Totally.
As he’d warned her, completely. In every way.
Jacqueline sensed the passion in him, felt the barriers dissolve before its power, tasted its rapacious urgency on his lips, felt it in the flagrant possessiveness of his hands, of his body hard against hers. The thought of quailing before that elemental hunger never entered her head; instead she exulted, gloried in the knowledge she could provoke him to that, that she, her body, could be desired like that.
Beyond reason. Beyond all words. Where they now were, only deeds spoke, only actions had meaning.
His tongue dueled with hers; surrendering wholly to the moment, she clung to the passionately intense exchange. His hands shifted over her back, a minute later, her bodice loosened. He’d undone her laces.
She drew in a tight breath as his lips left hers; he skated kisses along her jaw, then nudged her head up, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot beneath her ear before dipping his head to follow the long line of her throat to where her pulse thudded at its base. He laved, lightly sucked; heat rose through her and spread in a melting wave beneath her skin.
Flushed, nerves coiling, she felt his palm slide, gliding over bronze silk to cup her breast. His fingers closed, kneaded provocatively, then rose to trace the neckline of her gown; she felt immeasurably grateful when he eased the heavy fabric down. Once clear of her breasts, the silk fell in folds to her waist. The tiny, off-the-shoulder sleeves were mere scraps of gauze across her upper arms. Sliding her arms free, she draped them over his shoulders.
She could barely breathe as he lifted his head and looked down. Her breasts were still screened by her filmy chemise, gathered just above them.
One tug, and the drawstring was loose. He hooked his fingers in the fine fabric and drew it down.
The room was filled with shadows; he hadn’t lit any lamps. Yet there was light enough for her to see his face, to make out his expression as he blatantly surveyed what he’d uncovered.
He’d seen her breasts before; she reminded herself of that, yet as, starved of breath, lungs inexorably tightening, she studied his face, she saw something far more potent than approval in the harsh planes.
Absorbed, he lifted his hand and cupped one breast, weighing, assessing, then he closed his fingers and kneaded knowingly, tightening her nerves still further, then he eased his hold and stroked, not simply observing but learning, as if the texture of her skin was a wonder, as if her tightly ruched nipple was worthy of his most earnest attention.
Enthrallment. She sensed, all but saw him fall under the spell-her spell, the fascination her body, it seemed, held for him.
She stood unmoving, watching him examine her; a feminine power unlike anything she’d known slowly welled within her.
A true sign, surely, that this was right. That this, here and now, was the way forward for her.
The joy swelling inside her assured her it was so.
He bent his head and pressed a hot kiss to the upper curve of one breast, and any thought of retreating, of doing anything other than going forward with abandon, slid from her mind. His lips trailed over her now aching and swollen flesh, then he took one tightly furled nipple into his mouth, and lightly suckled.
Then he feasted.
She gasped, let her head fall back. Eyes closed, she clutched his shoulders, then eased her fingers and slid them to his nape, then into the silky wonder of his hair, gripping tight as he pleasured her, thankful that his hard hand pressed to the small of her back held her to him, and kept her upright.
Her senses started to spin; a kaleidoscope of sensations buffeted her mind. There was an emotion in his touch that went far beyond wonder, that was more intense, more ruthless than simple desire, a driven passion that, innocent though she was, she recognized as possessiveness.
Gerrard was far beyond thinking, far beyond disguising his feelings or his intentions in any way. She’d come to him; that was all the agreement he needed, all the encouragement his demons required to slip their leashes and devour.
The only thing holding him back from summarily stripping her, laying her across the bed and sheathing himself in her softness, claiming her, branding her in the most primitive way, was a strange and novel merging of the two halves of himself. The demons of his maleness, driven by passion and rampant possessiveness, were, with her, being directed, not overridden but working in concert with the more subtle demands of his aesthetic mind.
She and only she had ever called to both.
While his demons still slavered, turning his every touch demanding, making every action a command, a seizing, no request, he was conscious of a greater fascination, of a need to go slowly, to fully explore and experience every shred of passion, of desire, that her surrendering herself to him evoked.
To wallow in the physical, to gorge on the sensual.
He was more educated than most in both.
When he finally drew his lips from her breasts, she was heated, urgent, driven beyond innocence to make demands of her own. He acquiesced to her tugs, shrugging out of his coat, first one arm, then the other, letting the garment fall unheeded to the floor. His waistcoat followed.
Her hands spread across his chest and he caught his breath, not so much from the touch itself as the urgency behind it. At the feminine desire he glimpsed in her eyes as she reached for his cravat, at the focus in her face as with unsteady hands she unraveled the folds, then drew the long linen strip away.
She dropped it, and stepped closer, eliminating the last inches between them as she boldly tugged his shirt from his waistband and slid her hands, small palms to bare skin, beneath. She touched, then spread her fingers and ran her hands up his chest. Leaning in, she lifted her face; he lowered his head and their lips met. Melded.
For long moments, he savored the taste of her escalating passion, sweet, hot, and exquisitely female. An evocative blend of the innocent and sultry, of untried promise.
His. All his.
His to educate, to awaken.
To possess.
Closing his arms around her, he slid one hand down, over her back, down over the curve of her hips, pushing the stiff silk lower, then down.
The gown fell to the floor, sinking about her feet, taking her chemise with it. He closed one hand over her bottom, drew her fully to him, and settled to explore. To arouse her still further. Tracing, fondling, he felt the dew of desire rise to his touch as he caressed the sweet curves, felt her initial shock drown beneath a wave of heated yearning.
Of increasingly urgent desire.
He held her to their kiss, plundered her mouth as he wished, ravaged her senses, and filled his with her surrender. A surrender even more explicit as she sank against him, and let him have his way.
Naked in his arms, held against a body whose very hardness embodied a potent promise, Jacqueline gave up trying to steady her giddy senses and let them whirl. Swirl. They danced to his touch, to the increasingly intimate caresses he pressed on her, to his flagrant exploration, to the rapacious need that, held back, was still evident in every driven touch.
A threat, but not one of pain. Of possession, yes, but she now longed for that.
Ached for it, with an urgency that only grew more desperate, that had her sinking her nails into his sides to urge him on.
The wash of night air over her bare skin left her acutely aware of her naked state; she should have felt unsteady, uncertain-in reality, she didn’t care; she reveled in the shocking intimacy. Reservation, shyness, modesty, all were fading at the edges of her mind, overwhelmed by a need more physical than she’d foreseen, and more powerful. She wanted it all-she wanted him naked, too, wanted to feel his skin against hers, needed that degree of physical closeness, needed him entwined with her.
Now.
Sinking against him, blatantly offering her mouth, yielding to his every demand, she ran her hands, splayed until then across the wide muscles of his chest, down. Over the hot, flickering skin of his abdomen, over the shifting muscles, down to the waistband of his trousers. And further. Briefly, boldly, she traced his erection.
And felt his breath hitch. Sensed the sudden hiatus in his concentration. Pressing her palm to him, she stroked, lingeringly, then reached for the buttons at his waist.
Gerrard dragged in a breath and caught her hands. Shackled them with his, drew them away, to her sides, then
