forward, to follow the path he opened before her, to seize the moment to learn and feel.
To learn of herself, of what could be, of all she could be. To feel the welling tide of compulsive emotions—the hunger, the need, the flagrant desire, and most especially the triumph.
A simple and pure triumph she hadn’t known existed, the confidence, delight, and sheer pleasure of knowing he found her desirable, that he wanted her in the most blatantly sexual way, and the satisfaction that flowed from knowing not only that she could evoke his hunger, but also from the innate womanly knowledge that she could, indeed, sate it.
He’d drawn her close, fitting her body against his, but once they reached that plateau of more urgent, definite need—one she now recognized—his arms eased, then his hands, hard and demanding, slid over her silk-encased form. Over her back, over her sides, around over her already aching breasts.
Through the fog of desire flooding her mind, she inwardly smiled. She eased back from the kiss enough to murmur against his lips, “I’m afraid this gown has no buttons down the front.” She’d worn her topaz silk for that very reason.
“I’d noticed,” he murmured back.
His lips brushed hers, then settled, drawing her into a long, increasingly intimate exchange… as it ended her awareness slowly returned. And she realized the pressure about her breasts had eased.
Her bodice was loose.
She drew back from the kiss as he did. Looked down as he raised his hands to her shoulders. Slowly, very slowly, he pushed her now gaping gown off her shoulders, sliding the small puff sleeves down her arms.
He’d undone the laces.
Her mind seized; she stopped breathing. She hadn’t thought…
The neckline caught across the peaks of her breasts. Leaving the sleeves at her elbows, he ran his fingers up, then slipped them beneath the neckline and eased it over and down.
She shuddered, told herself it was due to the cool caress of the air. Knew it wasn’t. Desperate, she hauled in a breath. Ignored the sudden lifting of her breasts. “Wait—”
“Lift your arms.” The words were half entreaty, half command. They were reinforced by his touch, fingertips running over her bared shoulders, down the sensitive skin of her arms to her elbows. He gripped lightly, urged.
She freed her arms from the clinging sleeves. “This—”
“Is the smallest step I could think of.” His black gaze touched hers; the emberlike glow in the dark depths only heated her more.
She sucked in a tight breath. “But—”
“Going slowly isn’t stopping.” He held her gaze, his fingers lightly caressing—so lightly they barely touched the heavy, swelling curves of her breasts. “You don’t want to stop.”
Not a question, a statement, one verified by the shiver that streaked through her, a silvery sensation that brought every nerve alive.
His lips curved, openly predatory, entirely undisguised. He bent his head. His lips cruised over hers as his fingers drifted, as his hands followed, then firmed, taking possession as they had before. But before she hadn’t been as aware, as blatantly near-naked. As heated.
Her breath caught.
One hand kneaded, the other slid away. His arm slipped about her waist; holding her, he backed her, step by slow, easy step until she felt the sideboard behind her.
Lifting his head, he fastened both hands about her waist and lifted her to the sideboard’s top. He sat her there; hands clutching his shoulders, she glanced down. Her gown had slid to her hips. Before she could react, he bunched the skirts and raised them to her knees, allowing him to part them and step between.
Her mind was whirling, wits totally scattered.
He met her eyes; his lips curved, but it wasn’t exactly in a smile. “For us… the only way to slow our inevitable progression is to indulge in more intensive play.”
She searched his eyes, instinctively accepted that as truth. Yet…
He leaned closer, lips swooping, nearing as his hands rose, fingers reaching for the tiny ribbon bows securing her silk chemise. The last flimsy barrier screening her from his sight.
Dizzy desperation gripped her; she sank her fingers into his shoulders. “I—”
He hesitated, but when she couldn’t find the words— any words that made sense—he closed the inch between their lips, kissed. Drew back enough to breathe, “You know where we’re headed, don’t you? You know what lies at the end of our road.”
Her lips were dry, yearning, hungry. She forced herself to nod. “Yes.”
“Then there’s no reason I shouldn’t see you, bare you, and look my fill. No reason I shouldn’t take what pleasure I wish with you, in you—and you shouldn’t take all you wish of me.”
His lips closed on hers, warm and beguiling; he didn’t rip her wits away, didn’t send them spinning, but left her aware, attuned, every nerve tight and flickering.
So she knew when his fingers closed on the ribbon ties, so she felt the tugs as he unraveled the bows, then slowly, gently, inexorably eased the fine fabric down. Exposing her breasts.
And then his hands were on her, hot skin to hot skin. He caressed, fondled, kneaded, squeezed. Her senses filled, overflowed; sensation rushed through her, down her nerves, down her veins.
She couldn’t think, no longer had space in her mind for that activity, swept away, consumed by the dizzying splendor, the bone-melting pleasure he pressed on her. His lips left hers; he nudged her head back, skated his lips down the taut tendon to settle over her pulse point, heating her blood still further. Her fingers, until then gripping his shoulders, eased; she sent her hands sliding over and back, found and caressed his nape.
His lips left her throat and slid lower. Splaying her fingers, she speared them through his thick locks, then clutched. Eyes closed, she held tight as his burning lips cruised the upper swells of her breasts. Then dipped lower still.
Her world stopped when his lips found one aching peak.
Splintered when he took it into his mouth.
Hot, wet, he caressed, laved, licked, than gently rasped.
Her breasts felt on fire, tight, taut; head tilting back, she gasped, spine tensing as he artfully teased, then openly feasted. Then he shifted, drew the aching, tormented peak deep, and suckled.
The jolt of sensation rocked her, shocked her, surprised a small cry from her. Her fingers spasmed on his skull. Eyes shut, she struggled to cope, to cling to sanity as with mouth, lips, and tongue, hard fingers and palms, he pressed sensation after sensation upon her.
Through her fingers, through the tension gripping her, Tony read her increasing desperation. Every sense he possessed was locked on her, watching, gauging…he eased back.
Heard in her tortured breathing a return from the brink of panic.
He didn’t take his lips from her skin, but traced, kissed lightly, soothed with gentle caresses. When she’d calmed enough to be lucid, he cupped both breasts in his palms, straightened slightly, shifting between her spread thighs. Bent again to touch his lips to the hot satin skin of the now swollen mounds. “Didn’t your husband caress you like this?”
Her lids cracked open. From behind the screen of her lashes, her eyes met his. A moment passed, then she licked her lips. Tried to speak, ended by shaking her head.
When he waited, she dragged in a breath. “No. He…”
Primitive joy streaked through him. He waited; when she remained silent, he prompted, “Wasn’t inclined to see to your pleasure?” A common enough failing, after all.
She shuddered. Beneath his hand, he could feel her heart still pounding, but slower. Her skin was still heated; he kept it that way, idly kneading, caressing.
Again she drew breath, again met his eyes. “I… don’t know all that much about… pleasure.”
The word came out on a soft exhalation; she closed her eyes as he again bent and savored one tightly budded nipple. He released it, blew gently on it, then soothed it again.
Lifting his head to examine the effect, he murmured, “It’ll be my pleasure to teach you.” Shifting his hands, he set his thumbs to circle her nipples.
“I—that’s why…” She broke off, drew in a hissed breath. “Why it must be slow…”
On his shoulders, her fingers tensed again, but not, this time, with any sense of desperation. He watched her