She tasted of tart apples and some elusive spice. He heard her whimper as he licked and inwardly smiled. With his shoulders, he kept her thighs wide, wide enough for him to taste her as he wished, slowly, thoroughly.
He knew just how tight he was winding her, knew when to ease back, to lightly lap her swollen flesh until she calmed, knew when it was safe to slide into her honeyed warmth and feast.
The sounds she made were both balm and fiery prod to his ravenous rapacious self, a self only she had ever been able to provoke, but he was determined to prolong the pleasure of their joining, and not just for her.
He wanted to explore her, to discover as many of her secrets as he could, tonight. He didn’t know why, only that he was driven and the goal felt right. In this arena, amidst the satin sheets, instinct ruled, and ruled him absolutely.
With her, with the way she affected him, that was how it would always be. Different. More intense. More vibrantly alive.
With her, he was himself, all of his true self, no elegant mask, no screen veiling his desires.
She writhed in his hold. He kept her there, held her there, on the cusp of delight. He felt the quivering in her thighs, felt the tension that held her.
Knew it was time.
He could almost feel the reins sliding, the leashes falling away as he released her hands, twisted around and stripped off his trousers. Kicking them aside, he turned back to her, then rose to sit back on his ankles. Hands resting on his thighs, he watched her, waited for her lashes to flicker, waited to see the green glitter of her eyes.
When he did, he held out both hands. “Come.”
With his fingers, he beckoned. She stared at him, then struggled up, her tongue skating over her lips. She blinked at him, then swung around, up onto her knees, and gave him her hands. “How?”
He didn’t answer, but drew her nearer.
Her gaze fell to his groin.
He released one of her hands and reached for her hip.
She closed her hand about him.
The jolt nearly stopped his heart. Eyes closing, he groaned, and felt her fingers flutter.
He groaned again and grabbed her wrist. He’d intended to draw her hand away but her fingers closed again.
“Show me how.”
Her grip eased, tightened-he couldn’t form the words much less say them.
“Like this?”
Her sultry voice, deepened by passion, heated by desire, burned through his brain.
He managed to nod, to force his fingers to function and direct hers. He heard her chuckle, then she leaned her head against his chest. The sensation of her hair, the silky mass of curls, tumbling down his bare chest made him shudder. She tightened her fingers again and he bit back a moan.
He showed her more than he’d intended, captured by the feel of her small hand on him, by the curiosity in her touch, the wonder and wantoness behind the deed.
“Enough.” He had to stop her. Now, while he still had some semblance of control.
She let him draw her hand away, then shook off his hand. With a warm chuckle that only increased his pain, she reached for his thighs, grasping just above his knees, then ran her hands slowly upward, nearly to his groin. Her silky locks swung forward and caressed his aching flesh.
The sensation rocked him; he mentally swayed. Before he could reach for her, she leaned on his thighs and pushed away. Supple and light, she rose to her feet. Stepping lightly on the soft bedding, hands trailing his shoulders for balance, she placed her feet on either side of his spread knees, then sank down.
His hands closed about the backs of her thighs and he directed her. Held her to him, her stomach against his chest as she lowered herself against him. He supported her when she reached the point where she had to turn her feet, and change from standing to sinking down on her knees. Straddling him.
She shook her hair back, wrapped her arms about his shoulders
, then set her lips to his. Her inner thighs rode across his hips; her knees hadn’t yet reached the bed. She pressed against him, pressed down, letting her weight take her to him, urging him, still holding her, to guide her the last part of the way.
He did, one question coalescing in his brain even as he took charge of their kiss, took charge of their joining. He set the question aside as her slick swollen flesh met, then engulfed his throbbing erection. He eased into her, reveling in the heat, in the fascinating combination of firmness and softness with which she sheathed him. She was tight, slick, scalding hot. Her weight, and her state of arousal, would have allowed him to fill her with a single sharp thrust. Instead he went slowly, searching… reminding himself she rode daily, albeit sidesaddle…