He could wait until they were married to touch her again. It wasn’t as if he were some green lad who couldn’t control himself. Lucy wasn’t the first woman he’d ever had in his bed. He’d tasted smooth, creamy skin before. He’d worshipped every arc and dip and warm, scented valley of a woman’s body with his hands, his lips, and his tongue before. This was no different.
Shewas no different—
He let out a low, tortured groan and rolled onto his side. He propped his head on one hand and gazed down at her. Lucy was splayed out on her back, her lips parted, her hair spilling in a wild red ocean across the pillow. The useless shift had slipped down her shoulder, leaving flushed, naked skin exposed to his heated gaze.
God, how he wanted to kiss that bared neck, run his tongue over that perfect skin, teasing and licking and nipping until her eyelids fluttered open with a moan.
Ciaran squeezed his eyes closed. The truth was she could have been wearing dozens of shifts, one layered on top of the next, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. He’d still want her.
Ache for her. Burn for her…
There was a faint rustle of fabric, soft sheets sliding against his skin. Warm legs wrapped around his, and fingertips dragged down his bare chest. “Ciaran?”
Ciaran opened his eyes to find Lucy gazing up at him, a sleepy smile curving her red lips.
That was all it took. Her smile hit him right in the center of his chest, hurtled into his lower belly, then exploded between his legs like a lightning bolt. He reached for her, groaning when she tumbled willingly into his arms.
Her lips, her skin, her palm stroking over his chest and belly, her breathless murmurs in his ears—everything about Lucy was warm and welcoming and alive. She came to him eagerly, teasing him with soft touches and light brushes of her lips and fingers until he arched and writhed for her.
Ciaran lost himself in her then. His world went fuzzy at the edges until all he knew, all he was, was Lucy. The swells of her breasts in his palms, the hard peaks of her nipples against his fingertips and tongue, her legs tangled with his, her hands tight his hair, the sinuous twist of her body against his.
The taste of her.
God, the sweet taste of her, the slide of her silky skin like cream against his tongue.
When he couldn’t stand the torment a moment longer he cupped the curves of her hips in his hands and slid her body on top of his. She gasped when he found her hot center with his fingers, her head falling back as he circled and petted her there until her desire flooded his palm.
A hoarse groan escaped his lips when he surged upward, sinking into the warm, tight embrace of her body. She wrapped her legs around his hips and twined her arms around his neck so every part of her held him. He thought, fleetingly, that it had always been this way with Lucy. She’d been holding him tightly against her from the beginning, and she’d never stopped.
Then Lucy cried out, her lips on his as the pleasure took them, and for long, delirious moments, he didn’t think at all.
Afterward, she fell against his chest, her body limp and sated, and he buried his face in her neck, dazed. As his breathing calmed his limbs went liquid, his body melting against hers. He could have stayed like that all day, his parted lips pressed against her throat as they both drifted off to sleep, but it was a full day’s drive to his family’s country estate in Buckinghamshire.
They’d have plenty of time to linger in bed once they were married.
A sleepy smile drifted over his lips at the thought, and he gathered Lucy closer. “You’re not falling asleep, are you?” He teased his mouth over the damp curls at her temple. “Did I wear you out?”
“Shhh.” Lucy’s eyes were closed, a contented smile on her lips. “Go to sleep.”
Ciaran chuckled, stroking his hand down the silky length of her spine. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t bother you with my attentions again this morning.”
Lucy smiled, opening one sleepy eye. “Do I look bothered to you, Ciaran?”
Ciaran grinned back at her and dropped a kiss behind her ear. “Well, no, but a proper gentleman would have had the decency to wait.”
She opened the other eye and gazed at him, suddenly wary. “What do you mean? Wait for what?”
Something in her tone made Ciaran stiffen. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Wait until we marry.”
An awful silence fell, and then she was struggling out of his arms. “We’ve been through this already, Ciaran. I told you I can’t marry you.”
Ciaran sat up, every vestige of sleep dissolving at her words. “I know what you told me, Lucy, but that was before.”
“Before what?” A faint flush rose in her cheeks, but otherwise her face gave nothing away.
“Beforewhat?” He gestured between them, then waved a hand over the tangled coverlet, the rumpled sheets. “Beforethis.”
Lucy took in the evidence of their passion with cool, dark eyes. “This doesn’t change anything.”
