Her unabashed desire for him thrilled him more than he could have imagined. He tore his lips from hers and kissed a path down her throat, finding her collarbone, then settled his mouth over the hollow where her pulse pounded. All the while, he continued to tease them both, slicking her dew over her as she clutched him.
If he took her to the bed, their interlude would be over before it had begun, so desperate was he to be inside her. But Gabe was ever cognizant that she had been a virgin. He needed to be tender with her, to take her to the heights of exquisite pleasure. Their lovemaking could not be rushed.
He kissed behind her ear, nuzzling her throat, and an idea came to him. With great reluctance, he withdrew his fingers, allowing her night rail to fall back into place. He raised his head to drink in the sight of her, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from his kisses, eyes glazed with desire. She had never been more beautiful.
He took her hand in his and tugged her toward the chairs settled by the hearth. “Come.”
“What do you intend?” she asked, breathless, as she allowed him to pull her to the chair.
“Sit,” he invited softly instead of explaining.
What he intended required no announcement or warning. He wanted to surprise her. Last night, he had enjoyed a taste of her, but tonight, he intended to savor.
“Gabe?” She frowned at him. “Do you wish to speak with me?”
The smile he sent her brimmed with sensual intent and he knew it by the way her color deepened. “Something like that, hellion. Sit, if you please.”
This time, she obeyed.
He rather enjoyed watching his stubborn minx go soft for him, doing as he asked.
Gabe lowered himself to his knees, his entire body acutely aware of every sensation. The Axminster beneath his bare calves was coarse yet plush. His cock was harder than granite, pulsing and aching to be inside her.
Not yet, damn it.
First, he wanted to make her spend. To worship her.
He settled his palms on her hips and realized he had a problem. “Scoot your bottom toward me, darling. Until you are seated on the edge of the cushion.”
She placed her hands gently atop his. “Gabe…”
He loved the sound of her speaking his name. “Trust me. I want to bring you pleasure.”
Hesitantly, she moved. He pulled her toward him, easing her movement, until she was positioned as he asked. “Lift your hem for me, Helena.”
Her gaze never leaving his, she removed her hands and slowly bunched the material in both fists before hauling it up. The action must have taken her mere seconds, but as he watched, it seemed to go on for an eternity. Each part of her was painstakingly revealed. Slender ankles, shapely calves. Perfect knees. The pale, smooth tops of her thighs.
She pooled the fabric in her lap, keeping her legs closed. He began at her ankles, caressing her there, marveling at the delicate bones beneath his fingertips. Then gliding along her calves. Her flesh was warm and smooth and luscious. He found the insides of her knees and guided them apart.
He lowered his head to press a kiss, first to her right knee, and then her left. His fingers skimmed over her lush inner thighs, parting them more. She needed no further coaxing. She opened wider, and the scent of her desire mingled with citrus and bergamot to create the headiest blend he had ever known.
He caressed upward, lifting the hem of her night rail higher, until she was fully revealed to him. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, pink and slick and welcoming, the prettiest, most decadent picture he had ever beheld.
And his.
All his.
He slid his hands beneath her bare rump, clasping handfuls of soft, womanly flesh that incited the fires within him to a crescendo, and dipped his head. His tongue flicked over the swollen nub of her clitoris first. The taste of her, as before, was sweet and musky and good. So good. His lips latched over her and he sucked.
She jerked against him, releasing a breathy moan that made his cock twitch. He licked lower, traveling down her slit until he found her channel. When he sank his tongue inside her, she cried out, bucking her hips and driving him deeper. Again and again, he licked into her. Wetness bathed his tongue. He lapped it up and then returned to her pearl, alternating between quick, fluttering movements and suction.
The raggedness of her breaths and the way she writhed against him told him she was already near to reaching her crisis. He nibbled lightly at her, then withdrew to blow a stream of warm air over her glistening flesh. For so many nights before they had wed, he had lain awake in his bed to thoughts of having her thus. Of touching her, kissing her, making her come on his tongue. Always, he had taken himself in hand, only to later wallow in shame for the desperation with which he lusted after his own friend’s sister.
But now, it was no longer wrong. No longer forbidden. Because she was his wife.
“You are so beautiful,” he told her, meaning those words. “I have never desired another the way I want you.”
“Touch me, Gabe, please,” she pleaded softly. “I ache for you.”
