The words were barely understandable.
She released him, looked more closely at his face. “Why? You like it.”
From all she could see, taking him between her lips had been the most exquisite torture she’d yet devised.
“That’s not the point.” He drew in a shattered breath. “At least, not at the moment.”
“Hmm.” She liked the taste of him, liked the sensation of having him so much in thrall.
“For God’s sake, take pity.” His hands had fallen to her arms; he urged her forward. “Later—some other time.”
She grinned. “Promise?”
“Word of a Cynster.”
She laughed. Rising up on her knees, she came forward until she was straddling his hips, with nothing between his skin and hers, nothing bar inches of air separating his erection and the aching softness between her thighs.
He’d stopped tugging as soon as she’d moved; he seemed to be holding his breath.
She considered, then leaned down, and kissed him lovingly—unsurprised when he grabbed her head and ravaged her mouth, drank from her ravenously.
Coiling tension rose in the hard body rigidly supine beneath hers.
She drew back. He let her . . . waited, chest laboring . . .
When she didn’t move, he ground out, “You do know what you’re doing . . . ?”
She wasn’t that innocent, not when it came to this. There were a number of books i
n the library at Calverton Chase that her brother, Luc, had always insisted be placed on the top shelf. He’d refused to lift them down. Consequently, she and Penelope had, at the first opportunity, climbed up and fetched the restricted volumes down. Many had proved to be picture books—with quite eye-opening pictures. She had never completely forgotten what she’d seen.
“In a manner of speaking.” She edged back a fraction more. “I know it’s possible, but tell me.” Leaning forward from the hips, she drew her tongue slowly across one tight nipple, tasting the salt on his skin. Purred, “How exactly does this work?”
The laugh that racked him was harsh, abrupt—as if he were in pain. His chest swelled. “Simple.” He grasped her hips. “Like this.”
Even though he couldn’t see, he guided her expertly back and down, until his rigid staff prodded her entrance; he tilted his hips, nudged in, then obediently stopped before she ordered him to.
She smiled. “Now I assume I sit up . . .” Bracing her hands on his chest, she eased upright. “Like this . . .”
She needed no answer. The slow slide of his body into hers fractured her breathing, sent a long, sensual shudder down her spine. Her eyes closed as her body gave, sheathing the rigid strength of his, gradually taking him in, accepting him. Inch by inch, all under her control, she pressed down, shifting and taking him deeper, then deeper still. The sensations were mind-numbing, all-consuming—the heat, the pressure, the rock-solid reality. Exhaling, she spread her knees wider the better to sink lower yet, to take all of him, press him as high inside her as she could.
Then hold him tight.
“God!” His fingers sank into her hips; he held her down. “For pity’s sake, hold still for a minute.”
His voice was beyond strained, almost breaking.
She looked down at his face, at the blankness passion had wrought in his expression, and gave him his minute, used it herself to absorb the feeling of him high inside her, of how he filled her, completed her, of how her body welcomed him in. Her senses were thrumming, heated and alive, ready and waiting for all that was to come.
Beneath her, Simon clung to sanity by his fingernails. He’d told her he’d survive . . . he was no longer so sure. To be sheathed in such a way in scalding feminine flesh, slicker than silk, while unable to see, knowing she was fully dressed, feeling the air cool against his naked skin, feeling her stockinged thighs gripping his flanks—knowing she intended to ride him to oblivion, but with no idea what she intended after that . . . if he hadn’t been lying down she would have brought him to his knees.
His time was apparently up; she grasped his wrists, eased his restraining hands from her hips—turned his hands, locked her fingers with his and leaned on his arms as slowly, muscles clinging and caressing him, she eased up.
Up.
Just before she lost him, she reversed direction.
And sank even more slowly, clingingly, down.