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He knelt suddenly, pressing his face against the flatness of her abdomen, his hands clasping her hips.
He said, his voice muffled, ‘Now I’m the one who’s scared.’
‘No.’ Tavy stroked the hair back from his forehead. ‘How can you be?’
He looked up at her. ‘Because this is the first time I’ve ever been in love. I didn’t realise how I would feel. How perfect I would want it to be. For you. This first time.’
She knelt too. Kissed him on the mouth, aware of the first sweet stir of pleasure as his lips parted and she felt the slow, hot glide of his tongue against hers.
Jago’s hands moved to her breasts, cupping them, his thumbs teasing her nipples until they stood proud. He lowered his head and took each of them into his mouth in turn, laving each erect, sensitive peak gently but with total deliberation, and Tavy felt a quiver of response run the length of her body and resonate in her loins with piercing, unequivocal need that shocked her by its force.
Her head fell back and a gasp escaped her as his fingers tangled in her hair, bringing her mouth back to his, in a deep and passionate kiss that left her languid and drained.
He turned her in his arms, lowering her to the ground, but instead of cool, crisp grass, she felt a rich and comforting softness against her bare flesh, and realised she was lying on the rug they’d used for their candle-lit picnic.
Jago took her back into his arms, and she stretched herself against him, revelling in the graze of his hair roughened chest against her excited nipples, slipping her hands inside his shirt and running her hands over his wide, muscled shoulders.
He’d said once he worked out, and she could believe it.
She heard herself say in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘You’re such a gorgeous shape.’
He said huskily, ‘And you, my sweet, are Paradise.’
Because his hands were discovering her too, exploring every slender curve and delicate hollow, his lips following the intricate, enticing path of his fingers, awakening sensations she’d never been aware of until that moment. Feelings that turned her bones to water, and her blood into a warm tide in her veins.
And made her want so much more, especially when, as now, his hand was cupping her hip bone and straying with tantalising slowness down to her thigh. Where it lingered, his fingers gentle as a breeze on her sensitised skin.
Deep within her she felt a shaft of desire so piercing that she almost cried out aloud.
Her body was slackening, turning to liquid under the sensuous incitement of his touch. Only it wasn’t enough, she thought, suppressing a tiny moan.
And then his hand moved, gentling its way between her parted thighs to the scalding inner heat of her with innate mastery, finding the tiny sensitive bud between the silky folds of woman flesh and circling on it slowly and delicately with a fingertip, until he had brought it to swollen, aching arousal.
And then, when she thought she could bear no more, she felt his fingers penetrating the slick hot wetness of her, thrusting into her with sure rhythmic strokes, taking her with relentless purpose towards some undreamed-of brink.
Her body arched towards him, the breath catching in her throat, the last vestiges of control slipping away as her whole being concentrated blindly on the spiral of exquisite agony building so inexorably inside her. She could hear herself moaning, voluptuously, pleadingly, and thought she heard him whisper, ‘Yes.’
Then as his clever insistent fingers took her over the edge, and her body convulsed in the first sexual release it had ever known, her voice splintered and she cried out his name.
Afterwards, she cried a little and Jago held her, kissing her mouth and wet eyelashes, whispering words that would live in her heart and memory for ever.
The echoes of the pleasure he had given her were still reverberating deep within her, making her long for more, kindling a renewed and urgent response to his lips. Wanting to return the joy.
But as her hands were reaching, fumbling a little, for the silver buckle on his belt, Jago stopped her, saying softly, ‘Not here, not now, darling. It will be dark and much colder soon, and I want you in bed with me not pneumonia.’
She found herself wrapped warmly in the rug and lifted into his arms as he strode back towards the house, ignoring her not-too-serious protests and demands to be put down.
‘And ruin one of my favourite fantasies about you? No chance.’ He dropped a kiss on her tangled hair. ‘This is the Spanish pirate in my ancestry.’
And when they reached the bedroom, laughing and breathless, the waiting four-poster was another revelation, heaped with snowy pillows, the crisp sheets half-concealed by a sumptuous black and gold satin coverlet.
