Page 82 of Managing the Major

“You know I do.” He closed his eyes briefly as if gathering strength. When they flickered open, Octavia knew she’d won.

“I’m tired of fighting how much I want you.”

She stood on her toes, lifting her face. “We’re alone, and there is no reason to spend the night apart. If you don’t kiss me, Alastair, I’ll—”

He pulled her to him, and his mouth slanted over hers, urgent and molten-hot, kissing her with all the passion she craved and more. His arms wrapped around her, and suddenly every space between them filled with his heat and the hard planes of his body, and his arousal pressed like a brand against her stomach.

Their carnal, open-mouthed kisses deepened to something more seductive—slow and smoldering, spilling onto necks, cheeks, and throats. Alastair muttered her name in a knotted voice.

“I know your scent, and it makes my heart stop…lavender and something lemon…”

Gasping, she pulled her mouth away. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I knew I would have to make you mine if I did.”

“Will you?” She stepped away with a long, shuddering breath. “I want you now. I won’t wait longer.” Her hands went to the ribbons holding together the lace bodice of her nightgown.

“Let me,” he said in a knotted voice and pulled the loops free. “God, how many times have I dreamed of this? I can’t even count them, Octavia.” The cool air touched her bare skin, and the pink crests of her breasts furled tightly.

He exhaled unsteadily. “Beautiful.”

She stepped out of the gown. “Take off your shirt, too.”

“Octavia—”

“I want to see you. It’s time to trust me, Alastair. I’ve never unclothed in front of a man before, but I know you’ll lead me through everything. I trust you.”

With his right hand, he unbuttoned the linen shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing a sculpted chest, lightly dusted with fair hair, and tufts of the same underneath his curved biceps. The dark aureoles of his nipples were as tight as hers, and just looking at him, the blood pulsed to her aching femininity.

Alastair stood under her intent gaze, arms clamped against his hips, like a man facing a firing squad. The right side of his body was smooth and perfect, with strong collarbones and broad shoulders, but deep purplish grooves marred the pale skin of his left shoulder, extending down the arm to his hand. There were few scars on his torso, but she knew his knee had suffered the most damage. He refused to meet her eyes, and she wanted to weep that this beautiful man was ashamed of his body.

“Alastair, look at me. I want to see everything.”

His hands moved hesitantly to the fall of his pants. A hot pool of liquid heat settled in her very core in anticipation of seeing his masculinity.

“I’m so aroused—I’m…wet. How can you doubt I desire you?”

“Perhaps because you’re so lovely, Octavia, and I’m…like this,” he indicated his left side. “I feel like Vulcan facing Aphrodite.”

“Your scars are part of you, Alastair, and I accept and cherish everything about you.”

His right hand shook slightly as he undid the buttons of his fall and slid the pants down his hips, dropping them to the floor with his small clothes. Long, wide gouges marked his knee and extended down his thigh and calf, but she only saw the rigid erection emerging from a nest of dark blond curls.

“Oh, my.” She stepped closer, intent on his swollen member. Did it quiver slightly? Tentatively, Octavia ran her fingers up the velvety length of his shaft. It most definitely quivered, and so did he. “This is far more interesting than your scars. Is it—isn’t it—this will never fit, Alastair.”

“I promise you, it will.”

His look of amusement vanished as her hand closed around him, and he groaned, hips jerking involuntarily against her grip. The sense of power was intense, and she stroked again, more confidently, surprised to see a pearly drop of liquid appear at the crown.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Alastair said in a strained voice, “that you should lie down on the bed now.”

She looked up at him suspiciously. “I don’t think so.”

“Then it means I haven’t done this in five years, and I don’t think I’ll last much longer if you continue. Let me touch you instead, sweetheart—”

He took her in his arms and kissed her until she wound herself around his body, seeking the warmth of his smooth bare flesh against hers. The sensation was exquisite, and when his hand reached between them to stroke the inside of her thigh, she trembled in anticipation. His fingers brushed her cleft and found the throbbing bud within, flicking and teasing it deftly. She exhaled in a fractured moan, pressing closer.