“That—I have to agree with that assessment. So ask. I am all yours. Anything you wish to know, anything you wish to try, you need only ask.”
“You’re all mine?”
“I’m sorry, was that not clear? There’s only you. In here, out there. Just us.”
“Celine…” I could only kiss her for that. There was no other response that could possibly convey the way her words wrapped around my heart and squeezed, nearly painful, but lovely all the same.
She made a pleased little hum against my lips, pressing herself closer. I could feel the ghost of her breasts brushing against my chest through the impossibly fine fabric of her chemise. A promise of something more.
“Tell me,” she murmured in my ear before tonguing the lobe in a way I never would have thought to enjoy, but now couldn’t imagine life without.
Summoning courage I did not know I possessed, I slid a hand up her thigh to cup the crevice between her legs. The place I wanted to live in, die in, be buried in for eternity.
“I want to taste you.” My request was an ineloquent blurt, but there was no mistaking my meaning.
A pleased groan burst from her before I had a moment to second guess myself. Her assent was more moan than word.
Swallowing harshly, I tugged eagerly at the hem of her chemise. She pulled the tie of the bow holding the scrap of fabric on her frame. The widened neck slid off one shoulder instantly, revealing a pert breast.
Before the thought was fully formed in my head, my lips found her nipple, tonguing, tasting, worshiping. Her back arched as she pressed herself closer with an encouraging moan.
Between the two of us, we were able to remove the fabric entirely with minimal interruption to my efforts. That, of course, left her bare for my gaze. Her need directly above my own, separated only by my trousers.
I was going to die. There was no way I would survive the night. My heart had ceased beating and was certainly not going to start again.
I was more than all right with that.
To die with her taste on my lips, her silken skin under my fingers, the sight of her unclothed and mussed in my arms—it was a privilege I did not deserve.
Her curls were tangled from my hands, hanging in luxurious waves around us, shrouding us. My kisses had left her lips, neck, and chest reddened, and I felt a purely male pride at the sight. A few yellowing bruises decorated her abdomen, remnants from that awful night. Stark reminders of how close I came to losing her, my Celine. Inches away, from never having this or any of the thousands of other moments I wanted in her arms.
I ducked, pressing the gentlest of kisses to each one of her battle wounds.
“Will,” she whined, trying to guide me by my hair back to her lips or her breasts or her neck, I doubted she knew which either. In a superhuman feat, I refused her, instead catching her waist and flipping her back onto the cloud-soft bed beneath me.
She gave me an arch grin in response, one I could not help but reciprocate before taking her lips with my own. It was impossible, of course, to express my feelings for her in words, or even in kisses. But I was never one to give up without trying.
She tasted of sunshine, and hope, and something warm, sensual, spicy. I could only imagine the desperation she tasted from me.
Far from repulsed though, she clawed at me, dragging me closer still.
“Will, I want to feel you.” She clung to my back with surprising strength, pulling herself off the bed to where my chest hovered over hers.
“You’ll be crushed. Do you have any idea how devastated I would be if I crushed you now?” I answered, inspecting her jaw once again with my lips.
“Please?”
“No, ’m busy.” I had every intention of finding my way to her feminine folds any moment now. But there were a great number of curves to map with my lips and tongue, lest I be lost forever in the heaven that surely awaited between her thighs. Of course, that would be no great hardship.
The divot in her clavicle, the mound of each breast with their very distracting peaks, the valley below them. The river between each of her ribs where the lightest glisten of sweat clung for me to taste. The cleft above each hip bone. Each and every one was charted and explored until her hands fisted in the bed coverings and every exhale was a pant of my name.
There I found it, my destination, my shelter, her surely delectable center. Instinct drove me. All enthusiasm and no finesse when I found myself buried between her thighs. Here was ambrosia, manna, something better. She was hot and wet and all mine, all for me.
I was lost to her, the only grip I had on reality was the hand that somehow found its way tangled up in hers.
It was a gloriously fortunate thing that she was so damn expressive. Whimpers and sighs escaped her lips. Fingers threaded through my hair, fisting when I moved just right. Her hips chased my mouth, directing me to the places that were most pleasing to her. She was a symphony, a ballet, a revelation.
After a close call between her hips and my nose, I pressed our joined hands low on her belly to keep her where I wanted her. With each passing swipe of my tongue, my confidence grew. I drew her leg over my shoulder with my free hand, spreading her even wider for my appreciation.
