To the thrills of desire, to the tactile joys of passion harnessed and wielded with skill.
He was beyond experienced; to say he played her body like an instrument would be no lie. His hands stroked her skin until it burned. His fingers found nerves she hadn’t known she possessed and set them afire. As for his mouth and his wicked tongue… She gasped, clutched, and clung—and urged him on in every possible way.
He lavished untold delight and near-unimaginable pleasure upon her, with an unstinting devotion that struck to her heart.
Never before had her senses soared beyond the earthly realm.
Never before had she felt so alive—so worshipped, so beloved, so blessed.
So filled with heat, passion, and joy that she had to share—wholly and completely. Without reservation or reticence.
And he, sophisticated and worldly, let her—let her have her turn at touching, stroking, and caressing, and using her lips and tongue and her mouth to storm his senses.
Need escalated and passion flamed, and finally, he rolled her to her back in the rumpled sheets and came over her, stretching his long body the length of hers and parting her thighs with his. On a near-frantic gasp, she wrapped her arms about him and urged him on, and at last, he joined them; eyes closed the better to savor the moment, she felt him thrust deep and fill her.
No sensation had ever felt so exquisite. So necessary and needed.
To her senses, no star in the heavens had ever burned as brightly as they did in that instant.
She opened her eyes and stared into his and saw all she felt reflected back at her. Then, palms locked, fingers entwined, body to body, their lips again seeking each other’s, they started to dance, and the age-old rhythm caught them. With every thudding heartbeat, they moved faster, pushed harder; the friction between them became a searing whip, and they strove, racing and plunging and seizing and wanting.
Until in a rush of dizzying splendor, they were there, teetering on the cusp of fulfillment, and with one last long thrust, one last sobbing moan from her and a low groan from him, they touched heaven and fell.
Senses shattering, fragmenting, their bodies consumed in sensation’s furnace, they clung and gloried.
Then passion’s starburst faded; held safe in each other’s arms, they spiraled back to earth.
To the rucked sheets and disarranged covers of his bed.
In the aftermath, they lay wrapped in peace and contentment, the glow of satiation still warm beneath their skins.
She lay on her back, staring in something like awe at the ceiling, her mind still submerged in the fading sensations.
He’d disengaged and slumped beside her, one heavy arm thrown over her waist, his face half buried in the pillow beside her head.
After several long moments, he shifted his head and brushed a kiss to her temple. “You weren’t a virgin.” Statement, not a question.
She thought before she replied, “Does it bother you that I wasn’t?”
It was his turn to think; his silence suggested it was a point he’d never before considered. Eventually, he humphed softly. “Not really. After all, I definitely wasn’t.”
She chuckled, then offered, “There was just one—a young man long ago. He was a soldier and was posted overseas. He was killed before we could wed.”
“In that case, I can pity him—to have found heaven and then lost it.”
She smiled and tipped her head to touch his.
After a moment, he turned on his side and somewhat disgruntledly said, “I’m discovering that when it comes to you, I’m more…possessive than I ever thought to be. Just as long as he truly is in your past, and you’re willing to give your present and future to me.”
She heard the underlying vulnerability in his tone—not an emotion she associated with him. Beneath his arm, she wriggled around to face him so she could look into his eyes and say, “I am, and I have.”
He read the commitment in her eyes, and his expression eased. A second later, the ends of his lips kicked up. “I suppose I’ll have to be on my mettle then, to ensure that what we share transcends the joys and pleasures of first love.”
She held his gaze and confessed, “I wasn’t in love with him. I thought I was, of course, but I now know that what I felt for him wasn’t truly love. It was hope and expectation at best. I know that now—now that I know what love truly is.”
His brows rose; his expression remained serious, his gaze intent. “And what is love to you now?”
She raised a hand and cradled his lean cheek. “Love is powerful. Strong. It’s impossible to deny, impossible to turn away from, and equally impossible to mistake.”
