immodest way. In such a blatantly wanton way. Battling to mute the groan she drew from him, he wondered if she’d guessed what her being wanton, so utterly abandoned, did to him.
It was more than torture to stand still and force himself simply to accept all she pressed on him, to look down at her pale head moving against him, her flaxen locks spreading and tangling, catching as she worked, and not respond, not grasp, seize, and demand more.
Simply to receive.
To not have to issue any demands at all, but to have many of the wanton thoughts he’d indulged over the years brought to life. To have caresses he’d dreamed of lavished upon him.
Because she wished to.
The thought very nearly brought him-and her-undone. He endured for ten heartbeats, then, gasping, sensually reeling for the first time in more years than he could count, he guided his hands to her face, slid his thumb into her mouth, and withdrew his erection from that gloriously wet haven. “No more.”
The words were so gravelly Penny could barely make them out, but through her hands on his thighs she sensed the tension in him-more than she recalled evoking in him before-and knew enough to heed it. But she’d learned enough for now; the maids she’d overheard whispering hadn’t been wrong.
Rocking back on her heels, she rose, trailing her hand up as she did, closing it around his jutting length. With her other hand, she prodded his chest. “Sit on the bed.”
His eyes met hers; she glimpsed the predator in him, but he complied. Obligingly, he sat back. She followed, clambering up, setting one knee on either side of his hips, straddling him. Then she locked her eyes with his. One hand on his shoulder for balance, the other wrapped about his erection, she slowly, deliberately, entirely at her own discretion, impaled herself on him.
And he let her.
She felt the effort it cost him, saw how clenched his jaw was, saw his lids drift down in surrender as she sank fully down, her softness sheathing his hardness, her body sliding down his to finally come to rest breasts to chest. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she set her lips to his, slid into his mouth, danced her tongue over his, then started to move upon him.
A dance of a different sort.
It wasn’t the same as when he’d lain flat; although she experimented, she couldn’t find quite the right angle…
Desire had already burgeoned within her; she needed more, soon.
Drawing back from the kiss, dragging in a gasping breath, she clung and pressed closer; her head beside his brought their bodies even tighter against each other, but no…
“This”-she had to haul in another breath-“isn’t quite right.” She whispered the words beside his ear. Dragged in another breath. “Is it?”
She felt rather than heard a chuckle that came out more like a groan.
“You saw this in some book, didn’t you?”
She bit his earlobe-hard. “How else?”
“You’re too tall-there’s a better way for us.”
She licked the spot she’d bitten. Purred, “How?”
His hands, until then loose across her back, slid down to grip her bottom. He held her to him as he shifted, swinging his legs up, holding her against him as he came to his knees, then sank back to sit on his ankles.
Resettling her over him, straddling his hips, he resettled himself within her. Brushed back the veil of her hair and met her eyes. “How’s that?”
Her hands on his shoulders, she rose up, then slowly sank down. Her knees and thighs now at a different angle, she had much better purchase on the bed. Their bodies entire seemed much better aligned, at least for their present purpose. Sliding her hands up, she framed his face, smiled her answer-and kissed him.
Let go all restraint and gave herself over to the now driving need to love him, to meet him on the physical plane, match him and experience all that together they might know. That together they could share.
And he went with her, but still at her command, following not leading, letting her set the pace and the direction, letting her ride them both hard, furious, and unswerving toward the sun.
She reached it, and burned.
Charles let the conflagration take her, let it consume her. Watched it claim her. He found a strength he didn’t know he possessed and held back from the beckoning blaze.
And waited. Until release had swept through her and away.
Her limp arms he draped over his shoulders, her legs he straightened one at a time and wrapped them about his waist, then he took her bottom in both hands, supporting her weight, tipping her hips to him.
And smoothly drove into her. Embedded himself to the hilt, then gripped her bottom and moved her on him. Worked her hips over his. In this position, he only had to thrust a little to fill her, to penetrate her forcefully as deeply as he could. She was fully open to him, totally his, totally helpless to resist. Totally and completely in his power.
Penny awoke to that jolting reality on a rush of intense sensation. Surely he was deeper, farther inside her than he’d ever been?
She gasped, eyes closed, clung tight as she assimilated their new position-assimilated the devastating impact it was having on her already heightened senses. And at some deeper level, on her very being.
The rhythm he set was neither fast nor slow, but perfectly gauged and relentless. Her senses spun. She tried to squirm, to press ahead still faster, to gain even more delicious pressure for her suddenly clamorous nerves, but instead his fingers tightened; he held her immobile, suspended half-off him for a heartbeat, until she sobbed and clutched in desperation, then he filled her, deep and hard and shockingly thoroughly, again.
Her breasts, riding against his hair-dusted chest, had swollen until they ached, the nipples so tightly ruched and sensitive she longed to feel his mouth soothing them. In desperation, she clutched his shoulders, extended her arms, and leaned back so her breasts were no longer so excruciatingly abraded.
He bent his head and set his lips to one breast, found her nipple, took it into his hot mouth, and suckled.
Lightning streaked through her; she screamed, gasped, and arched in his arms. He held her easily, continued to work her hips, continued to thrust into her body, continued to feast on her breasts…until she shattered.
More completely than she ever had.
For long moments, she was floating, out of touch with any world but the sensate, aware only of him, his touch, his…worship.
There seemed no other word for it. Even now, he didn’t seek his own release, but sought to lengthen and heighten hers. She didn’t know the ways, but felt the results, felt the golden pleasure well and swell and buoy her on.
It seemed eons, but could only have been minutes before she drifted back to earth, and found herself wrapped in his arms, secure and safe against his chest, her head on his shoulder. He was still hard and rigid within her.
She shifted her head, found his ear, caressed it with her lips. Murmured, “Lay me down. Take me now.”
He drew back to look into her eyes. For a moment, their gazes locked, and she wondered what he saw, what he looked for when he searched her eyes…what he wanted from her.
She could sense his heartbeat, feel his tension, yet it wasn’t desire that stared at her from his eyes.
But then he shifted, lifted her from him, laid her on the pillows. His touch was assured as he settled her, flicked her hair out, laid it about her, then drew the covers from beneath her and let them fall where they would. She was suddenly aware of the flaring emptiness within her, the emptiness he’d filled, that when he was within her she was whole, in some way complete. His eyes, his hands, never left her; as he spread her thighs and loomed over her, that emptiness swelled to an ache.
Then he filled her.
Relief fell from her in a soft sob. Braced above her, he looked down at her as he moved, and started a slow ride of his own.
Long, slow-how a compulsion so fraught, so driven, could feel so languid in execution was something she
