She reached for his hands, feeling brazen and desperate all at once. “Touch me.”
“Felicity.”
“I am aching for you,” she whispered. “If I must spend the rest of my life in a marriage founded in duty, give me this, Blade. Give me this one night in your arms.”
“Christ,” he bit out, his countenance turning harsh.
He was a man at war with himself, his jaw a hard slash to rival his cheekbones. His eyes were dark and stormy, like the sea at sunset.
She brought his palms to her breasts, rolling to her side so they were face-to-face, chest to chest. “Please.”
“There will be no going back, love,” he warned, his voice sounding strained.
“Nor do I want there to be.” She shifted, bringing their bodies closer. The heavy ridge of his manhood pressed against her belly.
A new kind of heat blazed between her thighs.
A new longing.
“Tell me what to do,” she urged when he remained silent, his sole movement in the thumbs that rolled over her nipples in slow, tantalizing circles.
“Damn it,” he cursed. “You do not know what you are asking.”
“I know, Blade, and I want you. Just you.”
Always you.
Those two words came from seemingly nowhere, taking her by surprise. At the last moment, she suppressed them, kept from speaking them aloud. Whatever this was between them, it felt sacred and rare. And she wanted to revel in it, in him, while she could.
Before it was taken from her.
With a growl, he tore open the belt keeping his dressing gown in place. He shrugged the black fabric away and emerged, naked and godlike. He took her breath. But her eyes had only a moment to feast upon his broad chest—where initials had been inked upon his flesh, along with a cross—his taut abdomen, the golden trail of hair leading to his manhood.
He was thick and long and ruddy, and the sight of him both terrified and thrilled her. She knew what he was meant to do with that magnificent part of himself. And how it would fit inside her was a mystery she would soon discover if the intensity in his gaze was any indication.
“Touch me,” he said.
She knew then he had made up his mind. He was going to make love to her. To take her innocence. Everything in her sent up a resounding wave of gladness, followed swiftly by renewed desire.
He took her hand and placed it on him there, where he was surprisingly smooth and so warm. He guided her, showing her how to stroke from root to tip. How powerful she felt, touching this man, making him groan. A pearly bead on the end of his manhood enthralled her. She swirled her thumb over it, earning another moan and a thrust of his hips.
With her left hand, she caressed his shoulder, then ran her touch down his well-muscled biceps where she discovered a faded scar. Then on to his chest, tracing over the ink there. All whilst she gripped him, pleasuring him in return.
“Sweet hell, Felicity,” he said on a groan, and then he took her mouth.
He kissed her tenderly at first, then with greater abandon. Her lips moved against his, opening for his questing tongue. Abruptly, he ended it, raining a series of kisses down her neck, to her breasts. He kissed and licked and sucked. She continued enjoying free reign over his beautiful body, touching him, stroking him.
They rolled together, Felicity on her back, Blade settled between her thighs.
He buried his face between her breasts, his lips skimming over her, igniting more fire as he went. And then he reached between them, working her bud with his fingers, sending more longing to her core.
“Your cunny is drenched for me, love.”
His pronouncement did not cause her any shame. Instead, she was pleased. She basked in the adoration in his voice, the almost drunken expression his countenance had acquired, pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.
“Yes,” she said, hips moving, seeking, her hand grasping, stroking.
She was desperate to have him inside her, and she did not care if he knew it.
