Wildstar

"Flo told me . . . what's supposed to happen. I know there's more to it than what we just did, no matter how wonderful it was."

Devlin silently cursed Florence O'Malley; Jess silently blessed her. Because of Flo, at least she wasn't totally ig­norant about men.

Her hand slid up from Devlin's shoulder and curled around the back of his neck. "Show me the rest," Jess whispered, drawing his head down to hers.

His kiss was slow, reluctant, as he tried to maintain some semblance of control, tried to remind himself that he had no right to do this. But her mouth was so soft and in­viting. Her body so pliable. His mouth lingered and melted into hers, making Jess arch toward him.

His breath was harsh and uneven when he forced him­self to draw away. "You're making it damn hard for me to be noble, angel."

"I don't want you to be noble. . . . I just want you to make love to me all the way. Are you supposed to keep all your clothes on?" Finding the lapel of his vest in the dark, she pushed it down over one shoulder.

"Confound it, Jess." Devlin grabbed her hand and held it tight as he raised himself up on one elbow. "You're de­termined to go through with this, aren't you?"

"Yes."

The word was soft, husky, unshakable.

Remembering how impossible it was to withstand Jess's determination when she'd made up her mind, Devlin clenched his jaw. He shouldn't listen to her. He had to be wise for the both of them.

And yet the thought of making her sexually respon-sive, of awakening all the exquisite, undiscovered passion in that lovely body was a hungry ache inside him, sharp and cutting.

His willpower fading, he let her draw his head down again, let her brush her pleading lips against his, let her beg him.

"I'm scared, Devlin," she whispered. "If we're going to die, I don't want to think about it. Help me forget. . . ."

All his fierce resolve melted. All his good intentions fled. This might be their last night on earth. He couldn't pass up not knowing what it was like to make love to this woman. He might be damned, but he couldn't do it.

His shaking fingers reached for her hairpins. He was a man who liked his woman's hair down, falling loose and free, and Jess's hair was magnificent. He didn't need the light to picture the glorious tawny mass. His fingers tan­gled in the silken tresses, a sensual experience that filled him with delight.

Then he reached for the buttons that ran down the front of her bodice. When she would have helped him, he bent to taste her lips briefly. "No, sweet. . . this is my pleasure. Just lie still and let me enjoy it. I intend to take my time."

Jess obeyed, trying to relax. Slowly, expertly, he began to remove the many layers of clothing that covered her lush body . . . the jacket-bodice of her gown . . . the over-skirt, gathered and looped up at the rear . . . the muslin waist . . . the underskirt . . . the wire-and-horsehair bustle that tied at her waist with tapes . . . the two petticoats . . . the camisole . . . the corset.

By the time he loosened the laces of her corset, Jess was stirring restlessly. "Devlin, do you have to go so slow?"

"Absolutely. It's called anticipation, Jess. It's half the pleasure."

"I want the other half."

Devlin gave a husky chuckle as he released her breasts from their tight confinement. "Don't be so impatient."

How could she not be impatient when he was driving her mad? She wanted him to hurry . . . she wanted him.

But she couldn't have him, not yet. He was determined to draw this out, to build the tension inside her to a fever pitch. She had asked him to make her forget her fear, and he meant to grant her wish. If this was their last night on earth, it would be beautiful. . . .

Disposing of the corset, he drew her chemise over her head. Jess gave a breathless murmur. The cool air felt in­credibly arousing to her bare breasts. Then Devlin bent la­zily to touch his lips to a throbbing nipple and Jess gasped.

"Luscious," he murmured with satisfaction. Deliber­ately, he licked a lean forefinger and languidly drew a wet teasing circle around each tight crest. Jess couldn't stifle a keening whimper.

She thought he would at least linger over her breasts, but his hands moved down to her legs, laboring over the myriad buttons on her high-topped shoes, drawing off her garters, and peeling down her stockings. Finally all that was left was her drawers.

He untied the drawstring slowly, provocatively. Jess held her breath. She didn't dare release it as he tugged the garment slowly over her hips and down her legs. She lay there tautly, naked in the darkness, her heart pounding. It was so decadent, so wanton, lying there with no clothes on when he was fully dressed.

Then he touched her, his hand moving in a lazy caress down her body.

"I've dreamed of this," Devlin said reverently, and Jess believed him. She had dreamed of this, too. She was still dreaming. She reached for him—

"No, lie still," he ordered. "I haven't even started."