“Kit,” she murmured. “Can you—”
“No.” He set her leg on the bed and switched to the other, starting again with her foot by pressing a warm kiss to the sole. “Just relax.”
She decided to take his advice and relax to the inevitable, enjoying the little bursts of pleasure he created as he slowly worked his way up, leaving no part of her limb untouched. “You’re beautiful here,” he said, tracing the curve of her calf. And teasing the inside of her thigh. “You’re beautiful here, too.”
A bead of sweat rolled down his chest, glistening in the firelight. She wanted to lick it off. The ache was becoming an insistent pulse. She wanted to feel him inside her.
She wasn’t relaxed at all.
“Kit, please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” He was concentrating again, his eyes closed, his fingers working their way up, closer to where she wanted him.
“Please can you take off your—”
“No,” he said, moving suddenly to silence her with a kiss.
His weight on her felt exciting, but he gave all his attention to her mouth. His woodsy scent filled her head. Her hands smoothed his back, his sides, wherever she could reach.
“You are very imaginative,” she admitted weakly when he finally relinquished her lips.
His response was another lazy smile as he retreated back toward her feet.
“If you kiss my knee again,” she warned, “I’m going to scream.”
“I’d like to hear that,” he shot back with a grin, gripping both her ankles.
He looked too blasted good looming over her. She held her breath as he skimmed his hands straight up, spreading her legs as he went. “You’re beautiful here,” he said softly, his heated gaze fixed between them.
Her breath burst out in a rush. Never had she thought to have anyone look at her there. Or at least not until she’d seen Position Seven in I Sonetti.
It was unbearably exciting.
He looked closer.
“Kit,” she breathed, her entire body tingling.
He looked closer still. “Beautiful,” he repeated.
“Kit, take off your—”
“No,” he said and closed the distance, pressing his lips to her in the most intimate kiss imaginable.
Her hips shot off the bed. “Kit!”
“Hmm?”
The single, drawn-out syllable was a hum that drove her wild, sending her past the point where she was capable of protesting any longer. Then the tip of his tongue touched her, warm and slick. It was unbelievable—who did this? what made him think of such a thing?—and unbelievably erotic.
And all she could do was feel.
He licked her, slowly, his tongue swirling in a place so sensitive she wondered that she didn’t just fly to pieces. He lingered there, suckling gently, then licked and suckled her again, and again, and again—until she did fly to pieces, shuddering beneath him while he held her hips tight.
After she remembered how to breathe, after her heart stopped galloping, after the pieces had painstakingly rearranged themselves, she still wanted him.
More than ever.
Slowly he raised his head, licking her off his lips, a sight that made her heart stutter in her chest, made a new flash of heat skitter through her. He crawled up her body and settled beside her, then gave her a gentle kiss. “How’s that for imaginative?” he asked softly.
Imaginative, indeed. She released a ragged breath. “I translated sixteen scandalous sonnets, and not one of them mentioned that. There weren’t any pictures of that, either.”
His grin would have done the devil proud.
She swallowed hard, her eyes traveling down to the unmistakable bulge at the front of his breeches. “I want to see you.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve seen me.” In more detail than she’d ever imagined. “Now I want to see you.”
This time, she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Her hands went to his laces. Under her busy fingers, the bulge seemed to grow, and her excitement grew along with it. After he helped her push the breeches down and off, she stared, fascinated.
She reached to touch him, and her heart hitched when he moved against her palm. She wrapped her fingers around him, thrilling at his sharply indrawn breath and the pulse she felt filling her hand.
The ache down low in her body intensifying again, she moved her hand experimentally. Amazingly, he seemed to grow more. As she watched, a single glossy drop of fluid emerged.
Curious, she collected it with a fingertip and raised it to her mouth, licking it off.
His eyes widened. “How do I taste?” he asked in a thick whisper, his breath coming short to match hers.
“Creamy. A little salty. Good.” She skimmed her tongue across her lips, loving his reaction. “I want to taste you more, the way you did me.”
“You want to kill me, you mean,” he said with a strangled laugh. “Not tonight.” And with that he rolled on top of her, fitting himself within the cradle of her thighs.
Just that quickly, the heat inside her flared fully to life. She raised her knees instinctively, wrapping her legs around him. Poised there where she craved him, he just kissed her for a long while, kissed her until she could barely think straight for wanting him. Until she seemed nothing but a mass of need.
“Now, Kit,” she begged.
“This might hurt,” he whispered regretfully.
“I don’t care,” she said, and she didn’t.
He nodded and drew a deep breath, and at long last she felt him there, felt an incredible urgency as he entered her ever so slowly, felt herself stretching to accommodate him. “Faster,” she whispered, and he pushed farther, but not far enough.
Not fast enough.
Not enough.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved her hips against him and took him inside with a gasp.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, misunderstanding.
“No. It doesn’t hurt.” The pain had been so fleeting, so insignificant compared to the marvelous feeling of him filling her. The gasp had been a sound of wonder. “A thing of beauty,” she whispered incredulously.
And then he moved within her, and the beauty became more beautiful still.
It made her complete.
She moved with him, lost in a world of their making, the sensations building until she wasn’t sure where she ended and he started. Time slowed and stretched, or maybe
