Into a landscape of sensation. Up to some pinnacle of cataclysmic feeling.
Her senses expanded until they filled her mind; her body felt aflame. He reached deeper within her; a rush of rapture flowed down her veins, under her skin, tightening her nerves, driving her senses . . .
Until they fractured. Shattered.
Sharp, almost biting delight gripped her, held her in a vise, poured radiant pleasure through her.
The wave swept on, past, through her, leaving in its wake a sense of earthly bliss. A sense of floating in tactile glory, lapped by waves of delight.
Gradually, the waves subsided; sensation diminished, the feelings ebbed. His hand left her.
To her surprise, she felt empty. Incomplete.
Unfulfilled.
As her wits returned fully, she made the connection. Realized this was a two-act play and he’d stopped at the intermission.
And had no intention of going any further.
She knew without asking; his decision was there, solid and real in his heavily locked muscles, in the brutual tension riding him.
In confirmation, like a curtain falling, he flipped down her skirts and locked his hand over her hip.
She had absolute confidence in his self-mastery. Drawing back from the kiss, she boldly reached between them, traced the hard line of his erection, the solid weight she could feel riding against her thigh.
Closed her hand as well as she could; felt him shift, heard the hiss of his indrawn breath.
Leaned close and whispered against his lips. “You want me.”
The sound he made was guttural, a strangled laugh. “You can hardly doubt it.”
She couldn’t, not with the evidence burning her palm, yet the degree of that want, the sheer power of his desire was a surprise—a shock.
Even more a temptation.
Yet the realization—the physical fact, an ephemeral knowledge brought to life, translated to flesh and blood—sent a shiver of pure caution, an elemental sensing of danger coursing through her.
He drew in a tight breath; eyes closed, he pressed his hand between them, closed it over hers. Tightened her grip on him.
Then, slowly, drew her hand away.
He breathed out; she couldn’t truly see his face in the darkness, but would have sworn the harsh planes had grown even more hard-edged.
Against his lips, she breathed, “Why?”
She didn’t need to be more specific. He would know even better than she that he could have taken her if he’d wished.
His gaze touched her face, traveled it, then he lifted his hand and traced a finger across her lips. She scented, and tasted, her essence. Then he leaned close and kissed her, kissed it from her lips.
“Are you ready for that?”
His words drifted through her mind, not really a question.
She drew back, looked into his eyes, dark, shadowed, unreadable. Could still feel his desire, the powerful need that was riding him. Answered truthfully. “No. But—”
He kissed her; stopped her words. She hesitated for an instant, the understanding that he did not wish her to utter them, didn’t wish to hear what she would have said—what he’d known she’d been about to say—sweeping through her. Then she returned the kiss. Gratefully.
Sensed the heat slowly dying between them. Let it fade. Ebb. Until . . .