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His hands moved, a sort of glide, up her back, down again.
“We should sit down a minute.”
“Sit down?”
“And take off our shoes.”
“Oh. Right.”
They sat, hip to hip, on the side of the bed.
“A little rusty,” she said.
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
She tossed back her hair. “Maybe a little nervous.”
“We’ll take care of that.”
And, sitting hip to hip, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Need smothered nerves. As she shifted to him, everything took on such focus, such clarity. The feel of his skin against hers, the taste of that wonderfully lazy mouth, the big, hard-palmed hands on her face, the scent of flowers, and him.
The smooth, crisp sheets when he laid her back made an arousing contrast with the weight of his body on hers.
He never broke the kiss, but took it deeper. Slow, slow, slow, while his hands began to move again. Under those hands, her heartbeat thickened; under those hands, she luxuriated in being touched.
And used her own.
Lean muscle, hard planes, strong shoulders. So long, she thought, since she’d explored a man’s body, felt him respond to her touch.
Testing now, both of them, gauging those responses.
What do you like? What moves you? What excites you?
When he released the hook of her bra, her pulse hammered; anticipation spilled through her like wine.
When his mouth took her breast, she arched, urging him to take more.
Arching again, her hands fisted in his hair, she demanded more.
When he gave and he took, she tugged at his belt. Everything in her shot to urgent. He murmured something as he slid her jeansdown her hips, but she couldn’t hear through the pounding of her own heart.
When, she wondered, had the ache of need burned into fire?
Slow, he’d thought, this time, this first time. But she trembled, and heat pumped off her skin. Murmuring still, his lips pressed to her throat where her pulse hammered, he cupped her.
At the press of his hand to her center, she broke in one long, hard wave. Her body rose to his, shuddered, then fell. The hand she’d clutched at his shoulder slid away.
He might have soothed, might have tossed control aside and devoured. Before he could do either, she rolled. And took him over.
First his mouth in a wild, greedy kiss that shot into his system like a live wire. Then his body as she straddled him and took him in. Took him deep.
He saw Sonya in the firelight, moving over him, her skin glowing, her arms lifted as she rode another wave. Then she took his hands, pressed them to her breasts.
Even the thought of control snapped. He rode the next wave with her.
Soft, sated, satisfied, she melted down to him. She wondered if her sigh sounded like a prayer of gratitude. As he stroked his hand down her hair, over her back, she sighed again.
