turn a man on before, but I'll do it for you. I want to drive you crazy.' She slid her fingers into her cleft, tightened her thighs around the trembling ache of arousal.
He jerked her onto his lap. She almost sobbed in relief, and gave herself up to his strong hands, his ravenous mouth. His fingers slid inside her, and she whimpered and lifted her hips, desperate for the relief that only he could give. She had wanted to make him helpless with desire, but now she was the helpless one.
Connor's slow, seductive kisses made her lose all sense of gravity. His thrusting hand, his demanding mouth were her only points of reference. His fingers teased and caressed her until she splayed herself wide, shaking. Pushing herself against his hand in a silent demand for release. He withdrew his hand and set her down on the seat.
'OK. You win,' he said. 'You've got me right where you want me, but I've got you, too. Take me up to your room and fuck me, Erin.'
She drew in a sobbing breath and got out of the car. Her legs shook so hard she could barely stand. 'On the first flight of stairs, the fourth step creaks,' she said breathlessly. 'Be sure to skip it.'
His eyes narrowed. 'You realize, of course, that if your mother walks in on us, I will have a heart attack on the spot.'
'There's a hook latch on the door,' she told him. 'Mom's not the type to kick in doors. Dad would have, but not Mom. She's the type to wait until later and then look at you with big, hurt eyes.'
'Yeah, and then bash in my skull with a cast-iron skillet.'
'Oh, don't be such a scaredy-cat,' she chided.
They crept in the front door. Erin reset the house alarm, and beckoned him up the stairs. She listened for his footsteps, but she heard nothing, not even the brush of fabric against fabric. She turned, expecting to see him still at the foot of the stairs.
He was right behind her.
He smiled at her gasp of surprise and put his finger to his lips. He followed like a ghost, floating over the squeaky parquet floor to her attic bedroom. He closed and latched the door as she searched through a drawer for the matches.
She began to light her candles, and without conscious intent, the action took on a ceremonial reverence. She was gathering power, lighting an altar to love. Rose, lavender, hibiscus, and jasmine on the vanity. Heliotrope, lilac, lily of the valley, and vanilla on the dresser. Natural scents, not overpowering, but delicately effective. Candle flames reflected into the mirrors, dancing in the currents of subtly perfumed air that moved through the room.
She turned around to face him. She felt ridiculously shy, after all her seductive posturing. The room seemed to turn back time. It made her feel younger, more unsure. More vulnerable, if that were possible.
His eyes were soft with wonder. 'You're straight out of a fairy tale, Erin. That perfect body, in silhouette, and the candles behind you that turn your nightgown into pure light. My enchanted princess.'
'Princess?' She blushed rosy red. 'Oh, please.'
'That's how I've always thought of you,' he said quietly. 'A beautiful princess in a tower too high to climb. Wall of thorns, magical spells, dragons, the whole deal.'
If he kept up with this sweet talk she was going to start crying again, she just knew it. She sniffled, and tried to laugh. 'My tower was only so high because you were the only one I ever wanted to climb it.'
The power games and seductive wiles and playful banter had evaporated. They had no place in the reverent hush. Time collapsed, and she was seventeen again, the first night she met him. She had lit her candles and lain awake for hours, tossing and turning. Troubled by sensual dreams and fantasies, by a restless ache in her body that sharpened, grew delicious and agonizing when she thought of his smile, his laugh. The shape of his hands. The breadth of his shoulders.
A crazy, fanciful thought began to form in her mind.
'Would you play out a fantasy for me?' she asked.
'I would do anything for you,' he said.
The stark hunger in his eyes emboldened her. 'I want to go back in time,' she faltered. 'I made a mistake once. I want to try and fix it.'
He nodded in silent encouragement.
She gathered all her courage. 'I picked the wrong man to lose my virginity to. I didn't have the guts to go after the man I really wanted.'
'Oh, Erin—'
'It should've been you, the first time.' She rushed on, desperate to get the thought out before it fragmented. 'But it wasn't. And it was awful. It closed me down for years. I didn't even want to try to have sex again. Until I made love to you.'
His fists clenched. 'What did he do to you?'
The steely anger in his voice frightened her, and she shook her head quickly. 'Oh, no, nothing like that,' she assured him. 'It wasn't his fault he was the wrong man. It wasn't his fault that I didn't love him, and I didn't really want him. It was more my mistake than his.'
'I don't buy it, Erin,' he said. 'You have a real bad habit of taking responsibility for things that aren't your fault.'
She threw up her hands. 'Maybe, but so what? I don't want to think about that, or about him. Tonight, there's magic. Tonight, I think I could go back in time. Be nineteen again. And have the first time be with you. Beautiful and perfect. Even… holy.'
He moved toward her, and took both her hands in his. 'I love you, Erin.' His voice was a fierce whisper.
She struggled to respond. Language had utterly deserted her.
'I didn't want to scare you off,' he said. 'I didn't want to say that too soon. But if you want me to make love to you like that, then it has to be said.' He lifted her hands, kissed them reverently. 'I love you.'
'I love you, too,' she burst out. 'I always have, Connor. Always.'
The truth was out, naked and stark and beautiful. Revelations unfolded inside the secret places in their hearts, like flowers blooming wide, releasing their sweetness to the wind.
'You know what this means, Erin,' Connor said. 'This is like our wedding night. You're mine, I'm yours. Forever.'
Flickering shadows danced and swirled in her vision as tears welled up and flashed down her face. 'Yes,' she whispered.
Their lips met, in a solemn, reverent kiss. Not a kiss to coax or to conquer, but a kiss to seal a pact. A kiss to break an enchantment.
Or to unleash one.
Connor gave himself up to her fantasy, with all his longing and passion and generous tenderness. He pushed the nightgown off her shoulders, and followed its sliding path with his mouth and hands.
He made love to her with lips and tongue, with the soft warmth of his breath. He sank to his knees and tugged the nightgown over her hips until it pooled around her feet, and hid his face against her mound, worshiping her very essence. They were poised in perfect balance on a knife's edge of awe and bliss, suspended by grace. With no fear of falling.
Even the struggle to get his clothes off, the muffled laughter, was imbued with reverent wonder. They were as awkward as if it truly were the first time. Connor's fingers trembled so much that he dropped the condom. When Erin knelt to retrieve it for him, she got sidetracked, allured by his phallus: hot and smooth and hard to bursting, weeping delicious, salty drops of passionate need. AH hers to caress and cherish. He gasped with agonized pleasure when she took him in her mouth, but after only a few tender, sliding strokes he pulled her back up.
'None of that, sweetheart. Tonight's all about you,' he said. He rolled the condom over himself, pulled down the duvet and pressed her into the cool sheets. His body shook.
She stroked his hair. 'Are you OK?' she asked.
'I'm scared.' His voice was low and tense. 'This has to be perfect for you. This sets the tone for the rest of forever. I think I'm entitled to be a little nervous.'
She pulled him tighter. 'But you can't go wrong,' she assured him. 'It's like you were made for me. Everything you do is perfect.'
'God. You are such a sweetheart.' He smiled at her. 'The way you stroke my ego. Stroke away. Let it swell up like a hot air balloon. I love it. Can't get enough of it.'
