Page 70 of The Truth About Myths
He circled his arms around her waist and lifted her from the ground. "Caught you."
Amid cheers and laughter from the twirling audience, he took her away from the plaza and into a shadowy alley.
Placing his hands on her cheeks, he stared down at her. Her skin tingled like she had rolled atop embers and entered a gelid cave. Isabel closed her eyes. When his wine-scented breath touched her lips, she lifted her face, a sapling searching for the sun's warmth. For an aching moment, she stood in a dark abyss. Waiting… and then he joined her. Isabel interlaced her fingers over his neck, her pulse hammering a flamenco inside her chest. Her legs became useless maypoles, unable to move, to do no more than keep her upright. Henrique kissed with the thoroughness of the scientist, the expertise of the rake, and the passion that was his alone.
He pulled away, breathing heavily. “Isa, Isa, Isa… this is—”
"Don't speak. I need, I need…"
He nibbled at her bottom lip and then peppered kisses over her cheeks. "What do you need, my siren princess?"
"I need another lesson."
She imagined many a maiden had been ruined by uttering much less. In silence, he guided her toward the palace. The incessant drums continued, like a desperate heart, giving the beat, excusing any behavior.
The way passed in a blur, and they were back under Eros' statue.
Henrique caught her in his arms and knelt over the grass. Kissing her deeply, he lowered her over the bench, a maiden sacrifice to the god of love. Inhaling the spice of wet earth and daffodils, she twirled her fingers through his hair, and tugged his head closer, thirsty for his kiss. His hand explored her torso, her stomach, her hip bones. Without a corset, his touch felt real, and yet, she wanted more.
Moonlight danced in his hair, and his face was dewy with the midnight mist. He drew up her skirts. He did it slowly, possibly giving her a moment to judge the sanity of her actions. How foolish. Her sanity still spun on the plaza. A soft breeze kissed her thighs as he revealed to the night sky places that had never seen daylight.
When he found the entrance to her drawers, she sought his eyes. She would have stopped him if his gaze was jaded, patronizing, or lewd, but he seemed… awed and affected like her.
He covered her mound with his palm and trailed his finger over her outer lips. Her hips buckled shamelessly, and he chuckled.
He found that delicious spot and brushed his finger around it, a different kind of courtship than at the fiesta, but with the same dizzying effect. It wasn't enough. Then he stopped. Isabel lifted her head to watch him. He changed position, now kneeling between her legs. The difference in height placed his face inches from her intimate parts. He caressed the fine hairs atop her mound, then sighed, her name a sweet chant on his lips. Isabel held her breath when he propped his weight on his elbows and moved closer.
"You are very pretty here." He kissed her there.
Abruptly, he slid his hands below her buttocks and lifted. Her legs fell to the sides of the bench, exposing her fully for his view. Her spine pressed against the stone bench, feet dangling without purchase. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she tried to wriggle away from him. He hushed her, and she felt his breath over her core.
“Henrique, I don’t—”
“Shhh.” Holding her firmly, he massaged her derrière. “Let me show you another way to fly.”
The moist heat of his tongue lapped at her from her entrance to her little bud of nerves. A half moan, half gasp escaped her, and she lay back. He licked her outer lips, and then he penetrated her. Her body dissolved, becoming one with the cicadas, a creature with no tangents, boundaries, or thoughts, just a waterfall of feelings. He took her tiny spot of pleasure between his teeth, suspending her between this world and the next, poised at an abyss. She undulated her hips, offering herself to him, pleading for more heat, more friction, more. Then he sucked. All her energy floated there, wet and demanding, and she cried out as pleasure burst, igniting her nerve endings.
She closed her eyes, an arm flung over her forehead, panting.
Henrique petted her mound, the caress soothing. "Good God, Isabel, you are—"
Before he could define what had just happened, she laced her arms over his neck and pulled him atop her, shifting underneath him. The drums played a primitive rhyme of seduction. The pleasure he showed her left her exhausted but oddly empty.
She bit his earlobe. "I want more. The final lesson."
"Is this wise? You are tipsy…"
He was unsure. Of all the reactions she expected from him, indecision ranked the lowest.
A single glass of sangria hadn't muddled her wishes. "I'm not intoxicated."
"No? Lust is as intoxicating as any wine. I've been drunk on you since I saw you in your ridiculous Joan of Arc garb. I'm drunk on you now, drunk on your sweet breath, drunk on your scent. Drunk. And drunkards are famous for lousy decision-making."
Ignoring his reasoning, she licked his bottom lip and then his chin, tasting his brandy aftershave and the rough texture of his skin. Bolstered by his groan, she skimmed her palms over his back, tracing the ridges of his spine until she arrived at his waist.
Ending the kiss, he leaned his forehead on hers. "I promised you just a glimpse."
"A glimpse is not enough."
