She began to heave her breaths. The contact was so intimate, so new. With gentle motions, he stroked the silky tuft of hair, soft, hard, soft again. Her hips rocked of their own accord, urging him to go deeper.
“Do you want me to take you over the edge?” he all but purred.
Even whispering, he possessed the most sensual voice; a deep, rich baritone that wrapped around her as surely as the blindfold over her eyes. Every time he spoke, his breath fanned her ear, sending images of tangled sheets and hot, sweaty skin racing through her mind.
“Yes,” she answered, breathless. “I ache.”
His fingers finally, blessedly brushed her clitoris, and she gasped. So good!
He stroked until she whimpered. Then he paused.
She waited eagerly, suspended in a time and place where only she and Tristan existed. “Please,” she said with a moan.
Yes! He began tormenting her again, stroking, moving up and down the damp folds of flesh, almost, almost, finally almost hitting where she needed him most. A low, needy moan slipped past her lips. “Tristan!”
Nothing could have prepared her for this sensual onslaught to her senses, this consuming quest for pleasure. Nothing.
“You are close,” he said, but again, he paused.
Again she waited, growing desperate for more. “Please.”
“Have you ever made love in a chair, Julia?”
Slowly she shook her head. “I’ve never made love to anyone.” Her voice was hoarse with longing.
“So I will be your first?” He kissed her neck again, and this time he licked, making her mewl with longing. “Your legs will hook over the arms. Then you’ll take me inside you so deeply you’ll scream and scream, over and over.”
Fantasies of her and Tristan in a chair, doing exactly what he described, besieged her, causing her throat to constrict. I must have him in a chair.
“Tell me that you want me, draga. Say the words.”
“I want you.” She wanted to kiss and lick his scars, to make them better and help him heal. She wanted to run her tongue over each of his tattoos and hear him gasp. “I want now.”
Tristan whipped her around then. “Give me your mouth.” His tone was raw, primal. He didn’t give her time to reply. He swooped down and let his mouth ravage hers. Welcoming his strength, his hardness, she met his tongue thrust for thrust, her hands kneading his back.
Always and forever, this man will own my heart.
* * *
“ALWAYS,” TRISTAN growled, the word exploding from the deepest recesses of his mind. He clutched her to him, his pulse drumming. With Julia in his arms, his past couldn’t affect him. He wouldn’t worry about another woman trying to steal him. He only cared about this moment. The feel of Julia’s skin skipped along his nerve endings, intense and consuming. The scent of her drove him to the brink of wildness. He wanted this woman to the exclusion of all else.
“Let me touch you,” she said on a wispy catch of breath.
Had she asked, he would have given her the world. “Let you? Nay, Julia.” He licked the seam of her lips. “I need you to touch me.” As he spoke, he drank in the sight of the woman who had consumed his thoughts since the moment he’d first spotted her. She captivated him, taking him to new levels of sensuality, and he had to command himself to slow down before things ended too quickly. This was Julia’s first time and, by Elliea, she would enjoy every second of it.
Her breasts were full and lush, made for a man’s touch. His touch. Rosy peaks crowned her nipples, ready and waiting. Beckoning. Her legs did not long, but they climbed all the way to heaven. Soon they would wrap around his waist, squeezing and pulling him tightly into her sheath. Longing nearly sent him to his knees.
“Feel how much I want you.” He guided her hand down the planes of his chest, around his navel, then plunged past his underwear. He fit her fingers around his ridged length, showing her the way of it. A quick study, his Julia. It wasn’t long before she stroked him up, down, up, squeezing him just right.
“Yes, draga,” he praised. “Just like that.” I might not survive this.
* * *
HOLDING TRISTAN’S erection filled Julia with feminine power. Here was a man, a master of sensuality, who responded to her as if he could never get enough. A heady thought, indeed.
In the next heartbeat, he lifted her shirt over her arms, baring her naked breasts to his view. Once again cool air kissed her heated skin, causing her nipples to pucker, ache.
She heard Tristan hiss in a breath before he said, “You are the most ethereal creature I have ever beheld.”
“No, I—” she began out of habit, then stopped herself. “Thank you.”
He licked the rim of her nipple while tracing his finger around her navel. The rest of her words died a quick death. Julia’s body went up in flames. Needy for more, she arched her back, giving him better access. Tristan sucked the hardened peak into the hot wetness of his mouth.
At last Tristan removed her final garment: her panties. Julia groaned, not in discomfort or embarrassment, which still surprised her, but in longing. Right now, this man belonged to her. Only her. To others he might be a pleasure slave. But to her he was simply Tristan, a sensual man who branded her body and soul.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the hair on his chest tickling her skin. For only a second, he pulled back and she heard a delicate rush of air as he… removed his underwear? Then one of his arms anchored under her knees, the other bracing her lower back. When he lifted her against his chest, the world tilted. He carried her, the glide so smooth she felt as if she were floating on a cloud of air. Still, under the guise of needing support, she clasped her arms around his neck.
He strode through the house—the living room,
