Page 46 of The Lyon Whisperer
She drew a shaky breath, twining her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,please.”
In the next heartbeat, his lips covered hers. He feasted, demanding everything she had and wanting her so damned much he ached.
She responded with a sweet ardor that stole his ability to think.
With an effort of sheer will he brought himself back from the brink. He didn’t want to pounce on her like a wild animal. She deserved to be seduced, finessed, like a tender rosebud blossoming, handled with delicacy. If it killed him, he would do just that.
He leaned forward to press his lips to the creamy skin of her cheek. It was silky and soft, inviting him to nibble his way to her ear. Gingerly, he took her delicate earlobe between his teeth, enjoying her gasp and the way she shivered in response to the gentle abrasion.
Conscious of not overwhelming her, he eased onto his back, drawing her pliant body with him. He bent one leg to prop it against the cushions and allowed the other to splay over the edge.
Her soft curves melted into his hardness, fitting to him as if she’d been formed for this moment.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Is this all right?”
He waited for her reply, his self-control strained to the limit. God, if she said no, if she gave any indication she—
“Yes.” In one graceful move, she propped herself onto her elbow and traced his temple and line of his jaw with silken fingertips. She gazed down at him, her expression sage and sure beyond all comprehension. In the muted light of the candles, her violet-blue eyes seemed to see into his very soul.
He bit back a groan and, slamming his lids shut against the exquisite torture of her fingers playing over his heated skin, her breasts pressing into his chest, her hips settling against his, he rose up to claim her mouth once more.
He suckled her lips with tender reverence, unable to get enough of her taste, some maddening combination of sweet wine and something uniquely Amelia. His tongue skimmed over the seam of her mouth until, with a gasp of delight, she opened for him, and he entered her moist heat.
Blood pounding in his ears, he smoothed his hands over her lithely curving back and gently rounded hips, finally sliding them lower until his palms fitted over her supple bottom.
A shiver coursed through her and she emitted a tiny mew, her hips wriggling against his erection in a move as erotic as it was, undoubtedly, unconscious.
Everything in him tightened with need. Unable to resist the urge, he squeezed the twin mounds, lifting her and snugging her pelvis even more closely into his. She arched against him. It was too much.
His hips bucked up, his cock straining against the fly of his trousers and nearly spilling his seed from the exquisite friction, no matter that too many damned layers of fabric separated him from her secrets.
He would bloody well not unman himself. Such an outcome could not be borne.
Worse, he’d nearly lost sight of his goal.
She had to be the one to initiate their lovemaking. She had to want him as much as he wanted her.
He tore his mouth from hers, cupping her nape to lock her head in place, his masculine pride glorying over the dazed look of wonder in her hooded eyes. He pushed aside the suspicion he felt the same wonder, unwilling to accept he was anything but in control. Everything depended on it. “I’m going to carry you to the bed, Amelia. Nothing will happen you don’t want to happen. Do you trust me?”
She did not hesitate. She nodded once.
Satisfaction roared through him. He scooped her into his arms and in two strides, reached the large bed.
He laid her gently atop the mattress. For the first time, trepidation lurked behind the passion in her heavy-lidded eyes.
Locking gazes with her, he eased himself onto his side to stretch out beside her. With unhurried strokes, he traced her cheek, her jawline, the graceful line of her throat. His large, bronze-skinned hand looked clumsy and awkward against the backdrop of her pristine flesh.
He couldn’t make himself care. All that mattered at this moment was Amelia, and awakening her sensual delight. His pleasure could—andwould—wait.
Fingertips delving into the hollow at the base of her throat, he lowered his head to brush his lips over hers, feather light, over and over again, until she reached for him, circling his nape with hands, slightly damp, to tug him toward her.
The wicked sounding laugh he loosed seemed to spring from his very core as he resisted her efforts, drawing a whimper of need from her lips for his crime of extending both of their torture. He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Do you want me to kiss you, Amelia?”
“Yes,” she said on a breathless pant.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, brushing the flat of his palm over the crest of her breast.
A choking gasp escaped her, her nipple tightening in an instant, and he groaned.
