She let him kiss her just as he had at Vauxhall, and then she surprised herself by stroking him with her tongue, an invitation—a hesitant, yet bold move, and it felt right. Gavin responded and for a moment, they breathed as one.
His hand ran over the curve of her hip and buttock. She warned herself to relax. All would be fine if she would just relax.
He nuzzled his way down her neck. Through the sheet, she could feel the strength of his arousal against her thigh.
And then all conscious thought left her as his lips covered her breast. He sucked gently. His tongue brushed her and a jolt of heat she’d never known before shot straight to her core. She held him, not wanting him to ever stop what he was doing. Her fingers curled in his hair. She moved, her legs suddenly restless.
He found her other breast and gave it the same attention and Sarah heard herself gasp with both surprise and pleasure.
Pleasure. She was completely vulnerable to him . . . and yet, the fear ebbed to be replaced by this certainly sinful desire.
And then his lips were upon hers again.
There was need in his kiss, a driving need.
His hand slid to the juncture of curls at her thigh. She was moist, something she’d never experienced before. His fingers teased her. A sharp, deliciously raw sensation enveloped her. With a will of their own, her legs parted, inviting him to do more.
And he did.
Exploring fingers slid inside her and she thought she would come undone. This felt good. But it wasn’t enough. Sarah released her breath with a soft moue. A need was in her, a need only he could relieve.
He lifted himself up over, giving his wondrous touch more freedom. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, reaching for him, but he held back.
“No, Sarah, this is for you. So that you will never tremble again. Trust me, love. Trust me.”
She couldn’t have argued. Her whole being was lost in the spell of his touch. He seemed to know her better than she knew herself.
A pressure was building inside her. She turned her face into the warmth of his neck. Her body wanted to be covered by him—and then suddenly, sharp, pure sensation swept through her.
It was as if her being had become as focused as a pinprick of sunlight in the dark before bursting into warm, glorious flame.
All Sarah could do was hold on to Gavin as wave after wave of emotion flowed, relentless and pure, through her.
She couldn’t speak. Words were not adequate. It has all been so simple and yet satisfying, delightfully so.
He held her as if he understood. “Sarah.” He whispered her name as if it was a benediction. As if she mattered.
His hand found hers. He placed it upon him. He was long and hard and if he was feeling half of what had driven her, she could not imagine going without release. He guided her in what he wanted. It did not take much. He acted as if he’d been as caught up in the same storm, as if in pleasing her, he pleased himself? An astounding thought.
He gasped aloud with his own release. She felt the essence of him against her skin. He’d needed her. He was far more robust a man than Roland could ever have been, and yet, for her, he’d held himself back.
His body fell against hers after his release. The rushing beat of blood pumping through her veins matched the beat of his own. He gathered her in the haven of his arms, pressed a kiss to her hair, to her forehead, to her temple. “Ah, Sarah, you break my heart.”
She didn’t answer. She’d been robbed of speech. For a long moment, she let herself be at peace, her head on his shoulder, savoring the aftermath.
Ever so slowly, consciousness returned. He pulled the coverlet over both of them. She stared into his eyes. “Why just for me? Why did you deny yourself?”
“I don’t want you afraid. Not of me, Sarah. Never of me—and yet, I had to do something or I would explode.”
All her life she’d witnessed men taking what they wanted without thought to anyone’s needs but their own.
And now Gavin had proven to her, that not all men were selfish, that there was more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and burst into tears.
He held her, whispering words she could not hear and yet understood. He didn’t just want her body; he wanted her trust. He may even want her soul, and in this moment, Sarah could have given it to him. She was so tired of being afraid, of being alone, of being forgotten.
She hugged her arms around his torso, her legs intertwined with his, the sheet still between them.
Didn’t he know she was flawed, imperfect?
