Then watched his gaze lower from her eyes to her lips, to her breasts, swollen, peaked, fine skin flushed from his earlier ministrations. Watched his gray eyes grow darker, stormier, as they skated down over her ribs, over her waist and belly, to fix on the soft flesh she’d willingly revealed to him.
She felt that flesh throb, dampen. As his eyes devoured.
“Good.” The word was a guttural growl. He stepped closer, between her spread knees. The bed was high so it was easy for him to lean down and kiss her, draw her once more into the drugging, enthralling exchange. Then he set his hands to her body again.
Reduced her to gasping, trembling need before he consented to touch her between her thighs, to stroke her, part her folds—at long last slide a long finger deep into her sheath and give her the first part o
f what she wanted.
He eventually eased a second finger in alongside the first, to her immense relief. But then, his hand still working steadily between her thighs, he drew back. And looked at her.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Watched him watching her. Saw herself through his eyes, naked but for her stockings, her legs spread, his hand between, pleasuring her. He was still fully clothed; he wasn’t touching her anywhere else.
What she saw in his face had her shuddering. Biting her lip against a moan, she closed her eyes—and felt the slow scorching burn of passion controlled. More intense, more powerful, more potent. With every slow, possessive thrust of his fingers he pressed that on her.
She felt it swell, felt it fill her. Her gasps turned to pants; her inner flames coalesced and brightened.
He sensed it and drew back. Eased his fingers back so they were only just penetrating her, playing at her entrance in the slickness he’d drawn forth.
Her whirling senses slowed; a protest was on her lips when she felt him lean close. Planting a large hand on the bed beside her, he leaned down—and set his mouth to her breasts.
On a half gasp, half moan, she let her head loll back.
She wanted to hold him to her, but her arms were too weak to support herself on just one.
So she had to sit there, propped on her arms, and let him do what he wished to her. Let him taste her, savor her. He licked, laved, suckled. Her breasts, her shoulders, then her navel. The outer curve of her hip, the junction where thigh and hip met, the long upper sweep of her thigh.
While he lazily and unhurriedly claimed her with his mouth, his fingers continued to stroke between her thighs.
Until she thought she’d go mad.
At last he knelt between her knees. By then she was so heated, so tense, so desperate, she made not the slightest demur when he drew his fingers from her, slid his hands beneath her bottom and gripped, held her and shifted her, then replaced his fingers with his mouth, with his tongue.
Tasted her there, and as he had elsewhere, licked, laved, and suckled.
Slowly. Thoroughly. Unhurriedly.
She thought she might die.
He’d made love to her this way before, but not like this. Not with such intent control, such slow purpose.
The same purpose she suspected he’d had throughout—to possess her utterly. Completely.
Helpless, more alive than she’d ever been, more aware of the intimacy of the act than she’d thought possible, she had to lie back and let him do as he wished—let him love her as he would.
Let him overwhelm her senses and reduce her to mindless need, to a craving that reached to her bones.
Until she needed to feel him inside her with such desperation it hurt.
Until she was thrashing, sobbing, pleading.
Then he held her down and took her with his tongue.
Possessed her utterly. As he wished.
She heard herself scream, luckily breathlessly. A massive wave of heat rose, then broke over her and dragged her down. Into a whirlpool of fire, of flames that leapt and roared. The fragile furnace within her couldn’t contain the conflagration. It shattered, shards of heat flying down every nerve, eventually slowing and sinking into her flesh, to melt and warm.
As reality, still heated and flushed, returned, she felt battered and racked by the intensity of the release—the explosion he’d wrought.