Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

Delaney’s body glowed golden in the soft firelight. He was leaning slightly forward, his arm braced against the rough-hewn stone ledge that served as a mantel. His head was bent and she could see the damp tendrils of hair at his neck curling slightly as his hair dried from his bath. He looked so locked into his thoughts that she kept herself silent, content for the moment to drink in the beauty of him.

Her eyes followed the profile of his body, the smooth slope of his back, the taut buttocks, the long, powerful legs. He turned slightly, and she stared at the muscled chest, the firm, flat belly, and the nest of hair at his groin. She wanted more than anything to touch him, to feel the crisp hair of his thighs, to rub her cheek against his belly.

“You are so damned beautiful,” she said, scarcely aware that she’d spoken aloud.

He turned abruptly, saw that she was staring at him fully, and grinned. “I am pleased that you like the view.”

He made no move to cover himself.

“It is not just your body that is beautiful,” she continued after a moment, her eyes drawn downward as his manhood began to respond to her gaze. “You are such a complex man.”

He arched a brow at her. “I assure you, my dear, that there isn’t a complex thought in my head at the moment.”

“I wish that you had some flaws!” she blurted out.

He laughed at that, and she watched the play of muscles in his chest.

“Well, it’s true,” she said, indignant. “I am nothing but one big flaw, and you . . . well, you are so bloody perfect!”

“Oh, Chauncey, I am anything but a paragon. I have been known to sin, you know, and most royally.”

“I feel that I’ve done nothing but sin, and make a mess of everything.”

“You’re through making messes, love, I promise you.”

“Now you make me sound like a puppy!”

“Ah, I knew I could get you out of that serious vein and make you smile. Life is bloody strange.” He looked bemused for a moment, then shook off his abstraction. He straightened, a look in his eyes that made her pulse begin to race. His eyes looked as golden as his body. She could feel their intensity, see the shades of feeling.

“I don’t want to go back!” she said, running her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. “Ever.”

He strode over to her and eased down to his knees. “When we return home, I promise you that what we have learned about each other these past days we won’t forget.” He held out his hands to her.

She came up to her knees before him. “I love you, Del.”

“I know,” he said, his voice lightly teasing, “and my body believes you as well.”

He drew her gently against him and she felt his swollen manhood against her belly. His hands were lightly stroking down her back, curving around her hips, and raising her slightly.

She clasped her arms around his back and raised her head. He kissed her gently on her lips, his tongue probing until with a contented sigh she allowed him entrance.

He felt her soft breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples taut. His kiss deepened and he brought his hands up to clasp her face between his hands. When he finally released her mouth, she was gasping for breath, her breasts heaving. She nipped at his shoulder, easing down to kiss his nipples, her hand roving through the hair on his chest. She wanted him, all of him. She pictured him loving her body intimately, his mouth covering her until she wanted to scream with pleasure. Could he be so different from her? She eased down lower, giving him light, nipping kisses on his belly. She felt his muscles tighten, felt his entire body stiffen, and she smiled in anticipation. When her lips lightly touched his manhood, he jerked wildly, sucking in his breath.

“Chauncey . . .” he began, his voice raspy.

He slid his fingers into her hair, drawing her head forward. The soft moistness of her mouth closed so gently around him. She could have no notion of what she was doing to him, he thought, utterly dazed by her marvelous initiative. He closed his eyes, flinging back his head, and let her swamp his body with incredible sensations. But it had been too long, and he could feel himself trembling toward release.

Slowly he pushed her away.

She raised her face and smiled at him. “I love the way you taste,” she said, her voice awed and strangely excited. “And the way you feel and . . .” She lowered her head again, but he grasped her shoulders, bringing her upright.

“No! No more, love. I can’t hold back.”

“Oh,” she said, considering his words. “But you never make me hold back.”

“That,” he said, a wry smile on his lips, “is not quite the same thing. Not the same thing at all.”

She snuggled up against him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders. “Please,” she said softly.