Page 86 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
He shed his trousers. She stared at his swollen jutting cock. Obviously, she had a misconception regarding what took place during mating because she’d always assumed a man entered a woman, but he was not going to be able to put that inside her. Still, she was mesmerized by it, by how proudly it stood at attention. “I want to touch.”
With a groan, he climbed onto the bed, stretched out beside her. “Oh, you will, my lovely. But first—”
Cradling her cheek, he took her mouth with urgency. She opened to him loving the heat, the parrying of their tongues, the thrusting, the suckling. The light coating of hair on his chest tickled the side of her breast, while his hand closed around the other, kneading it gently. His thigh came between her legs, his knee nudging them apart.
It was marvelous, so marvelous to have so much of him touching her. She scraped her fingers through his hair, over his shoulders and back. Such strength there. She loved the play of his muscles, bunching and flexing, as he moved various parts of his body to have easier access to hers. His member was hard and warm against her thigh. She could feel a bit of dampness at the tip. She wanted to touch it with her tongue, but that would mean ending the kiss, and she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet.
She loved the sounds he made, the growls and groans. The curse when his lips abandoned hers to trail over her throat before returning to her mouth. She found herself writhing as her body strained against his.
His mouth moved away from hers. The absence of a curse alerted her that he wasn’t going to be returning immediately for another kiss. Instead he nipped at her collarbone with his teeth, gently, before soothing it with his tongue.
“There it is,” he said.
“What?”
“The freckle. I knew you’d have one.”
He lowered his head to her breasts, pressed a kiss to an inside swell.
“I don’t know that it’s a freckle. It’s just a blemish of some sort.”
“It’s perfection.”
He peppered kisses all over her breast as though it were a constellation of freckles, when there was only the one. Then his tongue circled her nipple before his mouth closed over it and he suckled.
She nearly came off the bed. She might have if his body wasn’t half covering hers. Such sweet torment. Her sighs floated around them, seemed to encourage him to become even more diligent in his efforts. She skimmed her hands over every aspect of him that she could reach. He was such a fine specimen, with a well-toned his body. She suspected every now and then he hauled carpentry materials or assisted with the building. It was impossible to imagine him not occasionally getting involved, lending a hand, taking part in what he was building.
For all his sitting at his desk and looking at papers, she suspected there was a part of him that grew bored with it, that yearned for the physical activity. He’d never go to fat. She suspected when his hair turned white, he’d be as fit as he was now.
She wanted to see his hair turn white, kiss the wrinkles that would appear on his face.
She wanted the past not to matter to him. Only the future.
He eased down, planting kisses on each rib, as he went. His tongue circled her navel as he scooted farther down. He lapped at the juncture where thigh met hip. Sitting up, she scraped her fingers along the length of his back.
He released a low moan. His hand came up, plastered over her chest and pushed her back down.
“I want to touch you,” she told him.
“Later.”
Nibbling at the inside of her thigh, he spread her legs, positioning her knees so they were raised. Vulnerable, she was vulnerable to him, and yet she’d never felt more sure of herself.
He blew on her curls. She laughed. “That tickles.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and in the blue depths, she saw with startling clarity that what was to come next was not going to tickle, was not going to make her laugh. Lowering his head, he stroked his tongue over the most intimate bit of her.
“Oh my word.” She pressed her head back against the pillow. Her hands clutched the sheets as his mouth worked an incredible magic, licking and sucking. She felt his finger slide inside her.
“So tight. So wet. So hot.”
“Is it a problem that you’re larger than your finger?”
“No, sweetheart. You’ll be glad of it when we’re done.”
His mouth returned to its endeavors, and sensations gathered at her core. Her cries sounded almost desperate. Her hands ached with their hold on the sheets. Her thighs squeezed against his shoulders. There was no relief from the increasing pleasure. It hovered, it hovered.
And then it was as though he struck a match to a box of fireworks and set each one off within her. She cried out, her back arching, her hands clasping his head as ecstasy shot through her with bursts of sensations, colors and emotions she couldn’t describe, that thrilled, excited and terrified her.
