Just looked at her.
“What?” she asked, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. She knew she was considered to be attractive, but she was no legendary beauty, and he was examining her as if he wanted to catalogue her every feature.
“I wanted to see you,” he whispered. He touched her cheek, then smoothed his thumb down the line of her jaw. “You’re always in motion. I don’t get to justseeyou.”
Her legs turned wobbly, and her lips parted, but she couldn’t seem to make them work, couldn’t seem to do anything other than stare up into his dark eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Do you know what I thought when I saw you the first time?”
She shook her head, desperate for his words.
“I thought I could drown in your eyes. I thought”—he moved in closer, his words now as much breath as sound—“I could drown inyou.”
She felt herself swaying toward him.
He touched her lips, tickling the tender skin with his forefinger. The motion sent ripples of pleasure throughout her, right down to the center of her being, to places forbidden even to her.
And she realized that she had never really understood the power of desire until that very moment. Never really understood what it was at all.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He smiled. “You always order me about.”
“Kiss me.”
“Are you sure?” he murmured, his mouth curved into a teasing smile. “Because once I do, I might not be able to—”
She grabbed the back of his head and yanked him down.
He chuckled against her lips, his arms tightening around her with uncompromising strength. She opened her mouth, welcoming his invasion, moaning with pleasure as his tongue swept in, exploring her warmth. He nibbled and licked, slowly stirring a fire within her, all the while pressing her closer and closer against him until his heat poured through her clothing, wrapping her in a haze of desire.
His hands stole around her back, then down to her derriere, squeezing and kneading, then tilting her up until—
She gasped. She was twenty-eight years old, old enough to have heard indiscreet whispers. She knew what his hardness meant. She’d just never expected it to feel quite so hot, so insistent.
She jerked back, the motion more instinct than anything else, but he wouldn’t let her go, pulled her closer and groaned, rubbing her against him. “I want to be inside you,” he groaned in her ear.
Her legs completely gave out.
It didn’t matter, of course; he just held her even tighter, then sank her onto the sofa, coming down atop her until the full length of him pressed her into the soft, cream-colored cushions. He was heavy, but his weight was thrilling, and she could do nothing but loll her head back as his lips left hers to travel down the column of her throat.
“Phillip,” she moaned, and then again, as if his name were the only word left to her.
“Yes,” he grunted, “yes.” His words seemed torn from his throat, and she had no idea what he was talking about, only that whatever he was saying yes to, she wanted it, too. She wanted everything. Anything he wanted, anything possible.
She wanted everything that was possible and everything impossible, too. There was no more reason, only sensation. Only need and desire and this overwhelming sense ofnow.
This wasn’t about yesterday and it wasn’t about tomorrow. This was now, and she wanted it all.
She felt his hand on her ankle, rough and callused as it moved up her leg until it reached the edge of her stocking. He didn’t pause, did nothing to implicitly ask her permission, but she gave it anyway, urging her legs apart until he settled more firmly between them, giving him more room to caress, more space to tickle her skin.
He moved up and up and up, pausing every now and then to squeeze, and she thought she might die from the waiting. She was on fire, burning for him, feeling strange and wet and so completely unlike herself she thought she might dissolve into a pool of nothingness.
Or evaporate completely. Or maybe even explode.
And then, just when she was quite convinced that nothing could be stranger, nothing could wind her even tighter than she was, he touched her.
Touched her.
