“But it’s not enough to touch you. I would taste you, too.” His tongue flickered along her collarbone up her neck to her ear.
And she thought she would die if hedidn’tkiss her?
“Soon, I’ll show you what more I take pleasure in tasting.”
A shiver rippled down her spine, down to the core of her sex. She pressed into him, her body urgent with need, unable to take much more of his slow seduction. He took her cue and reached around to undo the buttons of her dress and the laces of her short corset in a few efficient motions, the garments falling to a hushed puddle at her feet.
He angled back to take in her breasts. “Magnificent,” he said, a rough utterance. Long, masculine fingers caught the delicate gold chain hanging from her neck, lifting it to reveal Mama’s hamsa pendant. Isabel met a question in his eyes, but her hand wrapped around his and he let it drop.
Before she knew what he was about, he cupped her bosom from beneath and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking through the thin white cotton chemise. Liquid heat pooled between her legs, and she clutched his forearms to brace herself, cords of steely muscle running beneath her fingertips. Unable not to, again she pressed into him, needing to feel all of him.Oh.The rigid length of his manhood strained against her belly.
Liquid heat turned to lava as she went ravenous for him.
A virgin, she was, but an innocent, she was not.
She understood the cliff they were careening toward, and she couldn’t step off its edge fast enough. She wanted,needed, this man inside her.
She reached between their bodies, humid with lust and sweat, and feathered fingertips along the,oh, so long length of him through the wool of his trousers. Though it was the lightest of touches, it dragged a long animal groan from him that called to the beast within her. She stroked him again, this time slower and with more pressure, evoking an even more gratifyingly primal sound from him.
“What are you doing to me? Trying to finish me off before we’ve started?”
“This givesmegreat pleasure.”
He caught her eye. “It will give you so much more.”
Oh, his words. The way he spoke them. Playful. Serious. The delicious promise within them that she would see fulfilled. She pushed his hard, lean stomach—truly, it had no give—and his brow furrowed in confusion. “You are overdressed for the occasion.”
He took her meaning and stepped back until he reached the bed. One more push, and he sat. Greedy, she pulled his shirt over his head and gasped, utterly unprepared for the sight of him.
The man was a glory, all lean, corded muscle on his chest and stomach, which was divided into segments that she desperately wanted to lick.
But it was his skin that held her back, or, more accurately, the scars that littered it. Some shallow, some deep; some long, narrow slashes, others round, deep pocks. A story hid behind each and every one. Wounds only healed in the flesh, not in the heart or soul. They represented hurt, she knew that much from having looked into his eyes.
She touched light fingertips to one. “Who hurt you?”
“Do you have all night?”
“What happened to you?” she whispered.
He reached up and caressed her cheek. “Not now.”
His fingers curled around the back of her head and pulled her down. It was only when his lips touched hers that she realized they hadn’t yet kissed. It started gently before transforming into something immediate and ferocious as he pulled her between his legs and the full length of her body pressed into him. Before she knew what he was about, he’d flipped her around so that she now lay on the bed and he hovered above, his gaze roving across her body, eating her up with his eyes. “I just might devour you in one bite.”
She shivered, though she burned. Oh, she wanted to be devoured. By him.
“Let’s see if you’re ready.” She wasn’t sure of his meaning until she felt it: the slide of his finger along her wet slit. He smiled, wolfish. “I’d say so.”
Primally, she arched her back. She needed more of his touch.
“What was that?” he whispered in her ear.
Had she spoken aloud? No matter. She would scream it from the rooftops, if it meant getting what she wanted, which was . . . “More.” The word emerged ragged, pulsing with desperation.
On a low chuckle, his mouth found hers, heightening the pleasure of his finger pressing into her quim. Her back arched into him, and she moaned into his mouth. The tangle of his tongue and the slide of his finger had taken the kindling that was her body and lit it into full-blown conflagration, desire licking at her with white-hot flames.
All the while, a tension began to coil inside her, making her pant with ache as she strained against his hand. Then his thumb brushed a particularly sensitive spot, and she gasped, inhaling his breath into her lungs. He rubbed it again, a feather touch was all it took to send flutters of pleasure through her, even as that coil in her sex tightened, building toward something. His finger became a rhythmic slide. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she exhaled, breathless.
