He slid his fingers lower, tangling in the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Reaching through them, he stroked the soft, sweet flesh they concealed. Felt her shudder.
Easing her thighs wider he cupped her. Sensed the quick intake of her breath. He opened her mouth and kissed her more deeply, then eased back from the kiss, leaving their lips brushing, touching, letting her senses surface sufficiently for her to know and feel.
Their breaths mingled, heated and urgent; from beneath heavy lids, their eyes met, held.
Locked as he shifted his hand and touched her. Stroked, caressed, intimately traced. Her breasts rose and fell; her teeth closed on her lower lip as he opened her. As he teased, glorying in the slick heat of her body, then slowly, deliberately, slid one long finger into her.
Her breathing fractured; her eyes closed. Her body rose beneath his.
“Stay with me.” He stroked slowly, in, out, letting her grow accustomed to his touch, to the sensation.
Her breathing ragged, she forced open her eyes; gradually, her body unclenched.
Slowly, gradually, flowered for him.
He watched it happen, watched the sensual delight rise and sweep her away, watched her eyes darken, felt her fingers tense, nails sinking into his muscles.
Then her breathing broke. Spine bowing, head pressing back, she closed her eyes. “Kiss me.” A desperate plea. “Please—kiss me.” Her voice broke on a gasp as sensation built, coiled, tightened.
“No.” Eyes locked on her face, he pushed her on. “I want to watch you.”
She was fighting for breath, clinging to sanity.
“Lie back and let it happen. Let go.”
He caught a glimpse of brilliant blue from beneath her lashes. He slipped another finger in with the first, thrust deeper, faster.
And she fractured.
He watched her climax take her, listened to the soft cry that fell from her swollen lips, felt her sheath contract, powerful and tight, then relax, aftershocks rippling through the velvet heat.
His fingers still inside her, he leaned down, and kissed her.
Long, deep, giving her all he could, letting her taste his desire, see his wanting, then, step by step, drawing back.
When he withdrew his fingers, stroked them through her wet curls, then lifted his head, her fingers, tangled in the hair at his nape, closed, clutched. She opened her eyes, studied his, his face, read his decision.
He tried to ease back, to let her breathe; to his surprise, she tightened her grip, held him to her.
Held his gaze, then licked her lips. “You owe me a favor.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper; it strengthened with her next words. “Anything, you said. So promise you won’t stop.”
He blinked. “Leonora—”
“No. I want you with me. Don’t stop. Don’t pull away.”
He gritted his teeth. She’d blindsided him. Naked, spread beneath him, her body pliant in aftermath…and she was begging him to take her. “It’s not that I don’t want you—”
She shifted one sleek thigh.
He sucked in a breath.
Groaned. Shut his eyes. Couldn’t shut off his senses. Grimly resolved, he placed his palms on the bed and pushed up, away from her heat.
Opened his eyes.
And stopped.
Hers were swimming.