On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

She sank against him, soft, pliant, urgent — a flagrant invitation.

Between them, he splayed his hand over her upper thigh, tensed to slide his fingers inward, searching—

He stopped. Remembered.

Where they were — what they were supposed to be doing.

Taking things one step further.

Not ten.

He lifted his head, found her lips, and kissed her — took a dark pleasure in ravaging her mouth, taking from her in that way what he would not yet take from her more explicitly.

Yet.

He stifled his groan, his body's protest, with that promise. This was only a temporary state — a tactic in his greater campaign. A campaign he was determined to win without granting her any concessions.

Forcing his hands from their absorption, he gripped her hips and held her to him, stealing a moment to glory in her suppleness, in the evidence of how well she would, when the time came, suit him, taking in the womanly warmth that ultimately, when the time came, would ease his pain.

Sensing him drawing away through their kiss, she broke it herself, lifting her head to look down at him. She frowned. "What's the matter? Why have you stopped?" He debated the wisdom of suggesting that, all things considered, she should be thanking him he had. Lying beneath her, he studied her face, taking in the fact that fate was having a hearty laugh at his expense. She didn't want him to stop — she'd be quite happy if he drew her back down, kissed her swollen cherry red lips, and — It took serious willpower to drag in a breath. "Timing." The flash in her eyes jerked his wits into action. "As in" — he lowered his gaze to the tempting white mounds inches from his face—"we wouldn't want to rush things to such an extent that you were overwhelmed."

Settling one arm across her hips, anchoring her to him, he sent the fingers of his right hand dancing across the edge of her gown, teasing, tantalizing, flirting anew.

She shivered, watching through downcast eyes. "Overwhelmed?"

The frown in her eyes wa

s fading, but hadn't yet disappeared.

Surreptitiously watching her face, he chose his words carefully. "There's so much to experience, so much I could show you, and after the first time, it's never quite the same. Never so… excruciating in its novelty."

The frown remained.

Hooking a finger into her loosened bodice, he drew the fabric down, reexposing one pert nipple. With the pad of his thumb, he circled the aureole, applying just the right degree of pressure.

Her lids fell; she caught a shaky breath. "Oh. I see."

"Hmm. Given our situation, I thought you might prefer to take the long road, see all the sights, visit all the temples along the way" — he caught her gaze—"so to speak."

Huge, ever-so-slightly dazed cornflower blue eyes blinked at him. "Are there a lot of… temples?"

His lips curved spontaneously. "Several. Many are missed because people rush." He shifted his hand to her other breast and repeated the subtle torture, holding her gaze all the while, intensely aware of the ripples of sensual tension he was sending spiraling through her. "We have three weeks yet… it seems only sensible to see all we can. Visit as many temples as we can. As many places of worship."

Her eyes held his. He was aware to his bones of every breath she took, of the rise and fall of the soft flesh beneath his fingers, of the throb of her heartbeat against his chest, and that deeper throb between her thighs, in the heated spot above his abdomen.

Her lashes fluttered down and she sighed. On the exhalation she went all but boneless, sinking against him, all resistance flown. Her hips shifted, the inner faces of her thighs quite deliberately caressing him.

He managed not to react, but one part of his anatomy was beyond his control. She peeked at his face, ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. "I would have thought you'd be more urgent."

He managed not to grit his teeth. "It's a matter of control."

"Well, you're the expert, I suppose…"

He couldn't manage any reply. She glanced down, and he realized his thumb had seized — he set it sliding again, around and around.

"Is there really that much more to savor?"

"Yes." Not a lie. His gaze had fixed once more on one tightly niched nipple; it was an effort to draw enough breath to sigh. "But we've run out of time today."