Page 83 of The Soldier
She curled up to seek his kiss again and let one hand smooth over his chest, finding a nipple and feathering her fingertips over it. He tensed then bent his head to kiss her, this time giving her his tongue. She seized on that concession and built the kiss hotter and deeper.
“Managing,” he murmured, his voice redolent with affection. “Managing, demanding, passionate, beautiful, and… delicious.” He bent his head, escaping her kiss, and took her nipple in his mouth, feeling her instantly go still then arch up to him.
“St. Just…Devlin.” Her voice held wonder and such sweet longing, he felt a plundering, physical joy. “Devlin, you have to… oh,please.” She rolled her hips against him again, trying to take him inside of her. He ignored her pleading and switched to the second breast.
“Emmie.” He released her breast and raised his face to meet her eyes. “Emmie, look at me.” Her great blue eyes opened then focused on him. When they would have fluttered shut so she could chase him with her hips, he feathered his fingers over her forehead. “Love,look at me.”
Slowly, he brushed the head of his cock over her mons, once, twice, and Emmie met his gaze. He brushed lower, giving her the freedom to raise her hips to meet his caress. Oh, he’d wanted to put his hands on her, his mouth on her. He wanted to tease and taste and torment, but this would do just as well—better, as his own self-restraint was taxing him sorely.
“There,” she breathed as he fit himself to the opening of her body. “Oh,yes.”
He paused, memorizing the dreamy pleasure in her eyes, the languorous heat of her gaze. This much of him, he thought, she truly did hold dear.
“More, St. Just,” she urged as she almost had him where he could not tease and evade as effectively. “Now.”
He hitched his hips, settling all of his weight more closely around her, then eased just the tip of his erection into her damp heat. Still she met his gaze, reaching up and cradling his jaw with her hand, relaxing her body under his.
St. Just felt her focus shift, from her need and her pleasure totheirneeds andtheirpleasures. He sighed his relief and began to move his hips, advancing in slow, sure thrusts as Emmie’s hands drifted over his back. Without warning, her grip became urgent, and she pressed her face tightly against his neck.
“Devlin…”
“Don’t fight it,” he whispered, his pace still smooth and relaxed even as she spasmed around him. “Let it happen, love. Let me give you this.”
She clutched him to her as her body seized with pleasure, and still he kept his cadence almost soothing. The effect of his easy rocking thrusts was to drive her deeper into her pleasure more surely than if he’d tensed and thrust hard in response to her body’s pleading.
“St. Just…” She panted against his shoulder. “I can’t…” Her hands settled on his buttocks, asking him for a moment of stillness, and so he paused, kissing her gently. He nuzzled at her neck, then her jaw, then levered up to regard her.
“I’m all right.” She smiled up at him. “Or as nearly all right as I can be when you love me witless.”
“I do, you know.” He tried to keep the sadness from his voice, from his eyes, from his smile. “Love you.” He dipped his head to kiss her again, covering her mouth just as she inhaled on a gasp.
“You must not say such things.”
“I mustn’t keep it unsaid, but I won’t belabor the point.” He kissed her again but knew he’d blundered—she certainly hadn’t returned the sentiment, now had she? But she deserved the words, and it had been a relief to say them, even if only the once. It had been sheer relief to acknowledge he loved somebody,that he could love somebodyother than the people he’d known since birth. She would always have his gratitude for that, if nothing else.
And he wanted to tell her that, too, but the time for words was quickly passing. Emmie again found his nipples, first with her fingertips, then with her mouth.
“Emmie,” he rumbled, “go easy.” She gentled her touch obligingly but did not desist.
“It’s your turn,” she murmured against his chest.
“Our turn,” he corrected her through gritted teeth. She was maneuvering her heavy artillery into place, experimenting with her inner muscles, closing her body around him every time he moved to withdraw and thrust again. She caught his rhythm, turned the slow, relentless push and drag of his thrusts against him by adding her own push and drag to the dance.
“Don’t fight it,” she whispered, a thread of humor in her voice. “We need it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled, his movement becoming more urgent.
She laughed at that and held him closer. “You couldn’t,” she murmured. “Let go, Devlin. I’ll catch you.”
Let go… Something he hadn’t done in any way, shape, or form foryears. He hadn’t let go of his temper, his physical conditioning, his grief, his loneliness, his terrible weariness of spirit. Hadn’t permitted himself uncontrolled laughter, a mean drunk, a howl of rage or indignation. Hadn’t…Let go.
Something in him broke free. He gathered Emmie closer, anchored one hand under her tailbone, shifted the angle of his penetration, and hilted himself inside her. His movements became not faster but more intense, more focused. He settled his free hand over her breast and closed his fingers around her nipple.
Emmie tightened her hold on him, and St. Just knew he was moving beyond reason. He would not hear her words, but he would hear her body. She strained to meet him, thrust for thrust, arched her breast into his hand, buried her fingers in his hair and held him to her with all her strength. He found her mouth with his, even as inarticulate sounds of need and arousal welled in her throat, and still he drove her on.
“Ah, God, Emmie love,” he murmured fiercely, and then, “Sweet Christ…”
She exploded beneath him, keening her pleasure into his kiss, writhing with mindless abandon in counterpoint to his thrusts. He chased her into a long, grinding wrestling match with satisfaction more pure, intense, and shattering than anything he’d known. And still, when they were reduced to shuddering in reaction and fighting for each breath, they held each other tightly.
