waves of fire.
When she could find her breath she gasped achingly, ‘If it’s because of Neville…’
‘Damn Neville!’ Saul swore violently, releasing her. ‘You’re married to me, not him. He doesn’t want you, Lucy. Not the way I do.’ He broke off and added thickly, ‘I was thinking about the baby… The doctor…’
The doctor had in fact tactfully informed her that there was no reason why she should not lead a perfectly normal married life, at least until the later stages of her pregnancy, but it was not this that made Lucy’s eyes widen slowly. Saul had said he wanted her…
‘You want me.’ She repeated the words slowly, savouring them, looking down at him as his head lifted.
‘I know I’m the first man to make love to you, but you’re not that naïve, Lucy,’ he told her roughly. ‘You know damn well what you do to me.’ His glance skimmed the outline of their entwined bodies, and Lucy felt her skin grow hot as it lingered meaningfully on the place where his body throbbed its message of desire and need against her own.
‘Did you really want me before… when you threw me out?’ It was a question that pride should have prevented her from asking, but now the words were out and could not be recalled.
