A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

Gasping, Amelia turned her head away, the reaction to those whispered words hitting her with stunning force. She had never thought to hear those words again, not from the lips of a lover. Tears welled, burning her eyes.

“Open your legs,” he urged, kissing her throat. “Allow me to pleasure you.”

She began to quiver, the assault to both her senses and her heart rattling her to the core. “Reynaldo . . .”

“No.” He came over her then, kissing her hard. “Call me anything but that. Lover or darling—”

“. . . sweetheart . . .”

“Yes . . .” His tongue thrust deep, caressing hers, making her moan into his mouth. “Open,” he said ardently. “Let me see you . . . touch you . . .”

Unable to deny him when he spoke with such passion, Amelia spread her legs and then arched upward as he stroked against the tender, throbbing point that begged for his attention.

“Oh!”

Montoya’s kisses became more luxurious as he continued to fondle her with devastating skill. His callused fingertips rubbed her slick, aching sex in time to the rhythmic plunges of his tongue.

Awash in pleasure, yet struggling against the building tension that strained her body, she writhed and clutched at him. Beneath her grip his forearm muscles flexed with his movements, increasing her erotic awareness of how intimately he touched her.

Then one finger dipped lower, circling the clenching opening to her sex.

“How slick you are,” he breathed reverently. “How greedily you suck at my fingertip.” To prove his point, he pushed in the tiniest bit. Amelia cried out as her body spasmed around the gentle invasion.

“Dear God, you are so tight and hot,” he praised gruffly. “You will kill me when I push inside you.”

Amelia reached for his cock, wondering how she would accommodate him. He was so thick and hard. Her untried body was burning from the press of one finger.

Montoya groaned when she wrapped her hand around him. He was slick, too. With need and desire for her.

“You are ready to come,” he said. “Feel how hard your clitoris is?” The pad of his thumb pressed lightly against the swollen protrusion and circled. In response, her body tightened around the single finger slowly easing into it.

She whimpered as he stepped up the pace, his finger thrusting in and out, deeper and deeper. His expert manipulation of her clitoris caused her skin to dampen with sweat and her breasts to ache. Desperate mewling poured from her throat, and she clung to him, trying to bring him closer.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, his lips to her ear. “Tell me how to please you.”

“My nipples . . .”

“They are beautiful. Puckered so wantonly. Eager to be sucked.”

“Yes!” Amelia arched upward in blatant invitation.

“Say it, my love.” His finger pushed deeper and touched her maidenhead. “Say what you want.”

“I want . . .”

“Yes?” He continued to rub inside her.

“I want your mouth on my breasts.”

“Umm . . . with pleasure,” he purred.

She gasped when he obliged, the burning heat searing her tender flesh. Tension gripped her limbs, tightening with every tug of his lips, every thrust of his finger, every circle of his thumb.

The climax stole her breath when it hit. Her body went rigid, her heart slammed against her ribs, her blood rushed through her ears.

And deep inside her, at the extremity of her orgasm, Montoya broke through the barrier between them. Amidst the onslaught of sensation, the loss of her virginity was barely noticed, and the tear that leaked from the corner of her eye was not from pain, but pleasure so intense she could hardly bear it.

As awareness returned after the rush, she heard his hoarsely voiced endearments and praise. Her first thought was of how grateful she was to share the sexual act with a man who felt such passion for her and inspired a returning desire for him. What might have been an act of duty was instead a joy.

There were a hundred emotions warring for dominance within her, all struggling to be freed through words. But her throat was too tight to release them.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her breast.

Colin listened to the sound of Amelia’s heart slowing and knew he had never loved her more. She was a goddess in her passion, a creature of lust and longing, her beautiful body flushed and glistening. Earthy. Wild and hot, as she had longed to be. Built for sex.

With him.

No other man could unlock her. She said she felt nothing when he was gone. She felt alive when he was near. Warm and soft, wet and willing. Eager to be touched.

“That was”—she gave a soft, breathy sigh—“wonderful.”

He rubbed his face against her breast and laughed, his heart filled with joy. He, too, felt reawakened after being dormant too long. She had pursued him, needing his desire to set free her own.

“Your whiskers burn,” she complained, pushing at his head.

The image in his mind of such an obvious sexual mark on her made his cock throb in frustrated protest at its deprivation.

But the fantasy he had nurtured over the years was not of his own gratification. He wanted hers, needed it. Before the night was over he would bind her to him with pleasure, enslave her with desire, teach her all the many facets of sexual culmination. Her love was the ultimate prize, but her lust was vital, too.

“Can I burn you in other places?” he asked, lifting his head.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. Colin took over the task, licking across the plump curve with the very tip of his tongue. It was an enticement, an intimation, a hint.

From the way her breath caught, she comprehended his intent. “You jest.”

“Never. I want to taste you, Amelia. On the outside and on the inside.”

He could almost hear her brain working. Considering.

“I find it easier to conceive of my tasting you in that fashion,” she said slowly, “more so than I can the reverse.”

His arms shook at the thought, and he rolled to his back to avoid collapsing atop her.

“You would like that,” she mused aloud, noting his reaction. “Does a woman’s mouth feel so different from her quim?”

“I love that you are inquisitive. I pray you will always be.”

“One day I should like to teach you something.”

“Siren. You already have me bewitched. Must you reduce me further?”

Her hand brushed lightly across the ridges of his abdomen and circled his upthrust cock. He exhaled harshly as she sat up and turned to face him. Reaching out, he caught her shoulder and stayed her. Despite her inability to see, she turned her head toward him. Her free hand reached for the fichu.

“Not yet,” he said.

“I am ready now.”

“I am not.”

She seemed prepared to protest, then changed her mind. Instead, she stroked gently up the length of his shaft. He grit his teeth and fisted the counterpane.

“I want to do to you,” she murmured, “what you did to me.”

“You know men are less fastidious than women when we reach orgasm.”

“But the sensation is the same, is it not?”

He smiled. “I would imagine so.”

Amelia sat up and tucked her legs beneath her. With two hands, she fondled him, squeezing and caressing. The sensation originated at his cock, burned up his spine, and seared his heart. There was reverence in her touch. Awe.

The edge of a nail traced the line of a vein, and he groaned, a low, pained sound.

“Tell me what you like,” she breathed. “Tell me how to please you best.”

“You already please me best.” Colin caressed the elegant curve of her spine.