Page 65 of Miss Delectable
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Orion Goddard’sloving had a relentless quality, an unwillingness to be either hurried or denied, that drew Ann away from the troubles in the Coventry’s kitchen. His touch was slow and cherishing, his kisses entrancing.
He focused on Ann, and her focus shifted to him. He was lean all over, tough muscle, scarred flesh, but warm, too, and comfortable with physical intimacy. He ran his hand over Ann’s neck and shoulders, and traced her features with delicate fingers.
“You hide yourself,” he whispered. “Hide behind recipes and aprons, busyness and competence. You don’t have to hide from me, Annie Pearson. Tell me what you want.”
You. Closer. More.The words would not come and barely made sense to Ann anyway. Orion knew what he was about, a far cry from the fumblings Ann had endured in previous encounters. She locked her ankles at the small of his back and pulled him closer.
“You are like the cavalry,” he said, tracing her brow with his nose. “All headlong and heedless. Wellington despaired of us. Surrender to pleasure, and I promise you victory.”
He touched her everywhere, teasing her breasts, caressing her arms, and nuzzling her palms. He was like an incoming tide, submerging Ann more and more deeply in sensation and yearning. When he had introduced her to the wonder of a man’s mouth skillfully applied to a lady’s breasts—even when she yet wore her chemise—she rallied her wits to return fire.
She started where he had, tracing his facial features, and she spent extra time brushing her thumbs across his brow. That damned eye patch had to be a nuisance, for he went still under her hand, then sighed.
Ann graduated to the planes and sinews of Orion’s back, making so bold as to learn the contours of his muscular bum and to put her own mouth to his flat, male nipple. That foray earned her a soft groan. All the while, she was aware that her lover was in a state of splendid readiness for the act itself.
Orion, however, did not seem aware. He seemed content to let her pet and taste him until spring.
“Up,” Ann said, giving his bottom a pat. “Please.”
He eased up and sat back, his weight grazing Ann’s thighs.
“The chemise has to go,” Ann said, pulling the hem free from the covers and half raising herself on her elbows. “Get this damned thing off of me.”
“Hold still.” He complied without so much as a tug to Ann’s braid and pitched the offending linen over his shoulder. “The look of you now will stay with me until I’m a tired old man, past all mischief, save what I’ve stored in memory.”
“Enough looking,” Ann said, wrapping him in her arms and urging him down over her. “More loving.”
He exhibited more of his infernal patience. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Orion, I am sure.” About the larger picture—the situation with Jules, Aunt Melisande’s backhanded support, the dreaded prospect of becoming Aunt Meli’s companion—Ann was in a welter of bewilderment. But in this bed, in Orion Goddard’s arms, she knew exactly who and what she wanted.
“So be it,” he said, kissing her forehead with an odd solemnity. “But you tell me if I’m blundering, Annie. You pinch my arse, pull my hair, bite my ear. I can get carried away.”
“Your version of lovemaking sounds like a brawl.” A glorious brawl. Ann would have elaborated on that point, except that Orion hitched closer.
“Hold me,” he whispered, tucking an arm under Ann’s neck. He murmured something in French—she caught the verbrêver, to dream—and the moment did take on the quality of a reverie. She closed her eyes the better to savor the sensation of Orion easing his way into her body. He stole forward by minute increments, then slipped away, then gently pressed forward again.
“You are driving me mad, Orion.”
“Good.”
Ann came to appreciate his delicacy, for her body had an adjustment to make. He seemed to sense even that, going still, hilted inside her, while he treated her to wicked, heated kisses. His tongue had skills other than the ability to taste, and so, Ann discovered, did hers.
She was exploring that skill when he resumed a slight rocking of his hips, and something about the angle he’d taken wasdifferent. More maddening.
“Move with me, Annie. Take what you need.”
She never took. Never demanded, never insisted, but her self-restraint deserted her when Orion levered up on his arms and began thrusting in earnest.
“This is the part where you get carried away?” Ann managed.
“This is the part whereweget carried away.”
He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly how to ply Ann’s body so desire rose to a galloping need, then beyond that, to a transcendent pleasure. She arched up at the same moment he tucked close, and she battered him with the cataclysm storming through her.
He might have laughed softly, the wretch, while Ann pressed her cheek to the rough warmth of his chest and shuddered under an intensity of sensation. She had glimpsed these feelings before, fleetingly, glancingly, but with Orion, she became another creature entirely, luminous with bodily joy.
