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The rose skated over her ribs, tracing the curve of her belly. She wanted it back on her breasts and between her legs, but no, not the rose, it was too feathery, too delicious, too much, she needed more.
“If you let me touch you, I would touch you here too. And down here.”
The rose swept over the curve of her hip and she squeezed her thighs against the madness throbbing between them. It skimmed over her thigh to her knees, then crawled, slow and desperate like a sleepless night, up the valley where her legs met, right up over her inner thighs, brushing the curls at their juncture.
“If only you would let me,” he whispered.
She whimpered, letting her thighs fall apart, and she realized how close her own fingers had crept to the insistent molten ache. Dimly, she was ashamed of her sinful brazenness, but not enough to stop.
Yet he cruelly ignored her invitation, her need, and the rose danced inexorably away, feathering up over her belly, across her ribcage, finding again the undersides of her breasts.
She lost her patience, gripped his arm, so strong and sure beneath her hungry hand.
“Joshua, please.”
“What a shame you won’t let me touch you, and kiss you.”
“I will. I do. Stop teasing. Yes.”
The rose stilled. “Why?”
“I don’t understand.”
Then the rose was gone altogether. Their only connection was her hand on his arm, and she slid her palm up to his shoulder, rising up to him, clutching at him, tugging him closer.
This time he did not obey. He pushed her gently back down onto the bed but leaned over her. Even blindfolded, she sensed his tension. She let her hands roam over his back, kneading the muscles.
“Why do you want this?” he asked softly.
“Because I want…what…I…” Something to do with husband and wife and duty and babies and she couldn’t think, not with this coiling and tightening and throbbing in her body, not with him so close, and his shoulder under her hand, and her legs, moving, curling around his. “It’s too much.”
A mutter. A curse. What had she done wrong now? Why did he have to be so complex?
“What do you feel?” he asked.
“I feel…everywhere…and it’s…It’s so…”
“Do you like it?”
“I want more. But I need it to stop too.”
She curled her arm around his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair, trying to pull him down to her, but he did not yield.
“The only way to stop it is to touch you more,” he said.
“Then I need you to touch me.”
“That’s what you want?”
“That’s all I want. Please, Joshua. Nothing else matters but that you touch me.”
“Oh, Cassandra,” he groaned.
His hand landed on her hip, firm and warm, and he slid it up her side, commanding a tide of heat beneath her skin. His breath and cheek were on her throat, his hair tickling her, and her own moan filled the room as he cupped her breast and burned her pulse with his lips.
She yanked off the blindfold, blinked in the half light, drank in the sight of that strong hand around her breast. His eyes were questioning, heated, and they imprisoned her own as he lowered his head and licked her nipple. Pleasure shot through her and she arched her back, digging her fingers into his neck.
“You will drive me mad,” she whimpered.
