tell him that she didn’t have any instincts when it came to men, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. Instead it tangled with his, and she heard herself moan into the heat of his clever mouth.
And she discovered she did have instincts, because it was instinct that had her sliding her hands into his hair, clutching his head, meeting his hot, seductive kisses with her own. And instinct had her pressing herself closer to him. Later, she’d wonder how a kiss involving her lips could have an effect on her whole body, but right then she wasn’t capable of wondering about anything except what was going to happen next.
‘Next’ was his mouth on her neck—slow, lingering, as everything he did was slow and lingering—and she lay still, hardly breathing as the warmth of his tongue traced the line of her shoulder and moved lower, to her bare breasts.
Her nipples were standing erect and she watched in tense fascination as he paused with his mouth close to that sensitive part of her. She felt the warmth of his breath brush over her skin, followed by the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue as he skilfully teased and toyed with that part of her that had never been touched before. Sensation shot right through her, pooling in her pelvis, until she found it almost impossible to keep still, until the urge to cry out was so powerful she had to bite her lip to stay silent. And what he did to one nipple he did to the other, and when he finally lifted his head and looked at her she found it impossible to look away.
For a moment they stared at each other.
There was a hardness in his eyes, a coldness she wished she hadn’t seen, and then he leaned across the bed and blew out the candle, sending the tent into darkness.
She could no longer see, but she could feel, and the feelings became more acute because everything was focused on that one sense—touch.
The warmth of his palm rested low on her abdomen and she wondered if he knew how much she was aching, just how badly she needed—needed something. But of course he knew. She remembered Yasmin’s breathless statement that he was supposed to be a skilled lover and knew now that it was true.
No wonder he hadn’t bothered returning her book.
I will teach you everything you need to know.
The fact that he knew her body better than she did embarrassed her, but nowhere near as much as when he gently spread her thighs and shifted lower on the bed.
Shocked, and feeling intensely vulnerable, Layla gave a soft gasp as his hand moved with sure, leisurely ease over her abdomen and lower still. He took his time, but whether that was out of respect for her inexperience, patience or just a maddening ability to know how to ramp up the tension until she was at screaming pitch, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was moving her pelvis against his hand, and then his fingers were there, sliding skilfully over that part of her, exploring her with slow, knowing strokes of strong, clever fingers, until her breathing was shallow and her hands fisted in the sheets.
She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this.
She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything except darkness, and that darkness intensified feeling because she never knew what was coming next. She felt him shift above her, then move lower, and this time he put his mouth on her there. Shock rocketed through her and her hands moved to push him away, but he caught both her wrists in one hand and held her securely, so that all she could do was lie there and let him do exactly what he wanted to do. And what he did was sinfully good, and he did it again and again, until her body quivered and heated, until she was slippery wet and sensitive, embarrassment blown away by sensation. And with each erotic slide of his tongue the feelings intensified, until the heat of it was so maddening she thought she’d explode.
She knew there was something more, that her body was trying to reach something, somewhere, and she squirmed and shifted, trying to relieve the unfamiliar feelings, and then he shifted position in a lithe movement and came over her, his hand under her bottom.
‘I will try not to hurt you...’
His voice was husky and he slid his hand down her thigh, encouraging her to wind her legs across his back. Like this, she was open to him and she was once again grateful for the darkness as she felt the silken power of him against her and the warmth of his breath against her mouth as he lowered his head to kiss her again.
He licked at her lips, kissing her gently as he stayed still, letting her grow used to the feel of him against her. It was shockingly intimate with her legs wrapped around him, and for endless moments he held himself still. Then he eased forward and entered her slowly, gently, holding himself in check with ruthless control, taking it so slowly that the discomfort seemed minimal in comparison to the building frustration. Pain and pleasure mingled. Layla felt herself clench around the hard thickness of him, felt the heat and power of him stretching her, and when his hand tightened on her bottom she lifted herself against him and heard a low sound rumble in his throat as he sheathed himself deep. Her breath caught. The intimacy of it shocked her and she curled her fingers over his biceps and then up to his shoulders, aware that he was holding himself still and knowing that he did it for her.
‘Are you all right?’
His voice was low and very male, and she opened her eyes, even though she couldn’t see him, and said yes, even though she wasn’t sure it was true.
She wasn’t all right. With him so deeply inside her she felt shaken and unbalanced, as out of her depth as she had in the pool. Only this time instead of drowning in water she was drowning in sensation.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew she wanted this, needed this, and when he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his.
He eased back slightly and then moved into her again. She felt her body yield against the male thickness of him, discovered that if she relaxed it was easier, that when he shifted his angle the pleasure intensified and poured through her in long, wicked waves of ecstasy. He was deep, deep inside her, his hand locked in her hair as he controlled the rhythm, all the time kissing her. And she recognised nothing that was happening to her body, knew nothing—but he did, and he used that skill and experience to drive her higher and higher, until something strange happened, something unfamiliar and intensely exciting, until screaming ecstasy exploded into an almost unbearable shower of sensation that made her cry out despite her attempts to stay silent.
He trapped the sound with his mouth, kissing her through it as she felt her body tighten around the smooth, hard length of him. She felt the sudden tension of his shoulders under her fingers and then heard him groan deep in his throat as her body drove his over the edge. It was the most thrilling, explosive, intense experience of her life and afterwards Layla lay still, crushed by the weight of him and the knowledge that she had lived with herself for twenty-three years and yet not known herself at all.
She’d had no idea she was even capable of feeling that way.
Her illusions about herself had disintegrated. She’d never thought of herself as romantic, nor particularly physical. Nothing in her past had prepared her for what she’d just experienced. And she realised that delving into a book for information wouldn’t have made a difference, because there were no words that could adequately describe what she’d just experienced.
Nothing she’d read could have prepared her for pleasure.
Shattered by the experience, her expectations blown apart, Layla lay there, not knowing what words were appropriate. They’d shared the ultimate intimacy and yet outside the silken haven of his bed they were strangers.
She
