He took her hands in his then and led her. They moved as one to the bed, stopping just before it. For a beat, they stared at each other, neither one of them speaking. The first time had been wild and unexpected. They had clashed, exchanged words, and she had thrown out her challenge.Then take me.And he had accepted. The gauntlet had been tossed down. He had been helpless to resist.
This time was different. They were making a cognizant decision. A second night when there was to have only been one. A silent acknowledgment the passion burning between them could not be cooled after one delirious joining.
“You are certain?” he asked her, because the gentleman within him demanded it even though he already knew the answer.
“Certain,” she said, fumbling to undo the knot on the belt at her waist.
He caught her fingers in his, moved them aside. “Let me.”
His hands trembled, ridiculous though it was. He was a man of experience, and this was not the first time he was about to see Hazel nude. Anticipation swelled inside him, along with a rising tide of want. It did not matter that they had made love before. He desired her more now than ever. She was glorious, this eccentric American warrior goddess, bold and brash and unique, this Athena brought to life.
The knot came undone. He wasted no time in pushing the wrapper from her shoulders. Beneath it, she wore a nightdress of soft white cotton. It was plain, unadorned by either frill or lace, but it suited her, clinging to her curved hips and full breasts. Her nipples were already hard, prodding the fabric.
His mouth went dry. She was not even nude, and he was hard, his cock aching to be inside her. He cupped her breasts through the nightdress, his thumbs finding her nipples and grazing them in steady circles. Slowly, he reminded himself. He had been mad in his need for her before. He would woo her with gentle care, show her the tenderness he would have, had he realized she was far more inexperienced than he had supposed.
She sighed, and then her hands were on his own dressing gown, undoing the belt, sliding inside to caress a trail of fire over his chest. He was entirely nude beneath it, and he was thankful for that now, as her clever hands traced over him, taunting. Tantalizing.
He took her mouth again, kissing her, luxuriating in the sleek suppleness of her lips beneath his, in the way she surrendered, opening, her tongue seeking his. And then she surprised him by nipping his lower lip, as if she, too, was overrun by the desire to claim. To mindlessly consume.
Her palm slid down his abdomen, making his muscles tighten and his prick spring higher. He groaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss. Every vow he had made to take things slowly with her was banished by the onslaught of her desire. She kissed him back ferociously, her enthusiasm unbridled, and he was awash in need. Aching for her. When her fingers gripped him, his hips jerked.
Her clasp was tight and sure as she worked over him, pumping his shaft.By God, it was all he could do to keep from grinding himself against her, from spending in her hand and all over her simple nightdress.
“Minx,” he muttered without heat.
He kissed down her throat, pinched her nipples lightly. A small row of buttons taunted him, keeping him from her bare skin. He could undo them, or he could tear, and with the violence of the need rising within him, spurred on by her hand stroking his cock, he gripped the modest neckline of her nightdress and tore it firmly in half. One line, straight down the center, until it hung from her in two pieces, and he was rewarded by a hint of pink-tipped breasts and the dark nest of curls shielding her sex from him.
“Arden,” she protested, releasing his painfully erect shaft and glancing down at the tattered remnants of her nightdress in shock. “You have ruined it.”
“Forgive me,” he said, quite insincerely. In truth, he would do it all over again. “It was in the way of what I wanted.”
That was the truth, undeniable, and he did not believe he had ever wanted anything or anyone more than he wanted Hazel Montgomery. His entire being pulsed with the desire to take her, to make her his. Slide home inside her welcoming, tight sheath. To lose himself in the depths of her wet cunny.
“It was a favorite of mine,” she chided. “I have had it for five years now, and it has held up with remarkable aplomb. I do not believe I will find another to replace it.”
“I will buy you a new nightdress.” He kissed her neck as he drew the nightgown—or what remained of it—from her body. “A finer one.”
He already owed her a bodice. He was making the destruction of her wardrobe a habit.
“No doubt you will,” she said, sighing when he bit at the skin over her clavicle. Her hands flitted to his shoulders, not pushing him away but holding him in place. “But I will not accept your largesse, and that was badly done of…Oh.”
He had kissed his way to the tip of one breast, and now he dragged hard on her nipple, gratified by the way her words trailed off as she forgot her pique in favor of the pleasure he had to offer her. He lapped at the bud, playing his tongue lightly over it, then released it and blew a stream of hot air over the distended peak. She had the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen. Round and full, creamy and pink, more than enough to fill his hands, and they were so gloriously attuned to his touch.
He had a brief, wild fantasy of stuffing his cock between them, fucking her there. But that would wait for another day. He could not debauch her in one night. And neither was he sure it was his right to do so, even if there was something about her that drew out the primitive beast within. He wanted to claim her body as his own, to fill her and mark her and pleasure her in every way he could. He wanted her with a desperation he doubted could ever be satiated.
But for now, she was within reach. She was warm and sleek and curved and lush, a rare creature he had somehow ensnared for the moment. She was so completely unlike every other woman he had ever known. There was no artifice in her.
She had not led a life of pampering but one of toiling. Even her body was stronger than a female’s ordinarily was, and he admired the muscles of her thighs, her buttocks as his hands swept over them anew, the taut sinews of her upper arms. No dainty, frail lady, Miss H.E. Montgomery. She was as graceless as a turnip, more beautiful than any woman he had ever met, and he reveled in her oddities and complexities, her blend of the masculine and the feminine, her uniqueness, so different, so refreshing.
Just, simply,her.
He released her nipple and laved the other one, listening for the hitch in her breath, for the mewls of pleasure he wrung from her throat. This woman was made for sin. Made for him. His fingers dipped into the inviting warmth blossoming between her thighs. He parted her folds to find her slick and hot and wet. So wet for him. The discovery made his ballocks tighten in anticipation.
Her hands were on him too, dragging the ends of his robe apart, pushing it down his arms. She glided her palms over his chest. Her nails rasped down his abdomen. She once more found his erect cock and squeezed.
Not hard, but with enough pressure to make him release her nipple and thrust his hips instinctively forward, seeking more of the oblivion she offered even when he was determined to do everything in his power to make the night last forever.
“Damn it, Hazel,” he ground out.
