Think, man. Think.
Grace had enjoyed kissing. She’d also enjoyed his touch.
Things had proceeded better than expected until he’d spread her legs.
She’d said kisses were a good start. He opened his eyes to find her watching him with a troubled dark blue gaze. Her top teeth snagged her lower lip.
He bent to nip at her mouth until she released that poor tortured lip, then he settled his lips fully upon hers. She made a tiny sound of protest or surprise. He couldn’t tell which.
Don’t let her be afraid of him.
The thought was unbearable. He was on the verge of stopping when he felt an almost imperceptible relaxation, the faintest answer to his tentative kiss.
It was going to be all right. If he was careful. If he kept his head.
Christ, let him keep his head this time.
Slowly, slowly, he buffed his lips back and forth over hers, learning shape and texture and taste. Apart from the kiss, he didn’t touch her. Beneath the undemanding caress, her tension slowly drained away.
From breath to breath, he lived through each minuscule change in her response. He knew he was winning when he drew away slightly and she angled after him to capture his mouth.
The kiss deepened, but not too much. He intended to beguile her into pleasure.
He continued the teasing, soft, tormenting kisses. She lay on her back and he leaned over her. It was almost a game. Or would have been if he wasn’t blind with need. If he wasn’t painfully hard with wanting her.
When her mouth was warm and supple under his, he slid down in the bed. Carefully, he took her in his arms, turning her on her side to face him.
She jerked with sudden nervousness. The rigidity returned to her body. “Matthew, I’m not sure,” she whispered, her breath a sweet drift across his face. “I’m not sure I can go through this again. Even for you.”
Once more he cursed his earlier clumsiness. “I’ll stop if you ask me to.” He hoped to God that was true. He hoped to God she wouldn’t test his promise. Delicious as this slow seduction was, his desire seethed closer to the boil with every second.
He kissed her again. His hand traced the frozen straightness of her spine. He kept his touch unthreatening. Up and down. Up and down. Learning the graceful, slender line of her back. Soothing each tight muscle.
Gradually her stiffness faded, increment by increment. She sighed and moved into his touch. The soft night rail brushed his cock.
His shuddering reaction almost made him yelp.
Easy, Matthew, easy.
He needed to cherish her like his most precious rose. He needed to coax her to bloom, to give up her beauty just for him. Patience would reap its own reward.
She no longer lay taut and unresponsive. Her body had regained its lovely sinuousness. Her breath came in excited little puffs and her breasts pressed, full and luscious, to his bare chest. Only the sheer nightdress separated him from her skin as they lay side by side.
He bit back a pained groan.
Jesus, this was impossible. He was mere inches from shoving her onto her back, ripping the rag from her body, and driving into her.
Control.
Holding himself back was more difficult than learning to walk after his madness, learning to speak, learning to read. This stretched his nerves to breaking. This twisted every sinew into a painful tangle of yearning. This threatened to fry his brain in his skull.
Somehow through the overwhelming need, he kept his kisses light, gentle.
This time when she bumped her belly against his cock, he knew she did it deliberately.
Triumph flashed through him.
Such a small concession. The first of many, he hoped.