again; each time his touch grew heavier with intent while her flesh firmed and her skin heated. Then his fingers curved, and he cupped her softness.
Sensation flashed through her, immediately melting into a warm tide that spread like warmed honey through her. His wicked fingers tensed, flexed — he closed his hand, then kneaded; nerves she didn't know she possessed came alive. Pure pleasure washed through her when his other hand left her back to minister to her other breast. Eyes closed, her mouth all his, still captured in the drugging sensuality of a slow, deep kiss, she gave herself up to the sensation of his hands on her breasts, to the heat and the fire slowly building, to the tightness, the ache he both evoked and appeased.
It was a revelation that anything could feel quite so good, quite so satisfying, yet there was more, she knew, more she yet wanted, more her awakening body yearned for. Within minutes, she was very certain — more she had to have.
Luc broke their kiss, but only to skate his lips along her jaw to find the delicate hollow beneath her ear. He didn't need to think to know what she wanted — to know that he could take as he wished. Beyond a distant watching brief to ensure their privacy, which, given the composition of Lady Hartington's company, he was certain would remain undisturbed, his senses were focused on the woman in his arms, on the tantalizing promise of the svelte body beneath his hands.
He'd had women aplenty, yet this one… he put the difference he was too experienced not to notice in the strength of his own desire down to the fact she had for so long been a forbidden delight. A forbidden delight he could now sample, and subsequently savor whenever he wished. However he wished. That thought, barely conscious, fueled his need, but he shackled it, played to hers instead, confident in the knowledge that ultimately he would have all he wanted, all he wished — every wicked dream completely and thoroughly satisfied.
Her shallow breaths stirred the hair at his temple, caressed his skin with tendrils of temptation, evocative as sin. He sent his lips lower, cruising the length of her throat, along skin like ivory silk, delicate and fine. Pressing his lips to the base of her throat, he found her pulse beating under that fine skin, a speeding tattoo that urged him on, as did the small fingers that clenched on his chest, creasing his shirt, the rake of her nails just enough to awake a need of his own, to have her hands on his bare skin.
The thought of naked skin sent his attention to the mounds that filled his hands. Full and firm, heated, swollen. The buttons of her bodice were straining, easy to slip free; the ribbon straps of her chemise were fastened with tiny bows that unraveled at a tug.
A quick shuffle of fingers and hands, and her naked breasts were in his palms. She gasped; her lashes fluttered, but she didn't open her eyes. Didn't look down.
Lips curving, he raised his head, found her lips again, unsurprised when she kissed him ravenously. Riding the tide, he waited, then slid deep and took command, once again sent her senses whirling while his hands played, and learned her. Found the peaks of her breasts, niched tight, tweaked gently, then slowly squeezed… until she gasped again, until she broke the kiss and lifted her head, struggling for breath.
He ducked his head, let his lips trail down her throat, over the fine skin covering her collarbone, then lower still to the soft upper curve of her breast. The heat of his lips touched her and she stilled, quivering… he didn't pause but licked, then laved, then opened his mouth and took the peak in, curled his tongue about the tip, and gently rasped.
The sound she made was neither gasp nor sob but pure shocked surprise. Pleased surprise. He continued to feast, holding her steady over him, watching her face from beneath his lashes as he pleasured her — and himself. His first taste of her flesh would remain blazoned in his mind — the piquancy of knowing no other had ever tasted her, touched her, like this.
He'd gradually urged her upward; her hip now rode against his stomach, one slender, decidedly feminine thigh caressing his rampant erection. She could not be unaware of his state, yet he sensed no retreat, no sudden maidenly reserve — no panic.
A fact that only sharpened his desire, a desire that flared when he caught a glimpse of bright sapphire beneath her lids, and realized she was watching. Watching him pay homage to her breasts, watching him feast on her bounty.
He caught her gaze, held it.
Deliberately curled his tongue about one tight bud, deliberately, and slowly, rasped — just hard enough to shatter her composure — then he suckled, and she caught her breath on a gasp. Closed her eyes. Slid one hand from his chest to his nape; head bowing, she held him to her, a surrender as explicit as the quiver that raced through her when he drew her flesh deeper still.
His hand left her breast, sliding down, over her hip, pausing to caress her derriere before sliding around, along her thigh, reaching for her skirt—
She sank against him, soft, pliant, urgent — a flagrant invitation.
Between them, he splayed his hand over her upper thigh, tensed to slide his fingers inward, searching—
He stopped. Remembered.
Where they were — what they were supposed to be doing.
Taking things one step further.
Not ten.
He lifted his head, found her lips, and kissed her — took a dark pleasure in ravaging her mouth, taking from her in that way what he would not yet take from her more explicitly.
Yet.
He stifled his groan, his body's protest, with that promise. This was only a temporary state — a tactic in his greater campaign. A campaign he was determined to win without granting her any concessions.
Forcing his hands from their absorption, he gripped her hips and held her to him, stealing a moment to glory in her suppleness, in the evidence of how well she would, when the time came, suit him, taking in the womanly warmth that ultimately, when the time came, would ease his pain.
Sensing him drawing away through their kiss, she broke it herself, lifting her head to look down at him. She frowned. 'What's the matter? Why have you stopped?' He debated the wisdom of suggesting that, all things considered, she should be thanking him he had. Lying beneath her, he studied her face, taking in the fact that fate was having a hearty laugh at his expense. She didn't want him to stop — she'd be quite happy if he drew her back down, kissed her swollen cherry red lips, and — It took serious willpower to drag in a breath. 'Timing.' The flash in her eyes jerked his wits into action. 'As in' — he lowered his gaze to the tempting white mounds inches from his face—'we wouldn't want to rush things to such an extent that you were overwhelmed.'
Settling one arm across her hips, anchoring her to him, he sent the fingers of his right hand dancing across the edge of her gown, teasing, tantalizing, flirting anew.
She shivered, watching through downcast eyes. 'Overwhelmed?'
The frown in her eyes was fading, but hadn't yet disappeared.
Surreptitiously watching her face, he chose his words carefully. 'There's so much to experience, so much I could show you, and after the first time, it's never quite the same. Never so… excruciating in its novelty.'
The frown remained.
Hooking a finger into her loosened bodice, he drew the fabric down, reexposing one pert nipple. With the pad of his thumb, he circled the aureole, applying just the right degree of pressure.
Her lids fell; she caught a shaky breath. 'Oh. I see.'
'Hmm. Given our situation, I thought you might prefer to take the long road, see all the sights, visit all the temples along the way' — he caught her gaze—'so to speak.'
Huge, ever-so-slightly dazed cornflower blue eyes blinked at him. 'Are there a lot of… temples?'
His lips curved spontaneously. 'Several. Many are missed because people rush.' He shifted his hand to her other breast and repeated the subtle torture, holding her gaze all the while, intensely aware of the ripples of sensual tension he was sending spiraling through her. 'We have three weeks yet… it seems only sensible to see all we can. Visit as many temples as we can. As many places of worship.'
Her eyes held his. He was aware to his bones of every breath she took, of the rise and fall of the soft flesh beneath his fingers, of the throb of her heartbeat against his chest, and that deeper throb between her thighs, in the heated spot above his abdomen.
Her lashes fluttered down and she sighed. On the exhalation she went all but boneless, sinking against him, all resistance flown. Her hips shifted, the inner faces of her thighs quite deliberately caressing him.
