To plunge her back into the sea of desire, of heady wanton passion, that had been steadily rising about them.
She went eagerly; grasping his head between her hands, she kissed him back with abandon. An abandon that only made him ache all the more, that only made it harder to do what he knew he should.
He had to break her spell, her increasingly strong grip on his senses.
Before he could change his mind-before she could further weaken his resolve-he lifted her, stood, and carried her to the window seat. She drew back from the kiss; he had to let her. From beneath her long lashes, she looked into his eyes, studied his face; he could read her thoughts easily-see the anticipation, the flare of expectation that flamed in her eyes, brilliant emerald and gold, gilded by the fires of passion.
The nursery was old, the window seat wide and liberally supplied with soft cushions; he tumbled her down onto it, and followed, trapping her half beneath him. She laughed softly, a sound of pure abandon that raked his soul, and racked his desire one notch higher. Reaching for him, she drew his head down, drew his lips to hers, parted in flagrant welcome.
He sank into her mouth, for long moments simply indulged, and wallowed in her clear encouragement, in the honest passion that was so much a part of her. He wanted that-wanted to seize-but experience warned that with her, caution and care were imperative. Steeling himself, he mentally drew back, and turned his mind to executing the strategy instinct drove him to employ.
Jacqueline sensed his attention shift; his lips remained fused with hers, a potent distraction, but then his hands were on her, roaming her body, so scantily clad she might as well have been naked.
She wished she were naked-she wanted to feel his hands on her skin, ached for the greater intimacy, wanted that hurdle crossed so there’d be fewer between her and her goal. His touch had grown harder, more demanding, each caress a blatantly sexual act, an intimate claiming.
He touched her as if she was his, sculpted her flesh as he wished, explored without reserve.
Each caress stoked the fires beneath her skin until she writhed beneath him, insensibly sure she needed even more. Exactly what, she wasn’t sure, but he responded by running his hand from her collarbone down over her breast, squeezing, swiftly kneading, tweaking the nipple to painful erectness before sweeping down, tracing the indentation of her waist, then passing over her stomach, splaying and pressing possessively, then sweeping lower still, stroking her curls, veiled by fine silk, before gliding down the long line of one thigh-to her knee and the hem of her nightgown.
He drew it up, up to her hips, then he tugged and drew it higher still, to her waist. Cool air played over her bare skin as with one knee he nudged her thighs apart; through their kiss, she gasped-she would have pulled back, broken the kiss to drag in air and steady her giddy senses, but he didn’t permit it. He held her to the kiss as the exchange turned scorching, as he set his hand to her bare knee, then ran his palm up, over her thigh, and found her.
Cupped her, then his fingers stroked and he parted her soft flesh, and slid not one but two fingers into her.
She felt the intimate penetration to her soul, felt her body arch, not in protest but in welcome. He stroked, possessive and sure; her every sense locked on the movement. On the sensations he evoked, that he drew from her, pressed on her. She had to cling to the kiss as her world spun; he held her to it, her lips beneath his, feeding her kisses laden with passion, with a desire that burned as bright as her own. More than anything else, that desire, his blatant wanting, buoyed and reassured.
She wanted him, and he wanted her. That seemed totally right.
Gradually, he eased back from the kiss; lifting his head, he looked down at her, studied her face from beneath heavy lids, then his lips quirked in smug, wholly male satisfaction. Between her thighs, his hand worked, knowingly stroking, stoking a need that was already threatening to sweep her away. She sank her fingers into his shoulders and tried to pull him back, but he moved lower, then shifted-with his free hand caught her nightgown hem and raised it higher still, then bent his head.
His mouth, hot and wet, closed over her nipple. She almost screamed, the sound only half smothered; the sensation wasn’t new, but had grown immeasurably sharper. And only swelled more as he feasted, as he made free with all she’d willingly offered. Steadily he drew her, body and senses, into deeper waters, into the hot, surging tide of passion unrestrained.
She went willingly, aware her horizons were rapidly expanding, that she’d lost touch with the world she knew, and would have to rely on him to guide her back.
Her body was no longer hers to command. Her world had reduced to the window seat; she was acutely aware of how her body, all but naked, writhed beneath his experienced caresses, how it rose, responding to every ardent touch, how the lamplight played over the valleys and hollows-how he watched, and saw, and was pleased.
Grimly pleased. She sensed that last as he lifted his head and looked down at her breasts, firm, swollen and aching, nipples tightly furled, skin flushed with desire. He moved lower still, and let his gaze wander, down over her waist, her stomach, to the damp curls one thumb idly stroked, to the junction of her thighs, to where his hand worked, constantly caressing, probing, but never quite pressing as he had once before.
Slowly, he traced his way back to her face, met her eyes, then the light of sheer conquest gleamed in his, and he bent his head.
His lips touched her navel; his tongue swirled, then probed. She shrieked, but the sound came out as a breathless squeak. She felt him chuckle, then he drew back and blew gently on her damp flesh, then touched his lips once more to her skin, and set about trailing hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down over her stomach.
To her curls.
To-
She screamed, but she’d lost her breath entirely-no sound came out at all. She twisted, but he’d grasped her hips, anchoring her while he pleased himself, and pleasured her.
“Mmm?” He didn’t lift his head, barely paused in his ministrations.
Her wits had spun away; her mind was blank. “You…
“I can.”
He demonstrated, and her world shuddered. Closing her fists in the cushions beneath her, she clung for dear life. She’d thought they’d been following the usual pattern of events-the pattern as Eleanor had described it more than once. But
His hands gripped and he lifted her to him.
She felt her body react, felt the intimate surrender to her bones.
Felt the mind-numbing pleasure to her toes.
She moaned his name, closed her eyes tight. Gave up the fight to do anything other than give herself to him, to let him do with her as he wished.
And he knew.
He lavished sensation and more upon her, intimacy beyond her wildest dreams, until, quite suddenly, it was all too much. The glory built to an unbearable degree and she broke apart-flew apart in a cascade of pleasure and physical joy, and gold and silver glory.
Heat pulsed through her, flooded her mind and her soul, buoyed her as he lapped, then laid her gently down.
Blindly, she reached for him; after an instant’s hesitation, he came to her, let her draw him to her, but then he settled beside her, his hand soothing her flushed body, gently drawing her back to earth.
Something was wrong. Her body was drowning in the languorous aftermath of the pleasure he’d brought her, yet all he did was draw her nightgown down and lift her robe over her, protecting her cooling skin. Raising her lids, heavy with satiation, she watched his face, the planes still etched with the desire he’d held back-that he was still holding back.
She waited until his eyes met hers, then simply asked, “Why?”
He couldn’t pretend not to understand. She may be a novice, yet for him to have given her such pleasure, yet taken none for himself…that wasn’t the way things should be.
For a moment, he studied her eyes, then to her surprise, he caught her hands, one in each of his, pressed them to the cushions on either side of her head and leaned over her. Leaned close-his face was inches from hers, his lips
