Page 67 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“I’ll feel my way—and be thankful for it, I suppose.”
She sank back as both of his hands went exploring and his lips and tongue soon followed.
“So beautiful,” he murmured.
“You cannot see,” she reminded him.
“I don’t have to.”
With one finger he teased her, blazing a slow path around one erect nipple, then the other. Her back arched.
“There’s no hurry,” he whispered.
She whimpered her disagreement, then gasped as he bent down and licked one nipple, then the other. For a blessed eternity she reveled in the erotic torture as he licked and sucked, switched sides and tortured her anew. Every sensation plucked a chord that sent heat and damp and pure lust spiraling through her. She was nearly shaking with it before he was through.
He came back to her mouth and she clutched at him, desperate for more—but unsure how to ask, or even what she asked for.
He knew, though. He buried his face in the nape of her neck and she shivered and stretched, giving him access. Then he reattached himself to her breast and she moaned—just as she felt his fingers at her thigh, raising her hems.
She stiffened, but he appeared to be concentrating on her breast and on making soft, teasing circles on her thigh with each rising inch of her skirts. He wasn’t looking at her leg—and he likely couldn’t see it, if he did.
Safe in the dark, she relaxed. He continued pulling her skirts high and she ran a hand up inside his linen, over his chest. She marveled as she roamed the hard expanse. He was so large and unyielding, even as everything he did to her was tender.
And patient. While her skirts rose, he’d begun to kiss his way lower. His lips tickled her ribs and began to move down toward the bundle of clothes bunched at her waist.
She grabbed him and held on. “Please, stay up here?”
He paused—and then understood. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Glory. I think you are incredibly lovely, just as you are.”
His words warmed her, but still, something wary inside wouldn’t let go. “Please. I . . . I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry about,” he said firmly. “This is about making you feel marvelous. I’ll stay here.” He kissed her breast. “It’s not a hardship.”
She relaxed her hold, flooded with relief—and with the increasingly familiar mix of desire, nerves and delicious frustration he always brought out in her.
His teasing fingers had moved to her inner thigh now, and she had to fight to keep from clenching her legs together.
He must have felt the tension in her. “Everything is fine, Glory.” He stilled and she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Would you like a turn? Touching me?”
Her breath let out quickly. “Yes.” That was exactly what she needed.
He sat up. Reaching behind him, he grasped the back of his shirt and lifted it over his head. Pulling her upright, he lay back and took her place. “I’m all yours.”
She could hear the grin in his voice and she responded in kind. It made it easier to bend over him and press a quick kiss onto his mouth.
“That’s good, for a start.”
Scooting closer, she rested on an elbow. Her index finger replaced her lips. “You said there was no hurry.”
In answer, he shifted, setting himself more comfortably—and waited.
She rested her hand flat against his chest. He was so warm. His heart beat reassuringly beneath her fingers. She began to move them, investigating, searching out a path across his wide shoulders, grazing his nipples, moving over the hard planes and valleys of his muscles. At last, she followed the trail of coarse hair down to his navel.
She stopped there, nervous about going further. He lay taut before her, and she could feel his hand grasping the blanket between them.
“Go on,” he urged.
Curiosity won. Her touch feather light, she moved downward. “Good heavens.”
