He lowered his head and once more she surrendered to his hot mouth and his promise to kiss her everywhere. His slow, burning kisses reached her breasts, his hair feathering over her skin; his lips trapped one nipple, that his teeth and tongue could tease it. Sensation tore through her, possessing her body so she arched and moaned and yanked at his hair. But, oh thank heaven, nothing stopped those lips of his from sliding onward, branding an inexorable trail down her writhing body.
Then she lost her grip on his hair, and lifted her head to watch, amazed, as he parted her legs with those implacable hands and settled between them. Air danced up her inner thighs to the desperately sweet pulse at her core. He met her astonished gaze, mischief and desire sparkling in those intent brandy eyes. Those unforgettable eyes did not leave hers, not for a single throb of her wayward pulse, as he pressed his hot, merciless mouth to her quim.
Intense pleasure coiled through her, making her cry out, and she caught the wicked gleam of triumph in his gaze before she collapsed back onto the ground. Her dazzled eyes blinked at the streaks of blue sky peeping through the green willows, her aroused skin sensing every playful current of air. Thea gripped the grass, as Rafe’s commanding hands pinned her hips to the ground and his talented mouth teased and tasted and tormented her. Breathing eluded her; all she had were moans, and each one he answered with a growl. Blades of grass came away in her fingers, and she fumbled for something to grip, or else she would fly away, borne away by the kisses clamoring under her skin, those kisses that pulsed in her blood and supplanted her flesh, a million kisses thronging and rioting under his mouth, threatening to break free.
Then something he did triggered their release. Bliss rippled over her, from her toes to her hair, as those million riotous kisses burst out of her, exploding into the air. She imagined them soaring through the sky, scattering in the breeze, and raining down on the world below. Still Rafe anchored her, so she did not fly away too, but remained with him, where she belonged, pulsing with bliss and hope and love.
Dazzled, she opened her eyes and met his. His expression was one of awe, and she lifted her languid fingers to touch that expression.
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered hoarsely.
“No, you are,” she said, and he grinned.
Her body was molten, but she did not need to move, for he stretched out beside her and pulled her against him, his generous, assured hands roaming absently over her newly sensitive skin. She spread her fingers over the hairs of his chest, and wondered how it had happened, that his body had become hers too.
“Well?” he murmured. “Better than syllabub?”
“Um. Why choose?”
With a groan of laughter, Rafe collapsed onto his back, bearing her with him. She stretched to kiss to his lips: How marvelous that she could do that so easily now. That somehow, in giving her pleasure, he had given her himself.
And yet, not.
Lifting her head, Thea studied Rafe’s face. His eyes were closed. The thick, dark lashes quivered against his skin, and his jaw was tense. His pulse hammered in his throat, under the last tapering lines of his scars. She understood his tension, now.
So she trailed her hand over his broad chest, the ridge of his ribcage, the muscled flat of his belly, and—
With a slap of his hand over hers, he halted her advance. His eyes were uncommonly dark, his mouth tight.
“I thought we were doing this together,” she complained.
“You don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”
“I know enough. I know that I want it. That I want more of you. All of you.”
Tautness hummed through him. “You want to make love with me? Now?”
“Yes. I want it all.”
She wanted him. All of him, no holding back. This was her only chance, and such chances did not come traipsing along every day; she must seize them when she could.
Nothing lasted: She could not pick the flowers or net the butterflies or hold onto this man, or settle in his house and call it her home.
But she could have this—one perfect afternoon with the most wonderful man she had ever known.
The rules demanded that she protect her virtue, but her virtue had never protected her; she cared nothing for it now. She wanted to feel the sun on her face and the grass beneath her feet and she wanted—no, she longed to know how it felt to be engulfed by him.
Nearby, birds were chattering. Thea basked in the luscious wantonness of being naked, by the lake, with him.
“The way I feel when I’m with you, I want to feel it more,” she said. “I want to be close to you, as close as I can get. Because I have so many pictures of you in my head, and so many memories of your touch, but I want more.” She brushed her fingers over his lips. “I want to make love with you because I am greedy and I like sweet things.”
“Thea.” He breathed her name, as he wound his fingers in her hair and rose up beside her. “If we make love…”
“Hush. You grumble about me talking too much, but now you are talking too much.”
A new light entered his eyes. “Then what would you have me do?”
She answered him with a kiss. It was slow and promising at first, but as their tongues caressed each other, a new fever seized her, breeding a desperate, insatiable hunger, a craving to press against him so completely that they became one. Rational thought took flight, freeing her hands and mouth to roam wildly over him, yearning to touch and taste every inch of him, before her only chance escaped.
In no time at all, he caught her fever, his hunger as fierce as her own. They made short work of the last of his clothes, and she was lying back, inviting his embrace, his body hovering over her. Her hand slid over his hips, brazen and reckless as she curled her ravenous fingers around his hard, satiny length.
“Thea, sweet Thea, I need you now.”
Thea gripped him harder; he groaned and said, “Time for that later,” and her confused mind tried to find when this “later” would be, for there was only now, and now he replaced her hand with his own and guided himself into her, pushing firmly, confidently, knowing she would welcome him. His powerful presence inside her startled her, spiked through her, then new sensations rippled outward, and she settled into rightness, because finally—at least for this brief, heavenly moment—finally, he was hers.
Finally, finally, she was his.
Rafe paused, to give her time, to give himself time too—time to savor this moment, this precious, sacred moment, of their bodies joined, his cock deep inside her, her face telling him her thoughts, telling him of her discomfort, her surprise, and then— So help him! Her pleasure. Her intrigue. Her wonder. Her eyes flew open, and he lost himself in their divine perfection, lost himself in her generous smile, as she shifted and tightened around him. Pleasure coursed through him, conquered him, possessed him. Thea wrapped her legs around him, took him deeper. Her fingers kneaded his back as she kissed him passionately. He gathered her close—he could not hold this position; he was not that strong—but for now, they were melded together, anchored to each other, as one.
Everything in the world was right.
Then his control failed him. He should go slowly; it was her first time, but it might as well be his first time too. Desire tore at him, overwhelming him, and he lowered her to the grass. It was their first time, but soon they would marry, and they had decades of times ahead. He would explain, she would understand, they would laugh and tease and he’d do right by her next time. The next time they made love, she would be his wife.