He kissed her again, just as gently, and felt a fierce rush of pleasure when her mouth softened under his.
“Damian.” Her voice shook. “I don’t think—”
“Shh.” His hands spread across her back, applying just a little pressure when he kissed her again, enough to part her lips and touch the tip of her tongue with his.
A whisper of sound rose in her throat. Did she move closer or did he? It took all his self-control not to pull her into his arms.
“Sex is a physical act, glyka mou. It’s part of making love but it’s hardly all of it.”
“I don’t see—”
“No. You don’t. Let me show you, then. Just another kiss,” he added, when she began to shake her head. “I only want to taste you. Will you permit me to do that?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he put his mouth against hers.
“Open to me,” he said thickly. A second slipped by. Then she moaned, rose on her toes, tipped her head back and let him take the kiss deeper.
Damian kissed her over and over, his tongue in her mouth, his hands buried in the chestnut and gold spill of her hair.
He told himself he would keep his promise. That he would only taste her. But as her skin heated, as she sighed with pleasure, he put his lips against her throat, slipped her blouse from her shoulders, kissed his way to the vee of her silk T-shirt.
“Ivy,” he whispered, his hands spreading over her midriff, the tips of his fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts. “Ivy, kardia mou…”
Her hands lifted, knotted in his shirt. His name sighed from her lips.
The room began to blur.
He told himself to go slowly. To do no more than he’d said he would. But she was leaning into him now, her hands were cool on his nape and he bent his head to her breasts, kissed them through the silky fabric of her shirt.
She made a broken little sound deep in her throat and arched her back. The simple motion made an offering of her beaded nipples, taut and visible beneath her T-shirt.
It would have taken a saint to refuse such a gift.
Damian was no saint.
He kissed the delicate beads of silk-covered flesh. Drew them into his mouth, first one and then the other. Ivy’s cries grew sharper. Hungrier.
So did his need.
He dropped to his knees. Lifted her shirt and found he’d been right about the half-closed zipper.
Slowly he eased the trousers down her hips and legs.
“Damian,” she said unsteadily.
He looked up at her. “I’m just going to undress you,” he whispered. “Then I’ll put you to bed and if you want me to leave, I will. I promise.”
She hesitated. Then she stepped out of the trousers and when he saw her like that, wearing the silk T-shirt, her long legs bare, her feet encased in foolishly high heels, he wondered why in hell he’d made such a promise.
But he would keep it.
He would keep it by stopping now. By standing up. By—all right, by reaching under the T, undoing her bra, only because she wouldn’t want to sleep with it on…
Ivy stumbled back. “Don’t! Please, don’t.”
Her voice was high; her eyes were wide with fear and, in a heartbeat, Damian understood.
She’d said she didn’t like sex. He’d foolishly, arrogantly