His eyes gleamed. “Allow me to show you how it is properly done…”
His hands closing on her shoulders, Damon laid Eleanor back so that she was sprawled on the bed with her lower legs still draped over his thigh.
Caught by the mesmerizing intensity of his gaze, her pulse beating wildly in her throat, Eleanor held her breath as he slowly bent down to her and bestowed a probing kiss against her lips. When his tongue slid inside her mouth in a slow and thorough invasion, she very nearly moaned.
Breaking off eventually, Damon lifted his head enough that he could see her face.
“Just as I said… sparks,” he murmured, his voice decidedly more husky.
She felt them, too… the embers exploding wildly inside her.
Then he stopped speaking altogether and bent his head again to resume his delectable attentions.
It was sheer madness to respond, Eleanor knew, yet she opened to him fully. How could she resist the aching need he aroused in her? How could she fight the dizzying rush she only knew with Damon? He was kissing her into submission, succeeding with each caress of his warm mouth, inciting all her yearnings all over again.
This was every woman's fantasy, being kissed so passionately by a lover, with such devastating thoroughness. And being kissed by Damon was her own personal heaven. His lips stroked hers, playing, seducing, enticing as his tongue danced in her mouth.
When he shifted their positions on the bed and pulled her closer against his body, she could feel him-his power and strength, the sinewed length of his legs, the breadth of his chest, the hardness of him-and she had to fight the urge to melt into a liquid puddle. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, while a sweet, foreign ache blossomed between her thighs.
Then Damon deepened the pressure, kissing her as if he was determined to know every secret she held. Her pulse throbbed even harder at the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him.
At the same time, he reached between their bodies and curved his long fingers over her breast, sending sensation streaking through her.
Eleanor inhaled a sharp breath and pulled back from his magical kiss. His hand was warm and possessive on her breast, and she grasped his wrist in order to stay him.
“Damon, that is far enough,” she said unevenly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is it? You like having me touch you, Elle.”
“No, I do not.”
“Then why can I see the points of your nipples through the lawn of your nightdress? Methinks your body is betraying you, darling.”
She glanced down at herself. In the spill of lamplight pouring across the bed, her nipples were clearly, visibly aroused. A flush of heat rose in her cheeks. “You shouldn't be seeing me in my nightdress.”
His mouth curved at one corner. “I would rather see you wearing nothing at all.”
He reached for the small buttons on the front of her bodice and undid them one by one. Eleanor deplored her excitement at his brazenness, yet she couldn't make herself stop him. Not even when he moved his hand to the neckline. It was rash, it was reckless, it was thrilli
ng, to have Damon free her breasts to his heated gaze.
His dark eyes caressed the pale swells as his fingers captured one pouting crest, teasing the furled bud with expert skill. Her eyelids drifted shut as a low moan escaped her… which only seemed to encourage him. He stroked and fondled her until she was aching. Yet apparently, that was not enough for him.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp as he bent down to her.
Eleanor made a last valiant effort to regain control of her dazed senses. “To taste me?”
His soft breath whispered against her skin. “I am hungry for you, Elle. I'll wager nothing tastes as good as you do.”
She pressed her palms against his shoulders to hold him away. “I cannot credit that, since you have a highly skilled chef.”
Damon left off his seductive ministrations to glance up at her. “How do you know what kind of chef I have?”
“Gossip.”
“You listen to the wags gossip about me?”
Avidly, Eleanor thought to herself. “I can scarcely help hearing when all London has been talking about you.”