Sensation streaked through Alicia; warmth welled, pooled, and dragged her senses down to wallow, to luxuriate, to expand and experience a world of sensual delight, of wanton, illicit, addictive pleasure.
No matter how much a small part of her mind tried to warn her, tried to make her see how dangerous it could be, her body, her nerves, her skin and her senses, and the greater part of her whirling wits, were eager to go forward, to follow the path he opened before her, to seize the moment to learn and feel.
To learn of herself, of what could be, of all she could be. To feel the welling tide of compulsive emotions—the hunger, the need, the flagrant desire, and most especially the triumph.
A simple and pure triumph she hadn’t known existed, the co
nfidence, delight, and sheer pleasure of knowing he found her desirable, that he wanted her in the most blatantly sexual way, and the satisfaction that flowed from knowing not only that she could evoke his hunger, but also from the innate womanly knowledge that she could, indeed, sate it.
He’d drawn her close, fitting her body against his, but once they reached that plateau of more urgent, definite need—one she now recognized—his arms eased, then his hands, hard and demanding, slid over her silk-encased form. Over her back, over her sides, around over her already aching breasts.
Through the fog of desire flooding her mind, she inwardly smiled. She eased back from the kiss enough to murmur against his lips, “I’m afraid this gown has no buttons down the front.” She’d worn her topaz silk for that very reason.
“I’d noticed,” he murmured back.
His lips brushed hers, then settled, drawing her into a long, increasingly intimate exchange… as it ended her awareness slowly returned. And she realized the pressure about her breasts had eased.
Her bodice was loose.
She drew back from the kiss as he did. Looked down as he raised his hands to her shoulders. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed her now gaping gown off her shoulders, sliding the small puff sleeves down her arms.
He’d undone the laces.
Her mind seized; she stopped breathing. She hadn’t thought…
The neckline caught across the peaks of her breasts. Leaving the sleeves at her elbows, he ran his fingers up, then slipped them beneath the neckline and eased it over and down.
She shuddered, told herself it was due to the cool caress of the air. Knew it wasn’t. Desperate, she hauled in a breath. Ignored the sudden lifting of her breasts. “Wait—”
“Lift your arms.” The words were half entreaty, half command. They were reinforced by his touch, fingertips running over her bared shoulders, down the sensitive skin of her arms to her elbows. He gripped lightly, urged.
She freed her arms from the clinging sleeves. “This—”
“Is the smallest step I could think of.” His black gaze touched hers; the emberlike glow in the dark depths only heated her more.
She sucked in a tight breath. “But—”
“Going slowly isn’t stopping.” He held her gaze, his fingers lightly caressing—so lightly they barely touched the heavy, swelling curves of her breasts. “You don’t want to stop.”
Not a question, a statement, one verified by the shiver that streaked through her, a silvery sensation that brought every nerve alive.
His lips curved, openly predatory, entirely undisguised. He bent his head. His lips cruised over hers as his fingers drifted, as his hands followed, then firmed, taking possession as they had before. But before she hadn’t been as aware, as blatantly near-naked. As heated.
Her breath caught.
One hand kneaded, the other slid away. His arm slipped about her waist; holding her, he backed her, step by slow, easy step until she felt the sideboard behind her.
Lifting his head, he fastened both hands about her waist and lifted her to the sideboard’s top. He sat her there; hands clutching his shoulders, she glanced down. Her gown had slid to her hips. Before she could react, he bunched the skirts and raised them to her knees, allowing him to part them and step between.
Her mind was whirling, wits totally scattered.
He met her eyes; his lips curved, but it wasn’t exactly in a smile. “For us… the only way to slow our inevitable progression is to indulge in more intensive play.”
She searched his eyes, instinctively accepted that as truth. Yet…
He leaned closer, lips swooping, nearing as his hands rose, fingers reaching for the tiny ribbon bows securing her silk chemise. The last flimsy barrier screening her from his sight.
Dizzy desperation gripped her; she sank her fingers into his shoulders. “I—”