Her breasts sprang free, into his waiting, greedy hands.
She tore her mouth from his on a gasp. “Felix, what have you done?”
“I believe I may have ruined Miranda’s dress,” he said, unable to summon up a modicum of contrition.
He would do it again, just for the chance to hear his given name on her lips. And just to behold the glorious, erotic sight of her pale breasts, revealed by the glow of the room’s electric light. Her nipples prodded the air, stiff and hungry. He wanted to suck them until she screamed.
He took one in his mouth, dragging on it. Then the other, biting the hard little bud until she moaned and arched into him. And then, he could not wait a moment longer. His right hand moved from her outer thigh to her inner, and then beyond. To the slit of her drawers.
To the seam of her sex. His fingers brushed over her, parting her curls, her flesh. She was sleek and wet and hot. So very inviting. He found her clitoris next, circling it with teasing strokes until she was gasping his name, thrusting into his hand. Until she forgot all about her ire at his willful destruction of her costume.
He would buy her another anyway. He would buy her a thousand of them. And he would tear one off her every night if she would let him.
He knew she would never let him.
But he could not allow that to intrude upon this moment. He kissed his way from her breast to her throat, all the way to her ear, his lips grazing the delicate shell.
“I will always love you,” he whispered as he slid his finger through her drenched folds until he found her entrance.
He slid inside her with ease, and she made a sound of need. Her cunny gripped him, flooded him. She was ready, and he could not wait. He bit the fleshy lobe of her ear, licked the hollow behind it where she smelled of rose petals.
Her hands were on him.
She never said the words back to him.
She didn’t need to. He loved her enough for the both of them.
He would have told her, but the capacity for speech was beyond him. She had undone the fall of his trousers, and her hand was on his eager cock. Stroking him. Her fingers curling around his shaft was enough to drive him over the edge. Her grip tightened. He sank another finger inside her, moving them in a slow and steady rhythm.
He lifted his head, wanting to watch her. He could not deprive himself of the sight of her pleasure rising. Her cheeks were more flushed, her kiss-darkened lips slack. Her eyes were glazed with desire. He committed her to memory this way: coming beautifully undone for him.
His.
Forever his.
Burying his hand in the silken remnants of her chignon, he tugged her head back, holding her still, trapping her with his gaze. He kissed her softly, slowly, in stark contrast to the fury of the passion blazing through him. On a sigh, she kissed him back. One of her arms was around his neck, holding him tightly to her.
If he had his way, they would never be apart.
He could not bear to lose her. To never see her again. How could he? He had already lost the woman he loved once. To do so a second time would be nigh impossible.
He would never recover.
He told her so with his lips and tongue.
She continued stroking him, making his ballocks draw up tighter. Need licked down his spine. And still he kissed her. If this was to be their goodbye, it would be a long one. A lingering one.
God, how he never wanted it to end.
But his restraint was fraying. Her caresses were driving him wild. So, too, her tongue writhing against his. She pressed her body nearer. He wanted to get lost in her. To breathe her in. Consume her. Possess her.
He broke the kiss, staring down at her, his breathing harsh.
“Enough,” he bit out, removing her knowing hand. “I want inside you.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He drove into her with one swift thrust. He was deep, so deep. It was a homecoming. They both gasped when he began to move, pumping his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She was so slick, so tight, her heat all around him, and she felt so good, so right. He told himself to prolong this moment too, but his body would not listen to reason.
