“I suppose not,” she murmured, her own voice low and ragged.
From the expression on his face-part grimace, part hungry desire-she concluded that he was as painfully aroused and bereft as she was, and that he had only stopped for her sake.
“We need to find a farm or a village, borrow a carriage to take us home.”
“Yes,” Eleanor agreed halfheartedly. She couldn't bear for him to leave her just now. She didn't want to return home. Instead, she wanted to beg Damon for more of his smoldering kisses, wanted him to ease the relentless ache he had created in her, to assuage the heart-deep longing inside her.
When a shadow descended over them, they both glanced up. The balloon had deflated significantly by now, and yards of heavy silk had settled over the basket, blocking out the sunlight and cocooning them in a private haven.
It seemed to Eleanor as if it were some kind of sign from Providence.
“Damon… can we not stay here a while longer?”
His eyes locked with hers, his gaze smoldering and intent. Her body responded to the possessive, hungry masculinity in his eyes.
A yearning welled up deep inside her, something utterly primitive and poignant and wild. Her chest ached. Her breasts grew heavy, while a hot throbbing kindled low in her belly, between her thighs.
Urged on by her longing, Eleanor lifted her face to brush her lips softly over his, once… twice…
Damon responded just as she hoped; he groaned and covered her mouth again with his.
Their kiss was less fierce this time yet just as impassioned. Their tongues mated, sliding, stroking, dueling in a heated, urgent dance. In turn, Eleanor emitted a revealing whimper that spoke of desire and want and need. Emotion flooded her, the same heady joy she had once known with Damon so long ago. She ached for him feverishly, with a yearning that was too intense to bear.
The ravenous hunger for fulfillment had gone too long unsatisfied, but that would end here and now, Eleanor vowed. Her fingers reaching up to clutch at the dark waves of his hair, she eased away just enough to whisper against his lips.
“Damon… please.” Her plea was hoarse and breathless. “Make love to me.”
He pulled back to gaze solemnly at her, his eyes raptly searching her face.
Eleanor waited with bated breath, but Damon must have found whatever he was looking for in her expression, since a slow, soft smile spread across his lips.
That tantalizing smile warmed her like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud, and so did his reply.
“Yes,” he said at last, his rasping voice ripe with promise.
To be caught in a compromising position is perhaps the surest way to capture a husband-although I would not advise you to attempt employing so drastic a method. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
Eleanor's heart turned over at Damon's answer. She stared into his dark eyes, her body trembling. Time seemed to halt as his tenderness enveloped her.
Helplessly drawn to him, she raised her mouth to his once more. Yet this time his kiss was merely fleeting.
“There is no rush, love,” he murmured in response to her eagerness. “I want your first time to be unforgettably pleasurable.”
A quiet thrill coursed through Eleanor at his avowal. She had little doubt Damon would give her an experience to cherish.
Sitting up, he found the blanket and spread it out to make a soft bed, then made her kneel upon on it, facing him. Taking his time, he reached up to remove her bonnet, then her pelisse. Next he undid the fastenings at the back of her gown and drew down the bodice to expose her undergarments. Making short work of her chemise straps, he slowly stroked down her throat to the swells of her breasts pushed up by her corset. Another tremor ran through Eleanor, and when he freed the peaks to his ardent gaze, a new ache spiraled hot and delicious throughout her body.
Damon was watching the rapid rise and fall of her bare breasts, but then he bent his head. She inhaled a sharp breath as he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking softly. The lush, wet pressure sent a shower of heat rushing to her feminine center.
Her body clamoring for more, Eleanor tried to draw him even closer, yet Damon resisted.
“Slowly, Elle. You are not ready for me yet.”
“Then make me ready,” she urged.
“Gladly.”
Her senses felt feverishly heightened as he lay her back on the blanket. Then raising her skirts above her knees, he lowered his mouth to a bare inner thigh and proceeded to kiss every inch of soft skin he found there. His touch was exquisite, his warm lips caressing, teasing, driving her slightly mad with yearning as he nudged her gown ever higher to her waist, revealing her most feminine secrets.