The Lover

He kissed her fleetingly, a delicate brush of warm lips that left her stunned and wanting.

“Come, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Come.”

Then he took her hand and led her to the bed.

Sabrina’s heart beat erratically. After enduring so many nights of erotic dreams and suppressed desires, she was about to discover precisely what the poets and dreamers glorified, but that women rarely enjoyed and often feared.

Hesitating, she glanced up at Niall. His face was so beautiful, its chiseled planes dark and absorbed. “I don’t know what to do….”

He smiled. “Then I’ll show you.”

He stood behind her while his arms glided around her waist, and unfastened the hooks of her dressing gown. She felt the silk shimmer over her skin as the garment dropped to the floor, felt his naked warmth at her back.

His teeth grazed her ear, making her shiver. “Lie on the bed, love, facedown.”

His hands gently prodded her, but she needed no urging to climb onto the huge bed, her knees trembled so. Willingly she moved to the middle, leaving him a wide berth.

The mattress sank beneath his weight. Rigid, Sabrina waited, beset by tumultuous feelings. When she felt him lean over her, she pressed her face into the pillows.

His hand ran lightly over her arm, his touch lingering and provocative. He seemed aware of her fear, of her hot, flushed skin and acutely sensitive nerves.

“Do you know what happens between a man and woman when they make love?” he asked softly as he began lazily stroking her spine.

“I…think I am to sit on your…lap.”

“That is one way, though not the most customary.”

“It seems to be your position of choice the times I have interrupted you.”

“True, tiger.” Warm laughter spiced his voice. “But you are not ready for that just yet. The usual way is breast to breast. You lie on your back and I ease myself between your thighs. I will show you how, sweeting. And you will see it is the most sublime experience in the world.”

Dry-mouthed, light-headed, Sabrina lay acquiescent. “I thought…only men enjoyed the…the act.”

“Who told you that?”

“My cousin. She…her husband…”

“Your cousin is to be pitied, then. A considerate lover doesn’t seek only his own release.”

“Release?”

“You will see.”

Sabrina’s brow furrowed at the novel idea that her cousin Frances was to be pitied. Was it possible that her feckless suitor Oliver was not so considerate a lover?

“I am going to please you, Sabrina.” Niall’s husky murmur made her forget any thought of her past pain. He caressed her spine, his roving hand lingering, as if savoring the feel of her skin. “You are so lovely…I want to learn every sweet inch of you….”

His hand glided lower…over her back…along the rise of her buttock…the slender length of her thigh…all the way down her leg to the curve of her ankle. Sabrina arched her back a little at the delicate warmth inundating her senses.

To her surprise, he shifted his body, bending to kiss the lower part of her calf. His lips moved in a light murmur over her skin, tracing the reverse path his palm had made. His silky black hair fell forward to brush her skin, heightening the sensation.

How expert he was, she thought dazedly. Every caress justified his reputation for finesse and more.

Her breath caught like warm liquid in her lungs when his mouth found the back of her knee. She had never before realized how incredibly sensitive that particular spot was.

His exploration continued, slow and ruthlessly thorough, rousing an exquisite languor that stole through her limbs. In some dazed corner of her mind, Sabrina realized he was winning…melting her resistance, destroying any will to fight.

“Niall…” she whispered his name in protest.