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He laid a finger across her mouth and she was stunned to feel it tremble lightly against her lips. His eyes had darkened, the green almost black.
‘I want to savour you,mi corazón. I don’t want to be a beast today.’
‘I like the beast,’ she murmured.
But that was all he gave her a chance to say, because then his mouth was on hers again, his hands moving down the bodice of the beautiful wedding gown, his fingers shaping her through the fabric, cupping her breasts gently in his palms.
She shivered, because there was something reverent in his touch that hadn’t been there before. As if she was a work of art that he had to be careful in handling.
You’re not a work of art. You’re dirt from the streets—don’t forget.
No, she didn’t believe it. And she didn’t feel it, either—not as his kiss turned gentle, teasing.
The passion between them that normally flared hot and intense had become more focused, more deliberate, settling on delicacy and tenderness rather than mastery.
He tasted her mouth, exploring it lightly before brushing his lips over her jaw and down the side of her neck in a trail of kisses and gentle nips that had her shuddering in his hands. He didn’t speak but he didn’t need to; the reverent way he touched her made it clear. He’d said he wanted to savour her and that was exactly what he was doing.
He unzipped the gown and slid it down her body, lifting her up so he could get it off her, then laying it carefully over the desk. He turned back to her and pushed her down over the polished wood, so she was lying across the desk next to her gown.
Slowly, carefully, he stripped her underwear from her, his fingers running lightly over every curve, and with each touch she felt something inside her shift and change. She had become something else...something more. Not the dirty, unwanted girl from the streets but someone treasured. Someone precious.
His hands swept down her body, stroking, caressing, as if she was beautiful, wanted, worth taking time over. And, perhaps for the first time in her life, Leonie actually felt that. Tears prickled behind her lids, her throat was tight, but she didn’t fight the sensations or the emotions that came along with them, letting them wash through her as he touched her, as if his hands were sweeping them away for good.
He kissed his way down her body, teasing her nipples with his tongue, then drawing them inside the heat of his mouth, making her arch and gasp. His hands stroked her sides and then moved further down, along her thighs. With each caress the dirt of the streets fell away, and with it the cold loneliness and the isolation.
She would have let him touch her for ever if she could, but soon her entire body was trembling and she wanted more from him than gentle touches. She sat up, pushed her hands beneath his shirt, stroking the hard, chiselled muscles of his stomach, glorying in the heat of his skin. Glorying too in the rough curse he gave as she dropped one hand to the fastenings of his trousers and undid them, slipping her hand inside, curling her fingers around his shaft.
‘Ah,gatita...’ he murmured roughly, letting her stroke him. ‘You should let me finish proving my point.’
‘Which is...?’ She looked up into his green eyes, losing herself in the heat that burned there. ‘That you’re not a beast? I know that already.’
‘No. My point is that you’re worth savouring.’
‘Well, so are you.’ She ran her fingers lightly along the length of him, loving how he shuddered under her touch. ‘You’re not the only one worth taking time over.’
His gaze darkened.‘Mi corazón...’
He didn’t believe her, did he?
‘Here,’ she said thickly. ‘Let me show you.’
And she pushed at him so he shifted back, then slid off his desk to stand before him, going up on her tiptoes to kiss the strong column of his neck and then further down, tasting the powerful beat of the pulse at his throat. Then she undid the buttons of his shirt, running her fingers down his sculpted torso, tracing all those hard-cut muscles before dropping to her knees in front of him.
Her hands moved to part the fabric of his trousers, to grasp him and take out the long, hard length of him. And then she closed her mouth around him.
His hands slid into her hair and he gave a rough groan, flexing his hips. He tasted so good, a little salty and musky, and she loved the way she could make his breath catch and his body shake. But she also loved giving him pleasure—because if she deserved to feel wanted and treasured, then he did, too.
So she showed him, worshipping him with her mouth until he finally pulled her head away, picking her up in his arms and taking her over to the butter-soft leather couch under the window. He laid her down on it, dealt with protection, then spread her thighs, positioning himself. And when he pushed inside her it felt like a homecoming, a welcome rather than something desperate and hungry.
He didn’t move at first, and she lost herself in the green of his eyes and the feel of him inside her, filling her. There was a rightness to this. A sense of wholeness. As if she’d been waiting for this moment, for him, her entire life.
You’re in love with him.
Something shifted in her chest, a heavy weight, and it made her go hot and cold both at the same time. Made her dizzy and hungry, bursting with happiness and aching with despair all at once.
Was what she felt love? How would she know? No one had ever given her love. She’d never even contemplated it before.
Yet the hot, powerful thing inside her, pushing at her, was insistent, and she had no other name for it. And it was all centred on him. On his beautiful face and the heat in his eyes. On his smile and the dark, sexy sound of his laughter. On the way he touched her, the way he made her feel. As if she wasn’t broken or dirty, but beautiful and full of light. A treasure, precious and wanted.
