Page 47 of Earl for the Summer
“What if I want all of it?” The desire, the yearning, in her soft voice nearly undid him.
A shudder rippled through him, and she mistook it for disquiet.
She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “What do you want, Cassian?”
Such a seemingly simple question. Even simpler was the answer.
“You,” he confessed the truth, artless and unvarnished.
The loveliest smile curved her lips. “Well then,” she whispered, “you’d better kiss me again.”
He cradled her slim waist in his hands, bent, and took her lips. Then he was lost, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until she opened and let him sweep his tongue inside to taste her deeply.
She tugged at his shirt as if she wanted him out of it. Her eagerness made him smile against her lips. Then he was tasting the delicious slope of her neck, his hands shaping the soft swell of her breast.
When he tugged the edge of her bodice down, she gasped. Cassian stilled.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
He tugged until the tip of her nipple tantalized him in the darkness. He bent slowly, kissing and licking, until he felt her tauten further under his tongue.
Her body quivered in his arms, and he lifted his head. “Only say the word and we stop.”
She bit her lip. “You’ll think me brazen, but I don’t want to stop.”
“You say brazen as if it’s a bad thing.” He kissed her, tasting her, stroking her with his tongue until she melted against him. Then she shifted her hips, arching into him, her stomach rubbing maddeningly against his hardness.
No matter how much he wanted to, he would not take her in a hedge maze.
“Daphne,” he murmured between kisses.
“Please,” she breathed in reply.
He understood her need and wanted nothing so much as to give her pleasure.
Where he gripped her hip, he began pulling up the fabric of her skirt. She watched him, licked her lips, then helped him lift the fabric.
He looked down at her shapely legs in white stockings and hardened until he ached. His hand shook as he reached under her skirt, found the slit in her drawers, and drew his fingers through her warm, sodden curls.
God’s teeth, he was lost. He’d only meant to touch her, stroke her until she found her release, but he found himself dropping to his knees, tugging at the ribbon of her drawers, inching the soft cotton fabric down her lush hips.
All the while, he could hear her breathing grow ragged, feel her nails dig into his shoulder where she’d braced her hand.
When he looked up at her, she looked down with such longing, it felt as if something inside him ripped free and began to unravel.
“I trust you,” she whispered into the night air.
And at those three softly spoken words, that empty, unraveling spot inside of him began to fill with warmth. Withlight. With love for the woman he held and didn’t ever wish to let go.
He drew his fingers along her folds, then bent to replace them with his tongue. Licking gently and then more hungrily, he feasted on her sweetness. As she bucked against him, he slipped a finger inside her tight, hot channel and continued to taste her.
Daphne drew her fingers through his hair and let out little mewling gasps of pleasure.
He felt her body begin to draw tight, but he didn’t stop until he’d stroked his tongue across the bud that made her shudder through her release, quivering against his mouth. She cried out as she let go, then clasped a hand across her lips.
It reminded him that he needed to protect her. He pulled up her drawers and retied the ribbon. Then he settled her skirts around her, stood, and pulled her into his arms.
“Good heavens,” she whispered against his chest.
