She wiggled under him, hoping to gain a little room between them, just enough room to maneuver. “I am vastly overdressed. Do you want to help me correct that? I am more persuasive with my clothes off.”
Where did these words come from? Who even was she? Her face burned. She had no notion where such skill for provocative repartee originated, but he did not hesitate to oblige.
His hands made quick work of the buttons on her gown.
First her dress came off, then her corset, her chemise, petticoats and drawers. All was removed, soaring through the air like birds in flight, until she was as naked as he was.
His eyes moved over her feverishly fast, missing nothing.
Watching him watching her was its own form of delicious torment. His eyes went dark, fathomlessly deep, intense and impossible to decipher. His nostrils flared and she swallowed thickly, feeling caught, pinned as his gaze touched her everywhere . . . breasts, belly, the juncture of her thighs.
She had never felt so . . . examined, so seen. There was no hiding. Fire lit a path everywhere his gaze tracked.
She couldn’t stand it. As blistering as his gaze felt, she needed actual contact. She needed his touch. The feel of his hands on her skin.
She squirmed under his regard, whimpering and reaching for him, desperate to get to it.
She didn’t reach him before he reacted, moving, hauling her to him.
The two of them came together, bare limbs sliding sinuously against each other—and there was that tempting cock of his.
Her hands greedily seized it, both palms wrapping around it this time, anxious to have him shuddering under her hands again—eager to feel that silken steel in her grip.
“Whoa, there.” He plucked her hands off him. “I shall spend myself before we have done even half the things we want to do.”
She made another dive for him. “But I want—”
“No,” he said emphatically, dodging her and rolling her over so that she could not take him in her hungry fingers again. “Show me something else you want.”
She paused. Something else?
Her gaze skipped from his eyes down to his inviting mouth nestled in that darkly lush, well-tended beard. She could freely touch him there now. He would permit that.
She did just that. Ran her fingers through the short bristles, marveling at the softness.
She brought her face closer to the soft pelt, nuzzling him like a purring cat, imagining the sensation of his bearded face elsewhere, everywhere. On her breasts, her belly, the insides of her thighs.
He felt marvelous. She brought her lips to his cheek, nibbling toward his lips. Her tongue darted, testing, stroking, licking.
Her open mouth traveled along the hard line of his jaw. Excitement continued to twist inside her and she nipped that jaw before going down to his bare neck, his skin so hot and velvety and delicious against her tongue.
He groaned as she continued to explore him, savoring him, getting herself worked into a frenzy in the process.
She sat up higher, pushing against his broad shoulders. He fell on his back as though she were some powerful creature he was helpless to resist. She straddled him and settled her aching woman’s core directly over the ridge of his cock, aligning him perfectly with the weeping crevice between her folds.
Reveling in her control over him, she tossed back her head, sliding along him, the wet friction offering no resistance as she worked over him, gasping when the head of his cock bumped into that sensitive button nestled at the top of her sex.
She went deeper then, grinding down on him until moisture rushed between her legs, soaking them both. His hands came down on her hips, gripping her tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh as she rode toward her climax, recognizing the sensation as it built inside her.
She dropped her hands on his solid chest, using him for leverage as she barreled closer and closer, rubbing herself over the length of him as his hot eyes burned into her, watching her as she chased after her pleasure—and finally reached it.
She arched her spine and came apart, pushing her palms down on his hard chest as an exultant shout bubbled up inside her.
He held himself still beneath her as she broke and shattered over him, her head flung back as she cried out.
She had never made a sound whilst in the throes of passion before. Of course she had always been alone in those moments, her face turned, buried in her pillow. Even if she had not been concerned with staying quiet for fear of her sister overhearing her, she had never felt like this, never felt so wrecked, like she was flying out of her skin. Never had she made a sound above a gasp or even felt compelled to. Her climaxes had been so controlled by comparison.
There was nothing controlled or mild or manageable about this. She dropped her head back down and fixed her gaze on him with incredulity.
His own stare moved over her like a hungry touch. She grasped one of his hands on her hip, peeling it off her and placing it on her breast.
She held his hand there, molding it to her, guiding him to squeeze the aching mound. He didn’t need prompting. He readily clasped her breast and leaned forward, pressing his mouth to the valley between her breasts. Starting there, he kissed her, loving her with his tongue, grazing with his teeth as his hands continued to knead and play and fondle her.
His fingers found her nipples and rolled and pinched them, pushing her right back to that razor-sharp edge. Already. So soon. Again. She did not think it possible. Every inch of her shook and convulsed.
She had never wrought more than one release from herself in a single night, but his broad palms over her, on her, working her into a frenzy was too much.
With a sobbing cry, she fell over him, pushing him back down on the bed. Her hands dove through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of the strands as she crashed her mouth over his.
She did not even care that she was inexperienced at this part of the intimacy game. In the privacy of her bedchamber, she had not managed to perfect the art of kissing and she knew she was clumsy and inept. She had never kissed anyone on the mouth before, but she was driven by raw primitive need.
She had to kiss his beautiful mouth.
Her lack of experience did not seem to matter to him. He met the wild collision of her kiss with an open mouth and questing tongue. The desperate mating of their lips, tongues and teeth was all consuming. Without dignity. Without restraint or ease. Intimacy—kissing specifically—did not, she dimly realized, need to be neat or skilled or gentle. It was better this way. Like this.
This way it was perfect.
The wilder, the better. The more primal it all felt. The more . . . right. Honest. Perhaps the only honest thing between them. The only honest thing about this night.
She dragged her fingers from his hair to his face, her nails clawing through the soft pelt she wanted to rub all over her body.
They were both breathing hard through their noses and around the breaks in their ravenous and unrelenting mouths.
The impossibly hard length of him still slid against the wet seam of her sex. She rolled her hips, ground down, seeking pressure.
Just a slight adjustment. A lift and push and he would be home.
She would be fully seated upon him. Full of him.
She reached between them, seized his cock, closed him in her hand, wrapped her fingers around the rigid rod that jumped and pulsed in her grip. He groaned and she gave another squeeze of his manhood, ready to feel his hardness inside her. She was so wet and so ready.
Raising her hips, she dragged the tip of him along her, up and down, until he trembled beneath her. And that was something. A very heady something, emboldening her further.