A fever that only heightened as an overwhelming wave of fire began building inside her.
In desperation, Eleanor loosened her grasp on his hair and clutched at his shoulders, anchoring herself against his sinewed body. But her growing frenzy only drove Damon to increase his efforts.
He stroked her harder, more urgently, evoking a hunger in her she couldn't believe possible. She had never felt such intense sensations, such uncontrollable desire-
Then suddenly, she burst into flame-a fiery eruption that sent shuddering shocks of pleasure through every single part of her body.
When she let out a wild cry, though, his kiss deepened to drown out the ragged sounds she made.
The incredible bliss faded eventually. Stunned, Eleanor lay there a long moment, her breathing harsh and rapid. Finally she opened her eyes to stare up at Damon.
He was smiling faintly at her dazed expression, his gaze lingering on her flushed face.
Eleanor licked her dry lips and tried to find her voice. “So that is what all the fuss is about,” she uttered in a thready rasp. “I never realized…”
“Realized what, love?”
“That lovemaking could be so… amazing.”
Tenderly he bent to kiss her forehead. “Yes, it can be amazing. Although there is much more I have yet to show you.”
As if to match deeds to words, Damon eased himself between her spread thighs and covered her body with his. When their hips met, Eleanor could feel the hardness and detail of him beneath his satin breeches.
He let his weight sink lower, fitting her more fluidly against his rigid arousal…
But then suddenly he stopped.
Quite unexpectedly, it was Damon himself who ended his seduction, to her startlement and dismay and relief.
He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain, and his voice was hoarse when he whispered, “I would like nothing more than to spend the night making passionate love to you, Elle, but it wouldn't be honorable.”
“No,” she agreed, her own voice ragged. “We cannot make love, Damon. You know I am saving myself for marriage.”
A sense of loss filled her when he took her at her word. Shifting again, he rolled to one side. Yet he did not go far.
Instead, he supported his weight on one elbow and gazed down at her. “That is a problem that can be remedied,” he said slowly.
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
He hesitated a long moment before finally answering. “I think you should marry me, Elle, not your precious prince.”
Never let him think that a marriage shackle is your chief aim, else you may frighten him into fleeing in the opposite direction! -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
For the space of a several heartbeats, Eleanor lay there without moving, certain she had misheard Damon.
“You are jesting, of course,” she finally said in a high, uneven voice.
“On the contrary. I am quite serious. I think you should marry me, Elle.”
For the second time that night Eleanor sprang from her bed. Whirling to face Damon, she stared at him, first in stunned disbelief, then in narrow-eyed sus picion as she wondered what machinations he was plotting this tim
e.
“What game are you playing, Damon?” she demanded in a warning tone.
“It is no game, I assure you.”
Highly distrustful, Eleanor remained standing there, trying to gauge his purpose-until she realized that his gaze had dropped from her face to her brazenly exposed breasts.