Her eyes locked with his. She placed one hand on his thigh, steadying herself as she slowly wrapped her other hand about his erection.
His lungs locked. He felt his jaw set, clench, sensed the heat rise within him as she tightened her grip, then looked down. And swept her thumb slowly over, then around the sensitive head.
He closed his eyes on a smothered groan, let his head fall back, felt his chest seize as she boldly caressed. Clenching his fists, he felt his senses reel, reminded himself that this was her choice—her wish, her want, the gift she’d chosen to claim.
The thought made his head swim, fragmented what little rational thought remained.
He sensed her lean nearer, felt the sweep of her silken hair against his naked skin, over his thighs, his groin. The wash of her breath over the head of his erection made his lungs tighten, the touch of her lips made him shudder.
Then she took him into her mouth, into slick heat, into scalding wetness, and he lost touch with the world, was swept into some other where time was suspended and sensation ruled, and there was no reality to which to cling.
Only this—the slow, long-drawn torture. Only her and her wishes, her caresses, her ministrations.
His head reeled; he felt giddy, enough to sink his hands in her rippling mane and anchor…himself and her. Holding her to him, reveling in the slow, steady suction of her mouth, the different pressure of her lips as she experimented. The lighter touch of her fingers on his sack as she played.
And searched for the ways to pleasure him.
Found them, used them. Lavished pleasure and more upon him.
That last slowly penetrated the fog of sensation wreathing his mind. She was pleasuring him…but he’d intended this night to be for her.
The inexorable rise of the tide she was increasingly expertly evoking, the inevitable that loomed nearer with every harsh breath, shook him to panicked awareness. “Enough.” His voice was weak, hoarse; he had no idea if she understood.
Forcing his hands from her skull, he reached for her chin, easing her mouth open, getting her to release him.
She did, then rocked back on her heels. Both hands on his thighs, she looked up into his face. “Didn’t you like it?”
Her voice was a sultry siren’s, reaching through the night.
He stared down at her face, confirmed she was in earnest. “Too much.”
The growled words seemed to satisfy; her madonna’s smile reappeared.
“Come here.” He reached for her shoulders. “It’s your birthday—it’s you—your senses—I should be delighting.”
She allowed him to draw her up, but her smile had deepened. Her chuckle as she let him draw her into his arms was beyond erotic. “Oh, you are.”
He wasn’t up to deciphering what she meant; taking a firm hold on his will, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. Took her mouth in a long-drawn engagement, a claiming undisguised, a campaign of conquest that had only one possible end.
She allowed it—more, she encouraged him, her hands gripping, urgency building, yet still held at bay.
He waltzed her, still adhering to that slow, compulsive beat, into the familiar landscape of their passions, heightened, made broader, more intense, more vivid by their mutual refusal to rush, their determination to dally until every possible sensation had been wrung from each stage.
She let him tug the sash of her robe free, let him slide the garment from her shoulders and strip away her chemise, on a gasp rode out the keen edge of sensual shock when their bodies finally met, heated skin to skin, long limbs pressing, hands seeking, gripping, arms banding. Her surrender still hovered on her lips when he covered them anew, when he drank in the passion surging through her.
He gorged on it, on the feel of her naked in his arms, so responsive, so ardent—and all his.
His to pleasure, now and forever; his to lavish all his expertise upon. She was the reason for his past; she was his future.
His hands spread, caressed, boldly possessed; trapped within his embrace, she fed him her delight, the elixir of the pleasure he gave her, and flagrantly urged him on.
Until he lifted her and tumbled them both onto her bed, where the pillows lay plumped and waiting, where the covers were drawn down the better for them to give passion and pleasure free rein.
They jostled, and she laughed, the sound one of sheer delight. He heard it, felt it kick beneath his heart. A shaft of pleasure finding its mark.
He rolled to put her beneath him, but she attacked him; his lips curved under hers as she tried to bear him back. For long moments they wrestled, no quarter yielded, no thought given to the inevitable effects of their bodies tangling, pressing, sliding, nudging…until abruptly they reached that fraught point where passion and desire were honed to an edge, and culmination could no longer be denied.
They both knew it, felt it, sensed it; both stilled.