ie.
When she went to her knees, bent her head, and took him into her mouth, he was sure he would.
The thunder of his heart filled his ears as she ministered to his wildest fancy. He'd never let her before, not as she was, not in this position — he'd thought he hadn't even given her the idea — dimly wondered how she'd guessed.
Instinct seemed a dangerous, possibly threatening, conclusion. Especially when she angled her head and took him deep, and his fingers spasmed on her skull in reaction. He felt, rather than heard, her soft, victorious exhalation when next she paused for breath.
Before he could react her hands and mouth recaptured him — his awareness, his senses. She held him captive, tortured him lovingly, pressed ever more flagrantly evocative caresses on him.
Chest laboring, he opened his lids enough to look down through the screen of his lashes, enough to watch her, bathed in moonlight, the skirts of her robe a shimmering pool in which she knelt, her golden curls softly lustrous, shifting against him as she loved him.
He'd taught her how; she'd learned well. Every too-knowing touch, every scrape of her nails, every long, liquid stroke of her tongue, wound him tighter, and tighter, until his spine quivered with tension, until his awareness was hard-edged, crystal sharp. Yet still she pushed him further.
Until his fingers gripped hard on her skull, until he closed his eyes, head lifting, chest seizing…
Until he had to wonder what had changed.
Something had.
She'd always been physically willing, even eager, yet tonight, she was assured.
Confident.
He could feel it in her touch.
Could see it when she finally—finally—released him and lifted her head. He hauled in a tight breath and looked down as she sat back on her heels and, hands braced on his thighs, with calm deliberation considered the outcome of her efforts; her serene smile declared that outcome met with her satisfaction.
He groaned and reached for her — she put out her hands and caught his wrists, rocked to her feet and smoothly stood. Then she released his hands, grasped the sides of her loosened robe and spread them wide — and stepped into him.
Deliberately, with a calm intent that strangled his breath, set her body skin to skin with his. Sinuously shifted, her skin like burning silk as she used her whole body to caress his. Reached between them and adjusted his throbbing erection so she could better shift and slide against it. Draping one arm about his shoulders, she hooked one knee about his thigh, then evocatively — like some eastern houri pandering to her master — undulated against him.
Her hips, her breasts — her spread thighs, the curls between — all contributed. All added to the call, the primitive invocation that reached deep within him, harrying instincts buried under centuries of sophistication until they rose with a roar and poured through him.
Shattering every last vestige of control, drowning every glimmer of civilized man.
Left him revealed — him and his needs — laid bare, exposed. Before her, and him.
Left him reeling, but she was there — calming, urging, reassuring…
He dragged in a huge breath, bent his head, and set his lips to hers as she offered them. It required no thought for him to push back the sides of her robe, reach under and slide his hands over her back, down, over her bottom, possessively gripping, then releasing to lower and grip the backs of her thighs, and lift her.
She wrapped her arms about his neck, clung tight, wrapped her legs about him, knees bent, her heels in the small of his back — and he was inside her. She gasped, pulled back from the kiss, caught her breath, eyes closing as he pulled her hips into him, pressed deep inside her body, then anchored her, her body open and filled to the hilt with him. Let her feel the vulnerability she'd chosen, let the experience — of her giving, of the hot slickness of her sheath clamping tight all around him, of the shivery pleasure that always rushed through him when they joined — sink to his bones.
Only when he'd drunk his fill, let his senses wallow, only when he sensed she'd done the same and had caught her breath — only then did he move.
Or rather, move her. He stood rock-still and shifted her upon him. With her legs so high she had no leverage, had to accept what he did, all he did — all he pressed on her. He moved her only enough to wind her tight, until he felt desire sink its talons deep. Her arms tightened about his neck. She sank her teeth into his shoulder.
Inwardly smiling, he drew her down again, and stepped out. Walked, slowly, deliberately, working her up and down in his arms, matching that rhythm to his strides.
Until her breathing turned ragged, until she clung, fingers sinking into his shoulders, until she whimpered — not with pain but desperation.
Without allowing himself to think, he walked to the head of the bed, turned and sat, shuffling back, supported by the pillows piled high against the headboard.
She tried to wriggle, to unwind her legs — he tightened his hold on her.
"No. Stay as you are."
She forced her heavy lids up just enough to blink at him.