How strange that she felt better like this. Naked. Exposed.
All right, she thought, anxious to begin. To be done.
For better or worse.
She reached for him, finding his shoulder first. Wordlessly, she dragged her fingers over the fine fabric of his black suit until she found the lapels.
He made to reach for her, but she slid the jacket from his shoulders, imprisoning his arms to his sides until he shucked the garment altogether. Next, he assisted her in gathering his shirt from his waist, the buttons plinking against the carpet evidence of his haste.
Shivering, she found his shape as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. She caught his forearms as he was searching, and held them, caressing down to his wrists.
It was easier like this, she thought. Grateful that he allowed her to control where she placed his hands, to decide where and when he touched her.
She shivered to her bones, despite the balmy summer night, as she placed his palms on her bare waist.
He distracted her mouth with long drags of his lips as his thumbs stroked the thin, satiny undercurve of her breasts. A moan vibrated against her as he cupped them, testing their weight in his palms.
“You hide these,” he chided softly. “Beneath that wrap of yours.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m simply acknowledging another delightful discovery.” He rested the distended nipple between the seam of his fingers, exerting gentle pressure.
The sensation of her cool, naked breast against the heat of his palm stunned her, overwhelmed her, and she flinched away.
No one had touched her there before. But the hungry looks they’d elicited in men had repulsed her.
So she’d wrapped them, hiding them from view.
“I’m sorry.” He reached for his drink once more, granting her a reprieve with which to catch her breath.
They were silent in the dark for a moment until he pressed, “Why do you conceal your shape?”
Alexandra crossed her arms, unsure of why she felt defensive. “In my line of work, I need economy of movement. I don’t want my wardrobe to be another cage. I can’t be mired in a world of muslin, unable to properly move or breathe. Nor can I be chained in gold and jewels, draped like a display. It isn’t practical.”
“And you value practicality over what is socially acceptable.” The gentle curiosity in his voice disarmed her.
“I do,” she said. “All our lives, we’re told we mustn’t, we shouldn’t, we can’t. I don’t like those words. I never have.”
“Nor have I.” His voice was reverential as he abandoned his drink.
“I-it’s part of why I didn’t want a husband. Because I thought he would use those words against me. But I … I don’t think, that is to say, I hope you’re not that sort of man … that sort of husband.”
“I don’t want us to be impediments to each other, Alexandra.” He reached for her once more, his body throwing off waves of heat. “I’ll not be a forbidding husband, if you’ll not be a faithless wife.”
Swallowing hard, Alexandra pressed her palm against his bare chest. Somewhere left of center, over the unrestrained tempo of his heart.
“It is not in my capacity to stray,” she said. “I can never imagine wanting another man.”
She could have never imagined wanting this one. Of doing what they were about to do without a great deal of suffering, And yet, she had to admit, the swells and contours of his chest were a magnificent blend of smooth skin and rough hair. The abrasion against her palm was rather lovely. She drew her hand down, counting the depressions of his ribs, marveling at the width of his trunk.
The touch interrupted his breath, then he released a foul word. “You’re always one step ahead of me, woman.”
“I am?”
“Not for long.” His mouth descended with more urgency than before. His lips coaxing hers to open, their breath mingling in the darkness.
She braced for his touch, for his hands to travel down her hips and lower. So when he spanned her rib cage with a gentle exploration, she tensed, her nerves stretching taut. “Do you want me to lie on the bed?” she asked.
“Eventually.”
She didn’t guess what he was about when he bent down, until the heat of his mouth replaced that of his hand over her nipple. A gasp escaped her as a cry when he compressed his lips, tugging gently on the aching bud.
“You can’t!” Her fingers clawed into his hair, wrenching his neck away.
“Can’t I?” His voice matched the night around them. Darker, even. Laced with a savage carnality. “I didn’t use my tongue.”
Every part of her was trembling now, thoroughly overstimulated by what he’d just done. By how it affected her.
There.
Between her tightly clenched thighs, something had stirred.
At her silence, he gathered her to him. “It’s all so much for you,” he crooned. “So new. They tell women to be afraid of their own need. To be ashamed of it. But I can’t have that. Do not allow what you feel, what you want, to frighten you.”
How could he know just how deeply shame and fear dominated her life?
She allowed him to draw her to the bed as he inquired, “Is there aught you’re curious about? Anything you want to ask me?”
“I just … I’d rather get it done.”
She felt rather than saw his smile. “Anticipation can be cruel,” he acknowledged.
Passively, she let him nudge her onto the bed, and stretch her on her back over the silk coverlet. Her breath trembled in and out of her, her ribs struggling to contain lungs that threatened to seize at any moment.
Alexandra expected him to crawl over her, between her legs, to insert himself inside her.
Instead, he joined her on the bed with his trousers still on, lying beside her raised on one elbow. “I need to make you ready,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaning down to bury his face against the curve of her neck. “Then we will ‘get it done’ as you so poetically put it.”
“Ready?” The word was a breathy whisper as his lips nudged at the sensitive flesh of her earlobe and his hand caressed over her breast to drift along the silken skin over her ribs, and the quivering expanse of her belly.
Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut, her jaw locking. Any moment he would touch her. He would claim her.
She wasn’t ready. She didn’t—
The little drag of his teeth against her earlobe shocked her away from her thoughts and shot an electric sensation there.
She clenched her thighs together, her intimate muscles pulsing around emptiness.
Confused, distraught, she reached to him for comfort, and he lifted himself so her arms could encircle him, so she could clutch at the curious columns of muscle bracketing his spine. “I don’t know if I can—” She hated that her voice sounded so young. Hated that she was so utterly at his mercy. “What do I do?”
He paused, his fingers splayed just below her belly button, and rested his head in his other hand. “You do nothing, darling,” he crooned. “I want you to let go of all control. Just lie back and let me teach you. And in doing so, I will learn you, as well.” He nuzzled at her, his beard grazing her cheek, his lips seeking hers in the dark.