Another sound emerged from low in his throat, like a strangled growl. “You do not know what you are asking.”
She moved again, undulating her body. Already, she had his coat and waistcoat undone. She pulled both from his shoulders until he was clad in only a shirt, and then she grew bold. Ara knew how to touch him, what he liked, what made him lose himself until his big body shook and bliss rocked through him and he spilled his seed into her waiting palm. Once when he had managed to sneak her into his chamber at Brixton Manor, she had raised her hand to her mouth and licked the creamy spend he had left behind, curious, wanting every part of him she could have.
And he had grown rigid again, rolling her to the bed beneath him, and lifting her skirts. He had buried his face between her legs, licking and sucking her hungry flesh until she had writhed and cried out beneath him. He had not stopped until three simultaneous quakes had roared through her. The traces of him remaining on her hand had been crushed into her skirts as she held them to her waist for him, and she’d hidden the gown from her lady’s maid as a precaution, lest the woman make a query about the stains on the pink silk.
She worked open the placket of his trousers now, and he was not wearing smalls beneath them. He sprang free, hard and thick and so very beautiful. Her hand found him. She stroked.
The breath hissed from him. His head dipped. His mouth returned to her throat before rising again. His jaw clenched. “Damn it, Ara.”
“I want you to take me, Clay.” She ran the pad of her thumb over the smooth firmness of his shaft, feeling moisture gathering at the tip. Feeling bolder still, she brought her thumb to her lips. Licked the wetness from her skin.
She tasted him, tart and bold and delicious. Sucked her thumb. Looked deep into his eyes, telling him without words what she wanted. She loved him. He loved her. They would be wed in two days. There was no sin tonight.
She would not leave this cabin until she was his in every way.
“I am yours,” she murmured. “Make me yours forever, Clay. I want you to be my first, my only.”
“Fuck.”
The vicious epithet rent the air, but it did not shock her. Rather, it inspired her. It empowered her. That one word, so rough, so crude, meant he waged a losing battle to keep from giving them both what they wanted. She reached between them, grasping his velvet hardness, pleasuring him as he had shown her.
His hips jerked. And then he tugged her wrist gently away from him. His fingers went to her simple bodice. Buttons popped free. Like a wild man, he dragged her gown down her body. Like a wild woman, she tore away his shirt, ripping a long strip right down the center when she could not open the buttons as quickly as she wished.
His bare chest was bathed in golden firelight, all the contours delineated—the slabs of sinew and muscle, the breadth of him. Her hands couldn’t get enough of his skin. She ran them over him, absorbing his heat and strength, the fine dusting of hairs, the beautiful grooves on his abdomen. She wanted to run her tongue all over his body, to taste him everywhere. Just gazing upon him filled her with a heady, delirious want.
“Yes, love.” He caught her hands in his with those handsome long fingers. Fingers that knew just how to touch her, how soft, how fast, how rough. “I am yours.”
He was hot and sleek. Perfection. Like a marble warrior come to life. Even better, for she had seen him in action. He washerwarrior. And he would soon be her husband.
“I never want to stop touching you,” she confessed, her cheeks warming after the words left her.
But he was not ashamed. “I never want you to stop either, love. Touch me all you like, for the rest of our lives.”
Oh, yes.
She would accept his directive without question.
“Where?” she asked, her hand traveling back to his length, which had only grown in size. How would it fit inside her body as he had told her? She could not imagine, and yet she wanted him inside her with an aching persistence. Anticipation, anxiety, curiosity, and need collided. “Here?” Her fingers tightened around him, stroking.
“Hell, Ara,” he growled, and then the last shred of his restraint finally gave way.
He found ties and buttons and hooks, and he began undoing. With speed and deftness. With an almost desperation that told her he was as frantic for her as she was for him. She hadn’t worn a corset, and she was glad for it as he made short work of her chemise, drawers, and stockings, leaving her utterly bare before him. He shucked his trousers.
And then he was on his knees between her spread thighs. His beautiful face lowered. He kissed her mound, directly above the bundle of flesh capable of such intense sensation. Lower still he kissed, over inner thighs, and onward, pressing chaste, tempting kisses all the way to her…
To herpearl, the word he had taught her—one of many initiations between them.
His mouth closed over her, and he sucked.
She moaned, caressing his hair, his shoulders. Any part of him she could reach as he laved, his tongue slicking the plump bud. His teeth nipped. Just a soft exertion of pressure before his tongue swirled again, working her into even more of a frenzy. He licked down her seam, his knowing tongue parting her, teasing where she ached.
“You taste so bloody good, Ara,” he murmured into her desperate flesh. “And you’re so hungry for me, so responsive, so wet. I could keep you like this forever.”
If she had possessed the ability to speak, she would have quipped that she wouldn’t object to such a fate. But he was inflicting his divine torture on her again, and all she could manage was rolling her head on the carpet, arching her back, and moaning. The pressure built inside her, coiling like a spring as he licked and gently bit.
A great, frenzied rush swept her away. The pleasure burst. She cried out, tremoring with the power of her release, her fingers tightening in his hair. He rode out the storm of her climax with her, caressing her thighs, making a deep rumble of satisfaction she felt in her core.
And then he was kissing back up her body, settling between her thighs, the thick head of him rubbing over her in a delicious temptation. His tongue swirled around her nipples as he slid his fingers over her sex, sending sparks shooting through her. He stroked her pearl in exquisite torture, suckling the stiff peaks of her breasts.
