The Edge of Desire (Bastion Club 7)

He knew well enough not to try to overwhelm her, but kissed her gently, waited for her response before coaxing her into more. She kissed him back, tentatively at first, as if she hadn’t yet made up her mind to allow him into her bed—even though they both knew she had.

Although he hadn’t seen them, he tasted tears on her lips. On her tongue when he parted her lips and surged inside. He gathered her closer and deepened the kiss, let her feel all she did to him, and all he did to her.

Let her sense how much she meant to him.

No screens. No veils. No reservations.

The time for those was past.

She was, as always, liquid fire in his arms, but this time the fire was contained. The flames licked, tantalizing, tempting, but the fire was banked, controlled. She didn’t burn and sear him, didn’t try to set him afire as she usually did, didn’t fight for supremacy—for the reins—but held back, hung back, and left it to him to stoke their blaze.

So he let their passions rise, but slowly, tiny step by step, so there was no raging inferno to sweep them both away. So that they stepped hand in hand into desire, then let desire unfurl into full-blown passion.

Let passion escalate degree by degree…until it blossomed into need.

Letitia let him persuade her. For once let him lead her down the familiar path rather than rush ahead, so that for once he had to coax, rather than restrain.

She let him kiss her until her senses were reeling, let him fill her

mouth and make her yearn.

Let him seduce her.

Not because she’d forgiven him.

Not because she’d made any decision about him, but because she felt she was owed this.

That for all the long years—the lonely, deadening years—that for all her long ago heartbreak, she deserved recompense—a recognition of the sacrifice she’d had forced on her, by circumstance and him, all those years ago.

So she gave him her mouth and let him claim her, surrendered her body and let him caress her—let him trace her curves, with his too-knowing fingers circle, tweak, press, knead, until she grew breathless, restless and needy.

Let him make love to her.

Let him strip away her gown, her petticoats; with a sigh, she felt her chemise drift away. Felt the coolness of the night air on her skin—a long-ago pleasure she’d all but forgotten—the sensation heightened, gently at first, later excruciatingly, by the heated touch of his hands, followed by the hot brand of his mouth on her throat, traveling slowly on to her breasts, then later still laying a fiery path over her stomach to ultimately taste the soft flesh between her thighs.

Gasping, senses reeling, her skin flushed and damp, she let him, on his knees, hold her before him, his hard hands gripping her bottom, supporting her while, his soft hair tangling with her curls, he worshipped her with his lips, his mouth, his tongue, let him use his expertise to ensnare her completely, then let him drive her up, up and over the shining peak.

Glory broke like the sun over her; heat and pleasure fragmented, washing through her veins as molten delight.

Her legs buckled. She gasped; helpless, she gripped his shoulders. Shuddered as, her senses returning, she grew acutely aware of passion’s lash as at her core he supped, licked. Savored.

She didn’t have strength left to stop him, to do more than gasp as he spun the pleasure out. Eyes closed, she let her head loll back, and with a soft moan let delight sweep through her.

Let the intimacy of his possession sink into her.

At last he drew back; he looked up at her, then in one fluid movement stood and swung her up into his arms.

He carried her to her bed, flung back the covers, then laid her on the cool sheets.

She was restless, but didn’t want to show it. Didn’t want him to know how much she physically craved him. Forcing herself to lie still, through the dimness she watched as he stripped off his shirt and trousers. Naked, he stood by the bed, bathed in faint moonlight; silver gilded the heavy planes of his shoulders, etched the hard lines of his face. He studied her as she studied him, then he stepped closer and climbed onto the mattress.

It gave under his weight. Fully aroused, he came to her, let himself down on her and covered her. Reached down, caught her thighs and spread them wide. Settled his hips between, the blunt head of his erection at her entrance, then, his shadowed gaze locked on her face, with one long, controlled, unrelenting thrust, he joined them.

She smothered a gasp, couldn’t stop her body from arching in delicious reaction. His size still felt new to her, something she might once have known but had yet to grow accustomed to again. Yet to reach the stage where his penetration didn’t impinge overwhelmingly on her senses.

Lips lightly—irrepressibly—curving, she let her lids fall, let her body respond as he withdrew and thrust again, deeper still, then he settled into a slow, steady rhythm—a long, slow ride into paradise.

Opening her other senses, she let herself enjoy all she’d missed—his large, hard body, the wide acres of his chest, the heavy muscles banding it, the faint but excruciating abrasion of the crinkly hair that adorned his chest as it rasped her tightly furled nipples. Beneath him, pinned to the soft bed by his much greater weight, she quietly gloried in the indescribable delight of gripping his tight buttocks and feeling him driving into her, feeling the long, heavy weight of his erection thrusting and retreating deep inside her.