Page 40 of Must Love Libraries and Libations
“You forget,” I said with a grin. “Even the sweetest-smelling roses have thorns.”
“Not you,” he whispered. “Never you,” he said, then gently set his lips on mine.
When he kissed me this time, it wasn’t hard and desperate like before. It was slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of me. His lips held the warm sweetness of the wine, with the deep oak flavors lingering behind. But there was also him…just him.
And I wanted him.
I melted into him, clutching his shirt as he drew me closer.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he murmured against my lips.
“That makes two of us,” I replied, then claimed another kiss.
His hands found my waist, pulling me onto his lap, his tail wrapping around me. I could feel the heat of his skin through his clothes, the way his breathing had gone rough and uneven.
“Primrose,” he gasped into my ear. “Tell me to stop.”
“Now, why would I do that?”
His mouth moved to my neck, pressing hot kisses along my throat that made me gasp. His hands roamed my back, one settling at the base of my spine while the other gently gripped the back of my neck.
“You are so soft. I have felt nothing like you in so many years. Smooth like silk,” he said, his hand drifting up my arm. “You’re so unlike what I am.”
I was drowning in sensation, in the feel of his mouth on my skin and the low rumble of his voice. When his lips found the sensitive spot on my collarbone, my back arched, and I couldn’t hold back a moan.
The sound seemed to inflame him. His hands grew bolder, one sliding up to cup my breast through my dress. Even through the fabric, his touch sent fire racing through my veins.
“Do you like that?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice quivering.
With trembling fingers, he unlaced the front of my dress, slowly revealing my breasts. His golden eyes were molten as he looked at me, drinking in the sight of my flushed skin and the rapid rise and fall of my chest.
He set his mouth on my breasts, kissing the mounds. “You taste like summer magic.”
He squeezed my breast gently as his long, forked tongue slid across them. Lowering the fabric and freeing them, he groaned when he touched my nipple. I could feel his hard member pressed against his trousers and his tail slipping under the fold of my dress. When his tongue slid across my pert nipple, I arched against him with a cry. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, until I was trembling and desperate for more. My hands roamed his broad shoulders, feeling the play of muscle beneath his shirt.
“More,” I whispered, surprising myself with my boldness. “Please, Erasmus.”
He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Are you certain?”
Instead of answering, I pulled my dress over my head, baring myself to him completely. His intake of breath was audible.
“Primrose,” he breathed, then bent to worship my bare skin with his mouth.
I was lost in sensation. He made me feel like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. When his hand slipped up my thigh, his fingers pulling aside my panties and finding the wetness between my thighs, I saw stars.
“You make me come alive,” he murmured, his fingers exploring me carefully. “I’ve spent centuries alone, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I dream of your softness, your smell, of holding you, feeling you. I want all of you.”
“Erasmus,” I whispered.
“Lie back.”
I nodded, and he helped me gently lie down.
He kissed my leg, starting from my knee and moving upward. He drizzled kisses on my thighs.
“May I?” he whispered gently.
