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He moved closer, pausing in front of her as his gaze dropped to her chest. Her breasts tingled beneath his stare. She wouldn’t think she could feel so sensitive without him touching her. He stepped around to her side—slowly, his gaze probing her in ways she wasn’t sure his hands could.
She felt vulnerable, standing naked before him. She’d never been more keenly aroused, had never imagined such a sensation existed.
He moved behind her. She felt his breath against her neck. He was close. But not so close that he touched her. A thrill tickled her spine. Her breasts pulled. She glanced down and saw her nipples had grown hard.
He came around her other side, entering her line of sight once more. His dark head was bent. She caught his sandalwood scent. It only heightened her arousal.
She wanted to look at him the same way he was surveying her. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.” It was all she could manage. Her voice was made of small, hard pebbles.
“I am.” He sat on the edge of the chair and pulled off his boots. His stockings followed as he peeled them off in quick succession.
He stood and pulled the tail of his shirt from his breeches. She went to him and covered his hands with hers. “May I?”
He looked at her, his eyes gleaming like emeralds. “Yes.” His hands stilled, then fell to his sides. She drew the shirt up, exposing his flesh. He was unimaginably muscular, the planes of his abdomen sculpted like a statue.
He raised his arms as she pulled the garment over his head. She dropped the linen to the floor, heedless of where it landed. Thoughts fled her brain like bees in a downpour. She was absolutely speechless at his beauty.
Unlike him, however, she couldn’t keep herself from touching him. She reached out and caressed her fingertips against the space between his belly and his chest. He was warm and smooth and hard.
He flinched and sharply inhaled.
She snatched her hand away and looked back up at his face.
He found her hand and put it back on his chest, higher this time, where it wasn’t smooth, but dusted with dark hair. “Don’t stop. Unless you want to.”
She didn’t want to. She flattened her palm against him, reveling in the feel of his hair and the plane of his flesh beneath.
“Nora,” he rasped. “I’d like to touch you too. May I?”
She realized she hadn’t asked for permission, but he didn’t seem to mind. She was flattered that he’d thought to do that. “Yes. Please.”
She tensed, eager but also afraid.
He gently skimmed his fingertips along her shoulder, moving inward to her collarbone then drifting downward between her breasts. She tensed, but his touch was light, deft. He drew his hand through the soft valley then beneath her right breast. His knuckles brushed the underside, and it was her turn to gasp.
His hand curved and came up, cupping her. He was still incredibly gentle, going as slowly as she could ever want.
“Is this difficult for you?” she asked.
“In what way?” He cradled her, his thumb brushing over her breast in ever increasing swaths, bringing him closer and closer to her nipple.
She found herself straining, wanting that touch. Needing that connection. “You’re so…controlled. I can barely keep a thought in my head.”
“You seem to think I have many, when in fact I have just one—pleasuring you.”
Oh God. Her knees quivered, her thighs, all of her took on the properties of a jelly.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her. Finally,finally, his thumb brushed over her nipple and then the unthinkable happened. He bent and took her into his mouth, his lips closing over her flesh.
She’d kept her hand on him throughout his exploration, but she wanted more. She moved her hand to his head and curled her fingers into his hair. His grip on her waist tightened as he tongued her. The strokes were light at first, teasing, but grew with intensity until he was nearly devouring her with his mouth. Or at least that was how she would describe it. And she could think of no finer characterization, because it made her feel distinctly hungry. For what, she wasn’t yet certain, but she knew he would satisfy her. He’d said his only thought was to pleasure her.
She closed her eyes as he feasted, moving to her other breast. She let her head fall back as she held on to him—one hand twisted into his hair and the other clasping his shoulder. Heat and desire flowed through her until a wild craving built between her thighs. She knew what would happen next, whatcouldhappen, if she allowed it.
She shouldn’t, but why not? This night was for her. He wanted her to have the power of choice, and she chose this.
His mouth left her breast just before his hand cradled her neck. She opened her eyes to see he’d straightened and was looking at her. She thought he might say something, but he didn’t. His mouth descended on hers, and his lips and tongue consumed her. This was like no kiss she’d ever imagined. She realized everything about this was beyond her comprehension, and she felt a moment’s sadness that she’d existed for twenty-seven years without experiencing this. Another reason to embrace it—him—while she could. She closed her eyes again and let herself dissolve into this moment.
He held her head captive while he pillaged her mouth, his tongue licking, his lips suckling. She tried to mimic what he did, using her tongue, clasping at his flesh, but feared she was a hopeless amateur.
