Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMMA KNEW SHE WAS IN trouble as soon as he claimed her lips in a kiss that seared her to the tips of her toes. She was aware of being lowered to the cushions, and the pleasant sensation of his hard body pressed to her softer curves. More distantly, she could feel the friction of the wool gown as it was pulled slowly, yet relentlessly down her body. But the fear that should have had her shoving him away was overwhelmed by the excitement that jolted through her.

Clutching at his shoulders, she quivered as his tongue traced the seam of her lips, silently encouraging them to part. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, shocked as he dipped his tongue between her lips. He tasted of cognac and danger, a heady combination that made her heart race.

Over and over he plundered her willing lips, his tongue tangling with hers in a beautiful dance.

She heard him groan, his hands expertly loosening her curls and gently spreading them across the cushions beneath her. His touch was tender, but she sensed the fierce hunger under the surface. It was etched in the taut muscles beneath her hands and the harsh rasp of his breath.

She shifted beneath him, her fingers biting into his shoulders. What was the odd restlessness that was plaguing her? The sense that her body was seeking a fulfillment that only Dimitri could offer?

“So sweet,” he murmured, his lips drifting down the line of her jaw.

She instinctively tilted back her head, offering her throat to his skillful kisses.

“This is insanity,” she muttered.

“Delectable madness,” he readily agreed, his hands lowering to cup the soft swell of her breasts.

Emma shuddered in shocked pleasure, realizing her gown had been tugged down to her waist, revealing the plain shift she wore beneath. She could feel the heat of his hand branding through the thin material and when he bent his head to cover a straining nipple with his mouth, she nearly screamed. Dear Lord. The feel of the damp linen and the rough stroke of his tongue grazing her sensitive nipple were sending tiny darts of bliss through her.

She had never suspected a man’s touch could offer such exquisite pleasure. Or that her body would respond with an aching need that overrode the whispers of alarm in the back of her mind.

“Dimitri?”

“Yes, moya dusha,” he softly assured her, his lips continuing to torment her breasts as his hands slid beneath her, subtly tugging her heavy skirt upward. “Allow me to please you.”

She trembled at the heady sensations that swirled through her. She felt as giddy as if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne.

A moan was wrenched from her throat as Dimitri’s slender fingers delved beneath her skirt to stroke up the back of her legs. Lightly, he traced the top edge of her stockings, making her lower stomach clench with a sharp pang of need.

Oh, this was…astonishing.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she instinctively allowed her legs to part. She could feel the hard thrust of his arousal against her hip and hear his fractured breathing as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, but nothing mattered apart from those clever fingers.

Allowing her hands to tangle in the thick satin of his hair, she unconsciously arched her back, seeking relief from the tension coiling deep inside.

There had to be something…

“Please, Dimitri,” she choked, not certain what she needed, but sensing he would understand.

As if capable of reading her mind, Dimitri brushed his fingers upward, seeking her damp cleft. At the same moment, he shifted to cover her mouth in a kiss that smothered her shocked scream of exhilaration.

Oh, yes, he understood perfectly.

Forgetting the necessity of breathing, Emma became lost in Dimitri’s touch. With obvious experience he stroked his fingers through her moist heat, discovering a small spot that seemed to be the center of her pleasure.

Relentlessly, he continued his intimate caresses, his kisses becoming more demanding as her body tightened with a tension that was near painful. Her hands gripped his hair, her hips lifting of their own volition to meet his steady strokes.

She was straining toward an elusive peak, shivering as if she were in the throes of a fever. And then, just when she was certain she could bear no more, the pressure exploded, shattering through her with stunning force.

Dazed by the unfamiliar sensations, Emma lay shuddering beneath Dimitri, distantly aware of the soothing words he whispered in her ear.

How often had she assured herself that she was missing nothing by keeping men at arm’s length? That she was content to remain a virginal spinster?

Only now did she realize just how bleak and lonely the endless nights were destined to be.

She shivered, her hands shifting to press against his chest with a sense of urgency.