She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into the thick bulge of muscle to bring him closer.
She fought tenderness with passion, parrying the slow stroke of his tongue with deep thrusts and carnal twists. She heard him groan and felt his arms tighten around her in response to her sensual entreaty.
She thought she’d won.
She moaned at the increased contact, feeling the tips of her breasts harden as they were crushed against the steely warmth of his chest. She loved the way he felt against her. Loved the feeling of all that strength wrapped around her.
This was exactly what she wanted.
She pressed even tighter, letting her hips rock against his. The feel of his manhood riding high against her stomach, so hard and thick...
She wanted him to move against her. Wanted the pressure—the friction—the frantic energy pulsing through her. She didn’t want time to think.
But he wouldn’t give it to her. He seemed impervious to her attempts to spark the lust that simmered between them ready to burst into flames at the first flare. He blocked the carnal thrusts and twists of her tongue with long, loving strokes.
He took control and didn’t give it back.
She almost cried out in frustration as he met her wicked onslaught not with the speed and frenzy she craved but with deft control and gentle caresses. His hands did not cup her bottom to lift her against him, they smoothed over her hips and waist as if he were sculpting a fine piece of porcelain.
The ache in her chest returned. The tenderness mixed with passion combined to make an even more powerful drug. One that beckoned and tempted. But she fought against it, using the only weapon at her disposal.
Slowly, she started to slide her hand down his stomach.
Thom knew what she was trying to do. She was scared and determined to deny the tender feelings he roused in her with passion.
But he was equally determined to win this sensual battle that had sprung up between them; to prove that it wasn’t just lust but something far deeper that bound them. He wouldn’t let her win.Couldn’tlet her win.
But when her hand began to inch down his stomach he started to sweat. He had to grit his teeth against the pleasure that he knew was a few sweet strokes of her hand away. Just the thought of her touching him, of having those dainty, white fingers wrapped around his thick, throbbing cock...
Oh God.The pounding at the base of his spine, and the tight throbbing of an already too-hard erection, intensified.
He concentrated on kissing her. Concentrated on the gentle strokes of his tongue delving lovingly into her mouth. Concentrated on the soft brushes of his lips against hers, on the velvety softness of the delicate cheek under his hand.
He tried not to think about the hard tips of the generous breasts digging into his chest or the hips innocently pressing against him, or the hand...
The hand that was now at his waist, damn it.
He stopped breathing, sensing her hesitation. She was innocent. A maid. Not a wanton. She wouldn’t be bold enough to touch him. Christ, at least he hoped she wouldn’t. But knowing Elizabeth...
He muffled a curse even as temptation beckoned. It would be so easy to put his hand over hers, slide it over him, and show her what to do. Show her how to wrap her fingers around him, grip him tight, and milk him until the pleasure exploded. Release—relief—was only a few pumps away.
But he couldn’t, damn it. The feel of her hand on him... he didn’t know if he would be able to stay in control.
He was about to find out. She was bold enough all right—God, help him. He couldn’t stifle the groan that tore from deep inside his lungs when her hand tentatively skimmed over the swollen head. Instinctively—because what else could he do?—he thrust into her hand, and she molded her fingers and palm around him.
He stilled. He might have stopped breathing for a moment while he thanked every god he’d ever heard of and tried to find the strength to stop the powerful urges surging through his body. It felt so damned good, so damned right, a few thrusts of his hips, and the pleasure would be pulsing through him.
But the relief—no matter how great—would only be temporary. And it wouldn’t bring her any closer to recognizing and accepting her feelings for him—with everything that might mean.
A moment now or a lifetime? It wasn’t hard to decide.
So he let her hand stay there. Ignored it (as if that were possible) while he concentrated on kissing her, showing her with his mouth and tongue how much he loved her. Even when she mewled in frustration, when her hand accidentally tugged him in a motion that if it wasn’t a stroke was a damned fine imitation of one, he didn’t give in.
But the instant he was certain he’d made his point, he pulled back. He knew it was only a matter of time—probably not much—before the fact that she was warm and willing against him would wreak havoc with even the most steely of control.
He didn’t say anything, but just stared into her eyes, holding her close and watching the frustration and turmoil play across her faerie princess features. The big blue eyes framed by curly, long lashes, the tiny, slightly upturned nose, the high pink cheeks, and soft red mouth.
“Why are you doing this?” she begged in a half-plea, half-cry of desperation.
