Devil in Spring (The Ravenels 3)

This, however, would have been noticeable at a hundred yards.

Gabriel’s hand came to her jaw and nudged her to meet his gaze. “Don’t be afraid,” he said thickly.

“I’m not,” she said quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly. “I was only surprised because . . . well . . . it’s not like a little boy’s.”

Gabriel blinked, and amusement deepened the creases at the outer corners of his eyes. “It is not,” he agreed. “Thank God.”

Taking a deep breath, Pandora tried to think past the attack of nerves. He was her husband, and a beautifully made man, and she was determined that every part of him would be dear to her. Even this rather intimidating part. No doubt his former mistress would have known exactly what to do with it. The thought awakened Pandora’s competitive instincts. Now that she’d asked him to discard his mistress, she could hardly prove herself a poor replacement.

Taking the initiative, she pushed at his shoulder, trying to urge him onto his back. He didn’t budge, only gave her a quizzical glance.

“I want to look at you,” she said, pushing again.

This time he rolled easily, lying down with one muscular arm curled behind his neck. He looked like a lion sunning itself. Propping herself up on an elbow, Pandora set a tentative hand on his midriff, the flesh lean and tightly knit with muscle. She leaned over him to nuzzle the coarsely silky fleece on his chest. His breathing changed as she used the tip of her tongue on a flat male nipple, raising a tiny, diamond-hard point. When he offered no objections, she continued to explore him, trailing the backs of her knuckles to the sleek line of his hip, and down toward his groin, where the sun-colored skin became silkier and warmer. As she reached the verge of softly springy curls, she hesitated and glanced up at his face. The trace of a smile had vanished. His color had heightened, and his lips had parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

For such an articulate man, Pandora thought wryly, her husband had certainly chosen the wrong time to keep his mouth shut. A few instructions, a suggestion here or there, would not have gone amiss. But Gabriel only stared down at her hand as if spellbound, and breathed like a broken steam boiler. He seemed positively helpless with anticipation.

Some mischievous corner of Pandora’s heart relished the discovery that this large, virile creature wanted her touch so badly. She scratched her fingertips lightly through the coarse, silky hair, and the heavy shaft twitched against the taut surface of his stomach. A faint groan came from over her head, while the powerful muscles of his thighs contracted visibly. Feeling braver, she scooted down on the bed and delicately grasped the rigid length of him. It was as hot as a fire-iron, and very nearly as hard. The skin was satiny and fever-colored, and judging from the way he shivered, intensely sensitive. Fascinated, she dared to fondle up and down the shaft, and molded her fingers over the tight-mounded weights below.

His breathing roughened. The scent of him here was clean like white soap, but tempered with a hint of salty pungency. Pandora drew closer, drawing in more of the beguiling scent. On impulse, she pursed her lips and blew a long, cool stream of air all along the length of him.

Gabriel reached down to her head with an incoherent sound. Leaning closer, she touched him with her tongue, and licked upward as if it were a stick of sugar-candy. The texture of him was silken and plush, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

Catching her beneath her arms, Gabriel pulled her upward until she straddled his hips, with his hard-swollen erection pressed between them. “You drive me mad,” he muttered before crushing his lips against hers. He cupped the back of her head in one hand, carelessly dislodging a few hairpins from the upswept curls, while the other hand slid over her naked bottom.

As Pandora squirmed over him, he guided her floundering movements into a lazy rhythm, his hardness spreading the folds of her sex with silky friction. The crisp fur on his chest teased the tips of her breasts and sent darts of fire down to the quick of her body. The strokes against her sex became even smoother and silkier, a strange and lascivious feeling, glides of heat and moisture . . .

Her head jerked up, and she froze, her face turning scarlet.

“I . . . it’s wet . . .” she whispered, mortified.

“Yes.” Gabriel’s eyes were heavy-lidded, lashes shadowing drowsy depths of starlight blue. Before she could say another word, he had pulled her high enough to fasten his mouth to her breast. She moaned as he resumed the rhythm beneath her, making her ride the slick, searing hardness, his hands kneading her bottom. He was slow and relentless, teasing until she was brimming with sensation, desperate for the tension to spill into relief.

Rolling carefully, Gabriel pressed her onto her back and began to browse over her body with hot, feathery kisses. His hands wandered over her skillfully, causing downy hairs to prickle and lift everywhere. His fingertips traced sinuous patterns inside her leg, venturing higher and higher, finally reaching the smoldering softness between her thighs. How gently he touched her. She felt the subtle, centering pressure of a fingertip, and stiffened as it slid forward. The intrusion burned as her inner muscles tightened to keep him out. He murmured against her stomach, and although she couldn’t make out the words, the low resonance of his voice soothed her.

The finger worked deeper, finding sensitive places that made her gasp. His mouth descended to the triangle of curls, searching among the soft folds. He kept her balanced on the edge of intense pleasure, kissing and suckling at the little crest of her sex, while his finger played inside her. She couldn’t help grinding her hips in tightly curtailed movements, begging wordlessly for relief. His touch withdrew briefly, only to return with more pressure, and she realized he had added another finger. She began to protest, but then his mouth did something so amazing that she gasped and spread her shaking thighs.