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After what must have been merely a moment but felt like an eternity, his open mouth covered her sex, and he circled his tongue, and everything exploded into pure, bright pleasure.
He held her tight as she came, never letting her weaken or fall, and all the while he kept up the slow, gentle swipes of his tongue, bringing her wave after wave of bliss.
Later, she scarcely remembered how they made it to the bed. He must have carried her, seeing as how her limbs had ceased to function. She recalled snuggling into a plush towel as she hit the mattress, and the way the heat of his body cocooned her shortly thereafter. They must have slept that way for a while. It was sheer joy just to lie next to him at last, nestled into his broad chest and pinned by the weight of one brawny forearm.
So much pleasure, and still they’d hardly begun.
It wasn’t clear whether he woke her, or she woke him, but Meredith came to consciousness through a thick, cottony fog. Her limbs were so entwined with Rhys’s, she had a tricky time of it, sorting out which strands of the knot belonged to her and which to him. She supposed it didn’t really matter.
As her eyes fluttered open, his lips covered hers. Oh, how lovely, to be kissed awake. She closed her eyes again, wanting to prolong the drowsy haze. He began slowly, brushing light kisses over her mouth, cheeks, temple, and brow. The softness of his kiss was in delicious contrast to the hardness of his male organ, which pressed insistently against her thigh.
Wriggling in his embrace, Meredith reclaimed the use of her arms. She kissed him back—first lightly, then deep—and as they kissed, she ran her fingers over every inch of him she could reach. Through his short hair, over the nape of his neck, down the sculpted planes of his shoulders and back. A low moan rumbled through his chest when she flicked a thumbnail over his nipple. Encouraged, she did it again.
How could a man live to the age of one-and-thirty without knowing he was ticklish? To think that no nursemaid, no friend, no lover—for God’s sake, noparent—had ever touched him in a playful manner. To know that he’d lived with constant physical violence and not the slightest scrap of physical affection … Her heart broke for him all over again, just as it had when she was a girl.
But she was a woman now, and determined to make up for lost time. Before they left this bed, she would touch himeverywhere. Tenderly, desirously. With not only fingers, but lips and tongue, too. He was uncharted ground—practically virgin territory, she thought dryly to herself. But not after tonight. She meant to explore every inch of his body, noting every spot that elicited a laugh, a sigh, or a moan.
And somehow, by the grace of God, she would make him understand that hedeservedthis. He deserved to be kissed, stroked, pleasured, held.
He deserved to be loved.
Fully awake now, they lay side by side, facing one another. Meredith propped her head on one elbow and reached her other hand between them. It didn’t take long to find what she was seeking. It was a big enough target, after all. Not exactly the proverbial needle in a haystack. She’d been delighted to learn that her memories of his body hadn’t been some combination of time’s distortion and her youthful inexperience. Over the years, she’d compared every man in her life to her memories of Rhys. Here was just one more way those other men had come up lacking.
She stroked him slowly, watching his eyes flutter with pleasure beneath closed lids.
“God, that feels good,” he said.
“You sound so surprised,” she teased. Gentling her tone, she asked, “Was it really so bad before?”
“The first time? Hell, yes.” He opened his eyes. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he said, “Worse for her than for me. Poor girl screamed like she was being murdered. We didn’t even finish. Everything about it was just … wrong.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t enjoying herself?” Meredith smiled. “Maybe she was just the screaming sort. Some women are.”
His brow creased. “Areyouthe screaming sort?”
“No,” she said quickly, inwardly resolving not to make so much as a peep. “No.”
“Then how would you know some women are?”
“I own an inn, Rhys. The walls aren’t very thick.”
She slid her hand further down, reaching to cradle his heavy sac in her hand and delighting in his low groan of pleasure. He clasped her hip and pulled her against him, grinding his thick shaft against her belly. She threw a leg over his narrow hips, opening herself to him. A clear invitation.
Still he hesitated.
“I’m ready,” she assured him. “And I’m not a virgin or a screamer. Everything will be fine.”
“It has to be better than fine.” His hand ranged over her hip, and he reached down to stroke her cleft, probing with his fingers to test her readiness and groaning with satisfaction when he found her quite ready indeed. He slid his thumb to her pearl and gently massaged. “This has to be so damn unbelievably good that you want to do it again, and again, every day for the rest of our lives.”
“Every day?” she teased. “Such stamina.”
“We’ll be making up for a lot of lost time.” Pausing, he gave the appearance of serious consideration. “Every day for the next decade, at least. After that, it will depend on the state of my joints.”
She threw back her head and laughed.
When he began to kiss the hollow of her neck, Meredith decided this was the time. She grasped his erection firmly and guided it to the damp, needy ache between her legs.
She stretched; he nudged.
