let her tongue slide against his, then conducted a slow, sweeping circle before initiating a probing dance that was almost as evocative as the sexual act itself.
His hand shaped her nape and held fast her head, while the other slipped low over one hip, cupped her bottom and drew her close in against him.
She wanted him now, hard and fast, without any preliminaries. To be able to feel the power, the strength, without caution or care. As if he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer to effect possession.
The familiar slide of his fingers, the gentle probing exploration as he sought the warm moistness of her feminine core brought a gasping sigh from her lips.
Followed by a despairing groan as he began an evocative stimulation. It wasn’t fair that he should have such intimate knowledge and be aware precisely how to wield it to drive a woman wild.
His mouth hardened, and his jaw took control of hers, moving it in rhythm with his own.
She clutched hold of his shoulders and held on as his fingers probed deeper, and just as she thought she could bear it no longer he shifted position.
A cry rose and died in her throat as he slid into her in one long, thrusting movement.
Dear God, that felt good. So good. She murmured her pleasure, then gave a startled gasp as he tumbled her down onto the bed and withdrew.
His mouth left hers, and began a seeking trail down her throat, tasting the vulnerable hollows at the base of her neck, the soft, quivering flesh of each breast, the indentation of her navel.
She knew his intention, and felt the flame lick along every nerve-end, consuming every sensitised nerve-cell until she was close to conflagration.
Her head tossed from one side to the other as sensation took hold of her whole body. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop before it became unbearable, but the husky admonition sounded so low in her throat as to be indistinguishable.
He was skilled, so very highly skilled in giving a woman pleasure. The slight graze of his teeth, the erotic laving of his tongue. He knew just where to touch to urge her towards the edge. And how to hold her there, until she begged for release.
Aysha thought she cried out, and she bit down hard as Carlo feathered light kisses over her quivering stomach, then paused to suckle at her breast,
His mouth closed on hers, and she arched up against him as he entered her in one surging movement, stretching delicate tissues to their utmost capacity.
He began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing depth and strength as she became consumed with the feel of him.
His skin, her own, was warm and slick with sweat, and the blood ran through her veins like quicksilver.
It was more than a physical joining, for she gifted him her heart, her soul, everything. She was his. Only his. At that moment she would have died for him, so complete was her involvement.
Frightening, shattering, she reflected a long time later as she lay curled into the warmth of his body. For it almost destroyed her concept of who and what she had become beneath his tutelage.
The steady rise and fall of his chest was reassuring, the beat of his heart strong. The lazy stroke of his fingers along her spine indicated he wasn’t asleep yet, and the slight pressure against the indentations of each vertebrae was soothing. She could feel his lips brush lightly over her hair as she drifted into a peaceful sleep.
It was the soft, hazy aftermath of great lovemaking. A time for whispered avowals of love, Aysha thought as she woke, the affirmation of commitment.
Aysha wanted to utter the words, and hear them in return. Yet she knew she would die a silent death if he didn’t respond in kind. She pressed a light butterfly kiss to the muscled ridge of his chest and traced a gentle circle with the tip of her tongue.
He tasted of musk, edged with a faint tang that was wholly male. She nipped the hard flesh with her teeth and bestowed a love-bite, then she soothed it gently before moving close to a sensitive male nipple.
She trailed her fingers over one hip, lingered near his groin, and felt his stomach muscles tense.
‘That could prove dangerous,’ Carlo warned as she began to caress him with gentle intimacy.
The soft slide of one finger, as fleeting as the tip of a butterfly’s wing, in a careful tactile exploration. Incredible how the male organ could engorge and enlarge in size. Almost frightening, its degree of power as instrument to a woman’s pleasure.
Aysha had the desire to tantalise him to the brink of madness, and unleash everything that was wild and untamed, until there were no boundaries. Just two people as one, attuned and in perfect accord on every level. Spiritual, mental and physical.
A gasp escaped her throat as he clasped both hands on her waist and swept her to sit astride him.
Excitement spiralled through her body as he arched his hips and sent her tumbling down against his chest.
One hand slid to her nape as he angled her head to his, then his mouth was on hers, all heat and passion as he took possession.
The kiss seared her heart, branding her in a way that made her his...totally. Mind, body, and soul. She had no thought for anything but the man and the storm raging within.
It made anything she’d shared before seem less. Dear Lord, she’d ached for his passion. But this ... this was raw, primitive. Mesmeric. Ravaging.
She met and matched his movements, driven by a hunger so intense she had no recollection of time or place.
Aysha wasn’t even aware when he reversed positions, and it was the gentling of his touch, the gradual loss of intensity that intruded on her conscious mind and brought with it a slow return to sanity.
There was a sense of exquisite wonderment, a sensation of wanting desperately to hold onto the moment in case it might fracture and fragment.
She didn’t feel the soft warmth of tears as they slid slowly down her cheeks. Nor was she aware of the sexual heat emanating from her skin, or the slight trembling of her body as Carlo used his hands, his lips to bring her down.
He absorbed the dampness on one cheek, then pressed his lips against one closed eyelid, before moving to effect a similar supplication on the other. His hands shifted as he gently rolled onto his back, carrying her with him so she lay cradled against the length of his body.
Slight tremors shook her slim form, and he brought her mouth to his in a soft, evocative joining. His fingers trailed the shape of her, gently exploring the slim supple curves, the slender waist, the soft curve of her buttocks.
It was Carlo who broke contact long minutes later, and she trailed a hand down the edge of his cheek.
‘I get first take on the shower. You make the coffee,’ she whispered.
His slow smile caused havoc with her pulse-rate. ‘We share the shower, then I’ll organise coffee while you cook breakfast.’
‘Chauvinist,’ Aysha commented with musing tolerance.
His lips caressed her breast,
