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“Bree.” Ambrose clasps my cheek and he angles my face back, kissing me deep and hard. And that’s not the only thing that’s hard. His cock presses against my leg, and my heart leaps when I feel how desperate he is for me.
We waited so long, but now is our time.
The perfect night.
I whimper as Ambrose’s lips leave mine, but he kisses down my neck, his tongue laving over a spot that makes my knees weak.
“You’ve been learning too many tricks from Edward,” I breathe, clinging to him as he rolls my nipples between his fingers.
He laughs, his voice a low rumble. “I think you enjoy it.”
“I do. Please, don’t stop.”
My fingers curl against Ambrose’s bare back as he holds me close and explores every inch of me with his hands and mouth. I don’t want to make assumptions that all blind men make good lovers, or if it’s just Ambrose, but he paints me with kisses in a way that makes me feel like a work of art.
I finally manage to pull down his fly and unbutton his trousers. I push them down his hips, along with his boxers, and draw him out.
Ambrose groans against me as I pump his shaft between my hands. “Please, Bree, if you keep doing that, I don’t know how long I’m going to last. However much you want me, trust me, I need you more.”
His voice cracks. The sound is like a lightning rod straight through my heart. I slow my strokes, and he takes that moment to grip my hips and spin us both around.
My back braces against the cool stone of the monument. Honestly, I need that right now, something to hold me upright, to anchor me to the earth, because it feels like he might just whisk me away to some enchanted realm.
Ambrose kneels in front of me, his hands reverent as he strokes my thighs.
“You’ll wear out the knees of your trousers,” I tell him, even as I angle my hips toward him.
“It’s worth it to feel you come apart on my tongue.”
And then I can’t say any more, because his mouth is on me and oh,oh, but Edward has taught him some tricks. My sweet Ambrose has such a wicked tongue. He plunges it inside me, teasing my entrance, before returning to swirl and lathe over my clit.
My breath comes out in ragged gasps. The silent cemetery shrouds me in friendly shadow as Ambrose’s tongue builds the aching pressure with fast, hungry strokes.
His finger teases my entrance, then slides inside me. Part of Ambrose is inside me. It’s the joy of it, the sheer wonderfulness of it, that sends me gasping over the edge of a knee-liquifying orgasm.
He grips my legs as I come apart on his tongue, just like he promised. But he doesn’t get up.
“Please,” I whimper. “I need you inside me.”
“But I wanted to—”
“Ambrose, I will literallydieif you make me wait for your cock any longer.”
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re in a cemetery.”
He stands up, and the corner of his mouth turns up into a crooked little smile that reminds me a little of Edward. Ambrose wraps one arm behind my back, around my waist, his fingers splayed across my skin. I no longer feel the odd ghostly tingle from him, but this is even better.
His lips find mine again, and I taste my own pleasure as his tongue works its magic. His kisses turn soft, tender, as he kicks off his trousers and boxers.
Ambrose lines himself up. I’m so wet that he slides in easily. His shoulders tense, and the guttural, ungentlemanly groan that he lets out as he enters me hits straight in my core.
“I’ve waited several lifetimes to touch you like this,” he whispers. “The woman I love. You are so beautiful.”
His hips retreat, but before I can take a breath, he thrusts, driving himself so deep that he tears a moan from my lips.
“What does it feel like?” I ask him, because Ambrose sees the world through sensation, and he describes even the most mundane things like they are poetry.
“You feel…amazing,” he breathes. “You feel like coming home, like a warm fire after a weary day’s travel. You feel like…like…like a gift.”
