She did not move.
Smiling slightly, seductively, he repeated, “Come.”
She moved toward him, slowly, as if bewitched.
He handed her a towel.
Katherine took it. As she did so, her cloak fell open. Liam glimpsed her large, taut nipples, ruby-colored, beneath the silk gown she wore, which was plastered to her and entirely sheer. Knowing he could not control the shaking of his hands, or the size of his loins, he slowly reached for her. Katherine had not moved. Liam unpinned her cloak. It dropped to the floor.
Still Katherine did not move. She did not even appear to breathe.
He saw every lovely inch of her. “You are soaking wet,” he said thickly, reaching for her gown.
Her wide eyes met his. “Stop,” she whispered, rawly.
Liam did not answer. He gripped the wet silk and slowly slid it upward on her body. Baring her long legs, the lush mound of her femininity, her curved hips. Their gazes clashed, held. Liam uncovered her breasts, and then he pulled the gown over her head and tossed it aside. A small, soft sound escaped Katherine.
Determined not to pounce upon her, not to show his barely containable eagerness, Liam turned away to take up the other towel. He faced her, his lips set in a small, encouraging smile, murmuring soothing words. Katherine’s breasts heaved, begging to be touched. Liam gently wrapped the towel around her shoulders, the cotton side against her skin, then began to rub her firm flesh dry. Just touching the muscles there swelled him even more.
“You are an incredible woman,” he murmured. He moved to stand behind her, his hands sliding the toweldown her arms. Katherine was frozen, but her breathing was heavy.
“Everything about you entices me—excites me,” he said low, kneading her strong yet slim arms.
He paused, looking down at her over her shoulder, at her voluptuous breasts. Katherine was shaking, although he knew she was no longer cold. “Your breasts are beautiful, wet and gleaming like this,” he said.
She made a slight, strangled sound.
He reversed the towel and pulled the silk side over her breasts, drying them at first briskly, then slowly. He watched the hard peaks engorge. Katherine began to sway. Liam’s hands splayed, cupped her. “I love your breasts,” he said thickly, kneading them.
“Oh, God,” she gasped as his thumbs finally grazed her nipples.
“You are shaking,” he murmured in her ear, well aware that his breath was hot and erotic. “You are so cold, Kate.” He rubbed the towel over her belly languidly. Katherine shuddered, whimpered. And as he did so, for the very first time, he allowed his phallus to brush the cleft between her buttocks. Although he wore his breeches, he was so large that the fabric was strained to the breaking point, and Katherine inhaled loudly.
“I am going to make you very, very warm,” he whispered against her neck, watching his hand on the towel as he pushed it lower and lower still. “I love looking at you, Kate.”
Katherine stood as straight as an arrow, but he heard her swallow. He pushed the silk between her thighs and rubbed it back and forth. Katherine’s trembling had become uncontrollable.
“Spread your thighs,” he ordered, “so I can dry all of you.”
Katherine moaned, obeying him.
Liam molded the silk over her sex, used it to separate and explore her folds, and finally, his own body shuddering, he thrust his thumb up against the silken towel and began to manipulate her clitoris. Katherine sagged againsthim. Katherine cried out, and he felt her convulsing against his hand.
He caught her with one arm, dropping the towel and pushing her forward and down onto her stomach on the bed. His thumb found her again. She gasped, thrashing, exploding.
Still fondling her, nearly mindless now, Liam ripped open his breeches. Gripping her buttocks, he thrust the huge, bulbous tip of his penis into her. Katherine, her shudders fading, tensed. And Liam cried out, completely blinded by the tight, hot feeling of her as her muscles clamped around him.
Pausing was the most difficult act of his entire life, but he stilled. The cords on his neck standing out, sweat trickling down his face and chest, he bent and kissed her cheek. Katherine whimpered. Her bottom shifted beneath him. There was no mistaking her meaning. His cry savage, he grasped her buttocks and thrust home.
Katherine cried out as he drove himself through her virgin’s membrane. Liam could not stop again. He drove into her again and again, knowing he had never attained such pleasure before, knowing he never would again. Katherine arched beneath him. She was wet, slick now, and his frenzy grew. His hand slid beneath her, cupping her sex, and he slammed into her, thrusting home. Katherine gripped his hand, pushing his fingers into her, her nails cutting his skin, writhing beneath him, bucking beneath him. Liam thrust one last time, deeper, harder. And when his seed began to erupt, he cried her name. Not once, but many, many times.
And afterward, when the convulsions finally ceased, he found himself standing beside the bed, looking down at Katherine, who lay flat on her belly, and he saw his palms gripping her buttocks, which were red and welted, and he saw the blood on her thighs, and he stared—unable to believe what he had done.
Katherine felt him slip from her. She screwed her eyes tightly closed, still unable to breathe. Come back, her mind said desperately. Liam—come back!
But he moved away from her. She felt him standing over her, staring down at her. Katherine inhaled, hoping to steady her ragged breathing, gripping the covers of the bed, trying to control the red-hot fever in her body. But she throbbed without relief. Perhaps if she did not move, if she lay still and open and wet, he would return to her, impale her yet again.
But he did not.
