“You’ve seen me before, Sara. All of me, and not just across the barnyard.”
“We’re not in the barnyard.” Sara glanced at the bed fleetingly, as if it might burst into flames—which possibility Beck dearly treasured. She took a breath then reached out her hand and tugged the belt of his dressing gown free. It fell open, but she didn’t immediately take it from him.
She studied the bed this time as if it were a map, not a common piece of furniture. “We’re going to do this, aren’t we?”
“If you allow it.” Beck’s tone was level, as if he waited on her to choose between different flavors of ice. “As you allow it.”
Because God knew, left to his own devices, he’d toss her back across the bed, fall on her, and commence rutting. He was grateful again he’d not had that brandy, though Sara might have benefited from a tot.
Slowly, so slowly he wanted to scream, Sara’s hand flattened against the bare skin of his midriff then eased around to his back. Her fingertips left a trail of heat, and when she stepped closer, her scent came with her.
“You’ll have to tell me what to do.” Sara rested against him, only her nightgown between them now.
“You have only one responsibility.” Beck settled his hands on either side of her neck. “
She slipped the blue velvet from his shoulders, tossed it across the foot of the bed, then took a step back.
Beck unwrapped his gift, peeling the flimsy old nightgown off of her as if it were the finest silk, lifting it from her as if to reveal the most gorgeous courtesan, not a tired, no longer young housekeeper with a daughter nearing adolescence.
“Glorious.” Beck smiled at her, a glad, spontaneous smile shamelessly laden with lustful appreciation. She was not a girl; she was a woman in her prime, lovely, abundantly curved, and willing. “But your hair is up, Sarabande, and I promised myself tonight it would come down. Sit you in the middle of the bed and indulge me.”
He patted the bed rather than toss her onto it—this time—and went into the other room. When he came back, Sara sat in the middle of the mattress with the covers drawn up under her arms.
“That won’t do. Out into the lists with you, Sarabande. I’ve brought my weapon.” He brandished her hairbrush.
“Is there a reason why you can’t unbraid my hair while we’re in our dressing gowns?”
“Yes.” Beck’s great weight dipped the mattress as he bounced into position directly behind her.
“And the reason would be?”
“You’ll see,” he murmured, reaching for her braid. Except Sara wouldn’t see his reason, she’d feel it, as would he. Arousal was already pooling in his blood, so Beck silently admonished himself to slow down.
“Where did you get off to,” Sara asked, “before dinner, while I bathed?”
“I took care of my own ablutions,” Beck answered, relieved Sara was up to conversation. “And retrieved a few things I’d sent for. God above, I adore your hair, Sarabande.” He was unraveling her loosely plaited braid.
“It feels good,” Sara admitted on a sigh. “When you brush it like that. I’ve not felt my hair down on my naked back in ages, though.”
“Like it?” Beck picked up the mass of her hair and swung it lightly across her back. He played for a few minutes, bunching the abundance of her hair in his hands, burying his face in it, and draping it over her back and shoulders then letting it brush over his groin.
“I’m engaging in perversions back here,” Beck said. “Do you know how arousing your hair is when I brush it across my cock?”
“No.” She took in an unsteady breath, while Beck caressed himself again with her hair.
“It burns, Sara.” His voice had lost some of its teasing quality. “Brands me. Makes me want to brand you. Over and over again.”
He gathered her hair and swept it over her right shoulder, then shifted, kneeling up and bending over her. He intended that she feel his erection along her spine. He did not intend the wave of possessiveness that swept him when he embraced her like this.
“You are in this state as a function of brushing my
“Hmm?” He’d curled down over her so his lips were near her ear.
“Are you done with my hair?”
“Not nearly.”
“Are you done brushing my hair for now?”
This question took some time to absorb.
“Yes.” Abruptly he dropped his arms and sat back on his heels.
“Might we get under the covers?”
“God, yes.”
Beckman shifted again, and Sara scrambled around to climb under the covers with him. Her unbound hair took some managing, but the sensation of it sweeping along his shoulder and belly nigh unmanned him.
“Now what, Beckman?” Sara aligned herself to his side, her hair cascading over his chest and stomach.
Beck angled up off his back, gathered her against him, and rolled them. “Now, we make love.”
He didn’t give her a chance to reply but lowered his head to seal his mouth over hers. Polite teasing slipped from his grasp. He was kissing to arouse, and so—thank a merciful heaven—was she.
“Don’t hold back,” Sara whispered against Beck’s neck. “Tonight I don’t want you to be careful or restrained or gentlemanly. I want more, Beckman.”
“You’ll have it,” he assured her as she closed her teeth over a pinch of his shoulder.
He insinuated a hand between their bodies, only to have Sara seize it with her own. “Yes.” She clamped his fingers over her breast. “That. Please.”
When he gently squeezed then closed his fingers more definitely around her nipple, she pushed herself up against his cock. “Beckman…”
He kept up his attentions to her breast, until Sara was undulating rhythmically against him, flaying his self- control before he’d even gotten down to business. He’d wanted to go slowly, to savor and cherish and honor her with his caresses and his self-restraint. He’d planned to pleasure her, to pleasure them both, but gently, because she was without recent experience, and this was their first complete encounter.
His plans went up in bright, reddish-orange flames.
“Come here.” Beck shifted to his side, leaving Sara on her back. He could kiss the hell out of her this way and use his hands to better advantage. She took to the shift in positions like a duck to water, hooking a leg over his hips and rolling toward him.
“Better,” Beck growled as he filled his hand with the curve of her derriere and brought her closer.
“Beck, I want…” Sara’s fingers closed around his shaft, and Beck felt a moment’s panic.
“You can have that,” he assured her, gently untangling her fingers, “but later, love. Just a little later.”
When she would have protested, Beck spiked her guns by brushing the backs of his fingers over the curls at the apex of her sex.
“Beckman?” Her undulating ceased, surprise in her voice.
“I want this to last,” he tried to explain, exploring gently. “If you have your way with me precipitously, I won’t do you justice.”
Sara blinked, looking momentarily puzzled as he shifted his grip on her so his fingers could dip lower.
“You’re ready for me.” He didn’t keep the smugness from his tone as he swiped a pair of fingers in a long, slow caress up her damp sex. Sara’s body shuddered, and he repeated the caress, studying her as he did.
“You like that. What about this?” He dabbled at the opening to her body, gently, but not too gently for a woman becoming aroused.
“Do that again,” she said, closing her eyes. Beck obliged by easing a single finger shallowly inside her.
“Better?”
“Not better enough.” She arched her hips against him as he continued the same fleeting and shallow penetrations. When he limited himself to those teasing caresses, she pushed against him as if asking him to speed up, or for the love of God, to
