She protested when he broke their contact and lifted his mouth away, but when she tried to kiss him again, he resisted, saying, “Breathe.”
She realized she was panting, that she hadn’t drawn a breath since that most wonderful kiss had begun. She licked her lips, and saw his eyes drop to follow the motion. “Dragan?” she whispered.
His eyes lifted to meet hers. “All recovered?” he asked, his voice deeper somehow, almost a growl.
She nodded, unable to look away, as if he held her in place with his gaze.
“Mae?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m . . .” she nodded, “. . . recovered.”
He smiled, slow and hungry—the look of a predator who’d caught his prey. “Good.”
And then he was kissing her again, rolling her beneath him, his arms bracketing her head as he nibbled and tasted at will, starting with her mouth and moving to her cheeks where he kissed and licked his way down to her neck. Maeve was overwhelmed with sensation, not knowing where to put her arms, but needing to hold on for fear of flying away. This had to be a dream. He was nothing like the boys she’d kissed in high school, nothing at all like her supposed boyfriend.
Dragan’s kiss was intoxicating, and when he shifted to suck at her neck, it sent waves of desire flowing through her entire body. Her nipples had tightened to painful peaks that screamed with sensation at even the soft brush of her t-shirt. And the rest of her body . . . she didn’t know what she was feeling. Her thighs were clenched, trying to soothe an ache between them that was more powerful than anything she’d felt before. Not even her regular bouts of masturbation had produced this kind of pleasure. And she was so wet that if she hadn’t checked out enough online porn to explain it, she’d have worried about wetting herself in excitement.
One of Dragan’s strong hands stroked down to cup her butt and press her against him. She gasped at the feel of his cock against her thigh. It wasn’t just hard, it was big. Long and thick and, yes, hard, too.
“Dragan,” she whispered, touching his cheek.
His eyes opened. “You okay?”
She nodded again. “Yes, yes, but . . .” Oh, God, she was going to have to tell him. Thank God she was on birth control, at least. Hope springs eternal and it had finally paid off, because a condom run would have been the cherry (ha ha) on the cake of her embarrassment.
She screwed up her courage and blurted, “I’ve never . . . oh God. I’ve never done this.”
He froze. “This?” he rasped. “As in . . .” he pressed her hand to his hardness, “. . . that?”
“Yes?” she said in a small voice. “I mean, I want to, but I thought you should know . . .”
His eyes closed, and for a moment she thought he was angry. Guys did that. Got angry when they were all riled up, and then had to stop. But when Dragan’s eyes finally opened, they were warm and full of affection.
Rolling them both over, he lay once more on his back and pulled her against his chest, the way they’d been when they’d started kissing. Damn it. She knew that telling him would be a deal breaker. But better this than the alternative, she supposed. Surprising him would have been worse.
“Did I ever tell you about the village I grew up in?”
“No,” she said, startled and somewhat puzzled, since that was about the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I mean, you told me some, but . . .”
“I was a king’s son. I told you that.”
She nodded. “But you weren’t raised as one.”
“No. My father never even claimed me, though my mother was his queen.” He was silent for a heartbeat, then, “That meant I had nothing to offer a woman in the way of home and family. I owned nothing, I stood to inherit nothing, and my odds of living to a ripe old age were not good. My life was battle. Nothing else.”
Maeve rubbed his chest, offering what support she could, but she was still puzzled why he was telling her these things at this moment.
“No father came to offer me his daughter’s hand in marriage. No woman begged her father to do so.”
“You were alone?” she whispered. “Always?
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Not always,” he said quietly. “Women snuck into my bed. Married women who found no satisfaction with their husbands for the most part. They came to me after dark and left before morning, lest anyone see where they’d been.”
Her hand fisted on his chest, anger choking her on his behalf. “Bitches,” she muttered.
His arm briefly tightened around her, as if in thanks for her support. “I couldn’t blame them. I truly didn’t have anything to offer, other than—”
“Yourself!” she asserted.
He chuckled. “Thank you for that. Though they cared only that I had some skill in bed and was willing to serve them. But you know, sweet Mae . . . ” His fingers combed gently through her long hair. “No woman has ever gifted me with her maidenhood.”
Could this be any more embarrassing? “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’ve dated . . . a few times, but it just never happened.”
“You mistake me, sweet Mae. I want you, and I intend to have you, if you’re willing. But we will go slowly. We will savor every kiss . . . ” He rolled her under him once more and took her mouth—slow and warm, with lots of tongue—before lifting his head. “ . . . every taste of your soft skin . . . ” He licked and sucked her neck, as his hands slid under her t-shirt to run his thumbs over the underside of her breasts. “. . . every slow stroke, every tormenting touch.” One hand moved up to cup her breast fully, thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple tightly before pinching the puckered peak just to the point of pain, but not beyond.
She gasped in pleasure, her back arching in a way that thrust her breasts against his hands, seeking more.
“You like that?” he growled against her neck, a moment before his teeth closed over the soft lobe of her ear.
Maeve cried out, but not in pain. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “Yes. Please.”
With a final squeeze, he slid his hand from her breasts, to the flat of her belly and down even farther, slipping beneath the loose waistband of her sweatpants, rough fingertips coasting along the elastic lace of her panties and then dipping beneath those, too. Maeve’s heart was thundering in anticipation and, to be honest, a little bit of fear. But not enough to stop this beautiful man from doing anything he wanted to her body. His fingers threaded the neat patch of curls between her legs, and then his bold hand was cupping her pussy, palm pressed hard against her clitoris, that sensitive bundle of nerves that only she had ever fondled before, as she lay frustrated in her solitary bed.