his nipple with her tongue and worked around it, swirling and tasting.
‘I’m not. It was beautiful. You’re beautiful.’ He smoothed a hand down her back.
‘I’m awake now,’ she said as she reached the top of his thighs with both palms.
‘No kidding.’ He seemed to struggle to get the words out.
Pleased and emboldened by the night, she took him in her hand. She’d only stroked him a couple of times, appreciating his length and girth, when he stopped her, his hand gripping her wrist like a vice.
‘Inside you,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘I want to come inside you.’ He pulled her back up the bed and kissed her long and hard and deep and when he finally lifted his head she knew she was lost.
‘Then what are you waiting for?’
He growled with laughter and she melted more.
‘I’ve been waiting too long for this to have it over in two minutes.’
Oh. Excitement trammelled through her, an almost nervous anticipation. She didn’t know if she could handle much more. She wanted him now. It seemed as if she’d wanted him for ever. But he was relentless. His hands, his mouth, slowly, reverently, traced her body, igniting tiny fires all over that built and merged and threatened to overwhelm her reason. He tossed the bedcovers back, the heat between them keeping them more than warm enough. She learnt his body as he learnt hers. She gave free rein to all her desires, to touch him, to kiss him as she’d dreamed of night after night. But he soon pulled free of her, groaning as he reclaimed control. Then she could only lie back and let him caress her in ways she’d blushed about when fantasising.
He nipped gently at the smooth skin of her inner thighs with his teeth, then soothed the skin with lush kisses.
‘Rory,’ she whispered brokenly, ‘I can’t take any more.’
‘Yes, you can, beautiful.’ And then he kissed her right there. His tongue hungrily tasted her sweetness, lashing her with its length, his mouth fastened onto her, regularly sucking until her hips arched and her hands fisted into his hair. His fingers came to tease inside her while his other hand tormented a rock-hard nipple.
Her head thrashed and her body shook as she proved her point—her mind and body imploded as the sensations he stirred catapulted her into ecstasy.
He pressed slow kisses up her belly. ‘Are you still with me?’
The power and intensity of that orgasm had far from satisfied her. It had only worsened the unbearable ache in her womb. She needed him there.
‘Make love to me, Rory. Please.’
He stared down at her intently, rigid with desire, and then he kissed her, pressing her head down into the mattress with the force of it. The weight of his body settled onto hers and her excitement level sky-rocketed again. She felt the dampness on his skin and knew he was only just keeping himself in check.
He reached across to the bedside table.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m on the pill.’
‘OK.’ He gulped in a deep breath. ‘You’re sure? You’re sure you’re ready for this?’
She was more than sure and she wanted nothing between them. He moved closer and she could concentrate on nothing else but him. Her ears were finely attuned to his roughened breathing and her own shallow pants. She pulled at him to hurry, but he held back, braced above her, fixing her in place with his beautiful burning eyes. Then, as smoothly as a hot knife sliding through butter, he filled her. Oh, boy, did he fill her.
Finally.
It felt so damn good that for a moment her mind blanked completely as the sensation short-circuited her whole system. She realised the moan of bliss had been hers. She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a slow, rapturous smile. His unwavering gaze beat down on her. She saw the wonder and delight she felt mirrored in his face. She flexed her hips up to him a fraction.
His breath hissed between clenched teeth. ‘Not yet—’ his voice tight ‘—or it won’t be two seconds, let alone two minutes.’
She watched as he fought for control, thrilled that he, like she, had almost been obliterated the instant they had joined together. That he felt the passion for her as strongly as she did him.
Slowly he brought up his hand and stroked her hair, then down to frame her face with fingers that shook slightly. Not taking her eyes from his, she turned a little to press a tiny erotic kiss into his palm. She gave him a saucy grin and saw his serious look lighten in return.
At last he moved. Slowly releasing, then pressing close again. Slow, sure strokes that seemed to break through every barrier she’d thought she’d installed permanently. With every movement he filled her, came further into her, breaking into her heart, becoming part of her. And the thing was, it felt wonderful.
She arched to meet him, length to length, stroke to stroke. She ran her hands down his taut muscles, delighting in the ripple of hardness that greeted her.
Slowly, teasingly, he danced with her, sometimes kissing her, sometimes holding her gaze. She kissed his neck; he kissed her breast. But inevitably the pace increased. So too did the intensity and sheer physicality until at last they were pounding hard together. Over and over they met as one until her mind blanked again as he sent her over the edge. Shuddering, she was just conscious enough to feel his big body spasm as he fiercely gathered her closer, his fingers gripping her to him, roaring as finally he too lost his fight for control.
Sweat-slicked and sated, she slept. Silent in the tight embrace that he’d locked her into once he’d shifted the bulk of his weight off her. Somewhere in the back of her mind the thought niggled that she should be going home. That she should be running, far and fast. But she was tired. So tired. And so content. She would wake, see him, want him, have him and then crash again. She couldn’t remember whether that had happened three, four or five times through the night. All she knew was that it still wasn’t enough. He was a sex god. She’d never experienced such pleasure. Now that she had, she wanted it again, over and over. Just this night, she told herself, just let me have this one night.
In the morning the magic sanctuary of the darkness remained. It was as if a bubble had descended, enclosing them in a world where only they existed. Where doubts and pasts and futures lay forgotten, forbidden. She sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen bench in her silk negligee, loving the sight of him pottering in the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of tent-shaped boxers. There was something so decadent about the scene. He cooked her soft, creamy eggs that slipped down her throat. She beamed at him, ignoring the fact that the strap of her negligee had slipped from her shoulder and she was dangerously close to flashing him. When had anyone cooked for her last? When had anyone made her feel so cared for? So cosseted? So loved?
Her smile died as she stared at him, her breakfast abandoned. This couldn’t be love. This was just attraction. That was all it could be. He held her gaze as he tossed the pan aside and came to her, his eyes lancing, exposing her doubt. Then he bent his head and with only a few gentle touches made her forget. Forget her concern, forget her rules, forget the egg. She went up in flames. Hard and fast with her perched on the edge of the bench, him standing before her. Her negligee rucked up, his boxers halfway down his muscular thighs. Then he suddenly scooped her off the edge and took her weight himself, deeper, harder, joyous. It was as if he wanted to
