Kathryn made a soft, breathless sound of pleasure that shot straight into his loins.
"Ah, sweetheart," he murmured, "how beautiful you are."
He bent his head, gently kissed the curve of each breast, closed his mouth around the lace-enclosed flesh until she was moaning with pleasure, until it was no longer enough to imagine the sweetness of her naked flesh against his tongue. But the front closure of the chemise almost defeated him.
She gave a soft, very feminine laugh.
"Wait," she whispered.
Her hands joined his, the lace parted, and her breasts tumbled into his hands. He caressed them, paid them homage with his lips and teeth, and all the while Kathryn was sighing his name in a husky, sweet voice that made the blood pound in his loins.
Go slowly, he told himself, slowly, man. You have waited so long for her... don't spoil it now.
His hands dropped to the abbreviated pantaloons she favored. Like the chemise, they gave him a bit of trouble until he figured out how to undo the row of tiny metal teeth that served as a closure.
But the delay was good. It was what he needed, if he were to retain any sort of control over himself. He wanted to spin these moments out until they were as fine and slender as silk thread, to watch Kathryn's lovely face as he slowly divested her of her clothing, for he knew even as this began that it must end.
This night, and the storm raging between them, were what he would carry with him through all eternity.
At last, she stood before him naked.
And oh, she was so beautiful.
If only he knew the words to tell her exactly how beautiful she was, but he was not a man of poetry, he was a man who had lived his life on the seas. Would she understand if he said that her skin was as silken as the moon reflected on a still ocean? That her hair fell over her shoulders like the waving grasses in the southern seas? That her eyes were stars in a midnight sky and her face and body surely those of the Sirens that had lured the ancient mariners?
In the end, all he could do was whisper her name.
"Kathryn," he said thickly, "my Kathryn..."
He reached out, watching her face as he stroked his fingers lightly, lightly over her nipples, then over her belly to her thighs. When he saw what his touch did to her, it was almost his undoing. He could feel his control slipping, feel the urgency to possess her sweeping through his muscles.
Quickly, he pulled his linen shirt over his head, kicked off his boots and stepped out of his trousers. He saw her eyes widen at the sight of him, hard and swollen and aroused.
He took her hand, brought it to his throbbing flesh, shuddered at her touch.
"Kiss me," she whispered, and he did, lifting her off the ground, his lips parting hers until he could taste her heat. She made those little sounds in the back of her throat, the ones that were driving him crazy, and laced her fingers into his hair.
God, he was drowning in pleasure.
He had wanted her for so long. Not just since he had stumbled into her dreams but since the moment the world had begun, since the planet and the heavens were nothing but whirling bits of matter.
He'd told himself it was not so, that his hunger for her had been fired by his years of celibacy. He'd told himself that what beat in his veins was simply the need of the flesh, that his cock, like any man's, was a divining rod blindly seeking entry wherever it might find it.
He had told himself all that and more but all of it had been lies. He knew it now, as he pressed kisses to Kathryn's face and throat, as he inhaled the scent of her, rain and flowers and all life's treasures. He knew that what he felt for her he had never felt for any woman and would never feel again.
He clasped her face between his hands and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her lips and moving against hers. His need was fierce but he fought to be tender. He was a mass of contradictions altogether. He wanted to ravish Kathryn and to gentle her; to have her vulnerable beneath him and to hold her close in his arms; to ride her until she was sobbing and wild, then soothe her with kisses.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stood her between his legs. He bent his head to her breast and drew the sweet, beaded tip into his mouth.
"Matthew," she whispered. Her voice was high and breathy and filled with desire. He had never heard a sound so sweet.
He drew his hand down along her hip, over her gently rounded belly. His fingers danced along her thigh, Crushed the curls at the junct
ure of her thighs.
"Matthew," she said again, on a harsh, indrawn breath.
He cupped her hips in his hands and kissed his way down to her belly. The scent of her arousal rose to his nostrils and he groaned, for no perfume had ever smelled as exquisite. He palmed her buttocks; he drew her closer and his mouth began to trail lower on her flesh.