What was he thinking?
He smelled of rain and horse and man. His skin was cool and damp. She ran her fingers up through the short hair on the back of his neck. What was she doing?
Their eyes locked, blue on grey, deepening into dark pools of desire. With a harsh intake of breath, Nicholas pulled her roughly to him, holding her close, gripping her waist, cupping her head through her curls. Angling his mouth on to hers, he kissed her hard, engulfing her in sudden heat and passion and fire. Soft curves melted into hard planes.
He deepened the kiss. She reached her arms around him, under the material of his coat, against the soft linen of his shirt, the silk of his waistcoat, feeling the heat of his skin through the delicate material. Her hands roamed across his back, kneading the rippling muscles, tracing the knotted line of his spine. He was all bone and muscle and sinew. Power and strength coiled tight. Heady. Strange. Frighteningly, dizzyingly exciting.
Nicholas groaned, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, his kisses demanding, hardening, deepening. Long passionate kisses. Tiny licking kisses. Nibbling on the corners of her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip, his tongue tangling with her own, sweeping across the tender skin on the inside of her mouth. Licking and sucking and thrusting.
He pulled her closer, pressing his arousal against her through the soft leather of his buckskins. Shockingly hard. Unimaginable. Now, now was the time to stop. To stop before she did imagine. What it would feel like. What it would feel like…
She was hot. Her body thrummed, pulsed, pounded, throbbed. She was a hard core of heat, yet she was melting.
Nicholas licked, and she followed. He bit her lip gently, and she nicked his bottom lip between her own teeth. Tentatively touched her tongue to his when he thrust. She wanted to touch him, but did not know how. She knew she should stop, but did not know how. ‘Nicholas,’ she heard herself say, though surely that was not her voice?
He was still kissing her. Drugging, swollen, swooning kisses, as if he would suck the lifeblood from her. She gave and gave and gave and still he kissed her more. He undid the large buttons of his riding coat and waistcoat, shrugging out of both together. The tiny buttons on her own jacket surrendered to his hands, though she could not have said how. They stood chest to chest. She was breathing as if she had been running. Nicholas, too, his chest heaving, like in the fight. She had no will, no will of her own any more, save to do as he bid.
He tugged the folds of his shirt free from his breeches and took her hands, placing her palms flat on his heated skin. She ran them wonderingly along his ribcage, down the line of his torso to the indent at his waist, relishing the shivering response her touch elicited as she used her hands to draw the map of his body. Her fingers encountered the barrier of his breeches. She pulled her hand back as if she had been burned. She was burning.
Nicholas looked down at her anxiously. Her eyelids were heavy over the deep blue of her eyes, the long dark lashes fanned out over her cheeks. Her hair was undone from its pins, rippling down her back in long ringlets, one tress curling provocatively over her flushed cheek. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. She looked every bit as wanton, even more arousing than in all his fevered late-night imaginings.
‘Serena?’
She stared up at him. He took her hand again, placed it back on his chest, relishing the feel of her skin on his, while desperately trying to read her thoughts. Was she frightened? For a moment he thought so. Because this was the first time? For a moment he hoped so. Because it was not? No, don’t think of that.
Beneath the soft silk of her blouse he could see her breasts rise and fall. He could see the hard peaks of her nipples. Carefully he tugged the lace at her neck, finding the fastenings, slowly undoing them, until her blouse was open to the waist. Her breathing quickened. Her hand curled into the muscle of his chest, but she did not stop him. He pulled the blouse free from the waistband of her skirt. He tugged at her undergarments, expertly freeing her breasts from the wisps of lace and fine lawn cotton that constrained them. At the first touch of his thumbs on her nipples Serena moaned, slumping back against the bales of hay.
She wanted him. Nicholas arranged her gently, supporting her against the straw. She was a picture to rob any man of control, with her golden hair spread out like a fan, her countenance flushed, her eyes heavy with desire. The creamy mounds of her breasts with their rosy-tipped peaks rose and fell alluringly against the white of her undergarments. Just exactly as he’d pictured. The blue velvet of her skirt trailed out beneath her. Nicholas drank his fill of the vision, his breathing heavy, his heart thumping erratically as desire surged painfully through him.
‘Nicholas.’
Serena breathed his name in that special way of hers, watching him through eyes slumberous with desire. She was no vision. She was flesh and blood and heat and luscious, perfect curves. And his, all his. Pushing her legs apart under the voluminous skirt of her riding habit, Nicholas knelt down in front of her. Cupping her full breasts in his hands, he licked the soft undersides, teasing her nipples into hard, swollen fullness between his fingers, pinching them just enough to make her moan with the overwhelming pleasure of it. He leaned in closer, circling her nipples with his tongue, flicking over the hard peaks, sucking gently, then hard, gently, then hard.
She was mindless. She was lost. She was frightened by what was happening to her, but in a way that made her want more. Heat spread out from her belly, a dull glow turning into a burning ember, sparks flying out through her veins, igniting her blood, making her burn. Was this normal? Serena writhed restlessly. She didn’t want him ever to stop. His mouth on her. His hands on her. He was making her do things. Things she didn’t know she knew.
She should stop. She couldn’t stop. She arched against him, pushing her body into him, finding the restraining cloth of her skirt, his breeches, an unbearable barrier. ‘Nicholas.’ She breathed his name again, slanting open her eyes to look at him, hot hands, hot mouth, hot eyes on her. She wanted this, and now she wanted something else too.
Nicholas lifted the hem of her blue velvet skirt, pushing it up around her waist to reveal the long graceful line of her legs. Little boots laced tight around delicate ankles. Silk stockings clinging to the outline of her calves, their ribbons tied under the lace-trimmed edges of her underwear. God, so beautiful.
Serena blushed because he was looking. Blushed because she could see he liked looking. Blushed because she liked him looking. She shifted under his gaze.
The movement caused the gap between her pantaloons to open, giving Nicholas a brief, tantalising view of blonde curls. He inhaled sharply, drinking in her body hungrily, feasting on the full length of her legs, the outline of her thighs under the delicate lawn of her underclothes, breathing in the smell of hay, her flowery perfume, the elusive musky scent of vanilla which seemed to emanate from her skin. With his eyes closed, he ran one hand teasingly from the top of her boot up over her stocking and along the velvet-soft skin on the inside of her thigh, feeling her rippling response. Running his hand over her other leg, he breathed in deeply, relishing the smell of her, the feel of her, the lines and textures of her. A multitude of sensations bubbled through his blood, making him swell with desire, wild with the anticipation of possession.
He reached for the gap in her pantaloons, unerringly finding the source of her heat. Gently, he touched, stroked, pressed. She responded, pushing against his hand. He pushed her legs apart, revealing all the glory of her soft curls, her creamy white thighs, her wet centre.
Serena felt the heat of his mouth, a gentle breath on her thighs. She tightened, her body a bow stretched taut to breaking point. He was licking. The slow sweep of his tongue made her gasp. He licked again, teasing her, circling around the rough
