“How many years?” she asked, curious.
He cracked open his eyes. “I thought you wanted less talking.”
“About anything except this moment,” she amended.
“Years ago isn’t this moment.”
She swirled her fingers over his nipples, so different from her own. “Yes, it is. Stop ducking the question. How many?”
He looked at her, long and thoughtfully. “Since I first met you.”
She paused, surprised. “That long ago.”
“Yes.” His jaw tightened. “If you’re not going to touch, I want my turn.”
“All right.” Emboldened by this startling knowledge that Han had fantasized about her all this time, had wanted her maybe as much as she’d always wanted him, she stepped back. She pulled off her camisole—tossing it aside as he had with his shirt—then skimmed off her panties before she lost her courage. And suddenly understood exactly why Han had blushed in baring himself for her, especially if her expression had looked anything like his.
His mouth had fallen open slightly, his face slack in a way that would’ve made him look daft but for the piercing blue of his eyes as he raked her with his gaze. “Iliana,” he breathed. “As many times as I’ve dreamed of seeing you this way, my fantasies never came close to the sheer perfection of you.” Moving slowly, he took her hand, raised it above her head, encouraging her to twirl in a leisurely circle. “You take my breath away.”
“Not so much that you haven’t stopped talking,” she teased, but she was breathless too.
He narrowed his eyes. “Youkeep talking.”
She couldn’t resist, she popped onto her tiptoes and kissed that beautiful mouth, gasping when his hands vised on her waist, pulling her against him so her breasts crushed against his hot skin, his cock pressing hard against her belly, as he deepened the kiss, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. His magic shimmered potent under his skin, just as her own boiled inside, swelling to bursting.
She clung to him, aware of his hands traveling over her, then—dimly—of him easing them to fall onto the bed. This was good as it let her touch him everywhere and feel him against her at the same time, their legs tangling together, his mouth hot on her taut nipples, fanning the flames that threatened to consume her and leave nothing left. “Han,” she moaned, pleaded.
“Iliana,” he replied in a reverent whisper, making a poem of her name.
She rolled onto her back, parting her thighs. “I want you inside of me.”
“So soon?” He stroked a hand down her ribs and over her hip. “We’ve barely done any foreplay.”
“Later for that,” she urged, cupping his perfectly muscled ass in her hand and digging in her nails. “I want this, now.”
His lips curved in a wicked smile. “I have to check that you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“I have to be sure,” he explained, so seriously that she knew he was tormenting her. “Let me see you.”
With a groan, she let go of him, staring at the ornate ceiling and blushing furiously as he slid down her body, then parted her thighs further, opening her to his gaze. “Han…”
“Trust me. I want this to be good for you.” He caressed her thighs, combing light fingers through her nether hair. “I love that this hair is red, too.” He kissed her inner thigh, making her tremble. “And that you have freckles even here.”
“Han, please.” She squirmed, forgetting to be embarrassed, and he chuckled.
“All right.” Carefully he parted the lips of her sex, touching her with exquisite care. “I want to do this right,” he muttered, almost to himself, then touched her with a light finger, the sensation so extraordinary she squealed. “Did that hurt?” he asked anxiously, snatching his finger back.
“No,” she said on a laugh. “It felt amazing. Why is it better than when I do it?”
“Because we’re together,” he replied fervently. “Show me where to touch.”
So, she did, guiding his hand, sighing at the utter bliss of his caress, moving her hips with increasing urgency.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured in awe. “So sexy.”
“Told you I was ready.” She urged him up her body, but he stilled, holding himself away from her. “Did you change your mind?”
