Wildstar

In frustration, Jess dropped her arms. At a loss as to where her hands should go, she clenched them at her sides while he had his way. He took his time, his hands slowly, languorously learning her body . . . the lush breasts, the slender waist, the curvaceous hips, the long legs . . . the delicious stretches of silken skin in between.

"Devlin . . . you're tormenting me."

"That's the whole idea."

"I want to do it to you, too."

"Be my guest."

She hesitated, not knowing how to begin. "You have all your clothes on," she said finally.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Her body throbbing, she sat up slowly. "I guess take them off?"

Rising to her knees, she leaned over him and tugged at his garments, undressing him by feel, first his vest, then his shirt. She paused when it came to his trousers, though. "Want me to do the rest?"

Her cheeks flushed. It was absurd to suddenly feel so shy, but she was. She was grateful that Devlin seemed to sense her uncertainty. "Yes, please."

She heard him move then. Heard his boots drop to the rock floor one by one. The soft rustle of socks and trousers and long Johns as they left his body. Another rustle as he stretched out again on the makeshift bed. She knew he was waiting.

"Jess, you don't have to do this," he said tenderly. "But I want to."

She reached out blindly, finding his shoulder with her trembling hand. His skin was warm, almost hot to the touch. Tentatively, she explored its smooth satiny texture, feeling the curve of bone and sinewy muscle beneath. Gathering courage, she moved slowly on to the bramble of dark hair on his chest. His masculine body was so differ­ent from hers, harder, rougher . . . fascinating.

"I wish I could see you," she said in frustration.

"See me with your hands."

Emboldened, Jess moved her hands lower, to the hard, flat planes of his abdomen. He tightened; she could feel the muscles of his stomach bunching beneath her palm. His reaction gave her a totally unexpected taste of femi­nine power. It was a heady feeling to know she could af­fect him with a mere touch.

She skipped a certain part of him and advanced to his legs next. His powerful horseman's thighs were corded with well-honed muscle and dusted with hair. She stopped there, not having the nerve to go on.

She was almost grateful for the hand that reached out to capture hers and gently guide her to the hard, pulsing length of him. Shock and excitement flooded her at the forbidden contact. His masculinity was thick and heavy with arousal. She trembled at the enormous size of him.

Then she felt him shudder against her.

"Did I hurt you?" Jess asked, her voice soft with alarm. She tried to pull away, but Devlin held her palm pressed against him.

"You didn't hurt me in the least, love. It feels exquis­ite."

Jess frowned doubtfully. "You're so large."

Devlin caught his breath on a gasp of laughter. "Some women would say that's good." "

Why?"

"Because I can fill you better when I'm inside you."

Inside her? Just the thought of having that swollen rigid length inside her body set an ache throbbing in the femi­nine recess between her thighs. "I don't see how you can fit."

Again the choked laughter. "I will."

Timorously she traced the unfamiliar length, touching him, discovering him—the hard shaft that felt like hot satin over steel, the swollen sacs that fit in her hand like warm plums. With growing confidence, she learned the shape and texture and contours of his powerful, sleek body, while he encouraged her exploration in a rough-velvet voice that could woo a woman's heart from her breast.

Finally she drew her hand back and gave a short, em­barrassed laugh. "I'm not very good at this."

"That's debatable," Devlin said in a raw voice. "But I'm glad you don't have much experience."