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“Take your hair down,” he ordered, reaching for those rich, fiery strands. “I’ve dreamed of this—of your hair down around you as you reign above me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Her fingers stroked over his torso to his bandaged wound, and he sucked in a breath.
“I promise you, love... what I feel when you touch me is nothing like pain.”
Her hands went to her hair and he stroked over her laced bodice—the only thing left on her body, the fabric straining where her breasts rose and fell in staccato rhythm—a clear sign that she was as wild as he was.
She was so beautiful, rising above him, her long arms up as she worked at her hairpins, her hips canted against him, her lovely strong thighs hugging his own as his fingers found the soft, silken curls between them, stroking over them. “So pretty,” he whispered, tracing gently over her folds, teasing her, loving the way she rocked toward him, her body begging for his touch.
“Henry,” she said, his name like a plea.
She wanted him to touch her, and he liked that very much. “Mmm. Here?” Another soft stroke. Barely there. Torturing them both. “What was it you said to me on the dock all those days ago? She who finds, keeps?” Another stroke, a temptation. “I have found something... tremendous.”
He watched her, growing heavy and hard.
“I’m going to keep it.”
Her eyes flew open, meeting his. “Me.”
“Mine.”
She writhed against him, searching for more, and he pulled back, refusing her. Toying with her. She gasped, and the sound, full of desperate need, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever encountered.
“You’ll let me, won’t you? Keep you?”
“Yes,” she panted. “However you’ll have me. As long as I might keep you, as well.”
And then the hairpins were dealt with, and her rich red curls were down around her shoulders, and he couldn’t stop himself from touching them, his free hand immediately tangling in them, and he had a heartbeat to marvelat their softness until she was touching him again, one hand on his shoulder and one—Ahh.
She found his wrist, her touch firm, holding him tight as she lowered herself to him, sliding over his fingers once, twice, until he was there, in her silky heat, and they both groaned their pleasure. “This—” he said, hot at her ear, loving the sound of her shattered breaths. “I am going to make you come like this.”
He stroked, smooth and slow, and she whimpered, a magnificent little noise that would have unraveled him if he didn’t have plans for this woman. For this moment. He licked at her ear, and stroked his thumb over the bud of pleasure at her core, reveling in the way she twitched beneath his touch. “And then I am going to make you come with my mouth.”
“Henry...” Two syllables turned into a dozen.
“Tell me, love.”
“Please.”
He grew impossibly harder. That word on her lips. He was ruined for her. He would give her whatever she wanted. She only had to ask for it.
“Look at me, sweetheart.” She did, her eyes opening, black centers blown wide in rich brown velvet. He groaned, straining up to kiss her, ignoring the pull at his side. “I have more to tell you.”
“Show me instead.” She sighed, rocking against his hand. “More.”
“Look at you,” he whispered, watching her work herself on him, painting little circles over her softness, finding the place where her nerves screamed for him.
Her hands came to his shoulders on a gasp. “Henry.”
He turned his head and nipped at her wrist, running his teeth over her skin. “What will you do when you’ve ridden my fingers and tongue, love? What will you do when you’ve come against me twice?”
“I’ll...” She rolled her hips against his fingers. “I’ll want more.”
The confession nearly did him in. He’d give it to her. Whatever she wanted. “What more?”
“Your—” She stopped.
“You know the word. Use it.”
