Chapter 15 #3
She rolled her hips, unable to control the movements of her body, abandoning, finally, anything but instinct. Only sensation remained, and it said to touch and kiss and taste the texture of his skin with her tongue, to bite the sharp angle of his collarbone and make him hiss with pleasure.
She was careening close and closer, and he was doing something wicked with her breasts. They’d be marked by him later, the sensitive skin red from teeth and the sweet suction of his mouth.
“I’d love to lay you bare in a field at noon and watch the sun caress your skin. We used to share stolen tarts in the field beyond the lake. Do you remember? We’d lay in the grass and eat and decipher the clouds.”
“Yes.” Such a sweet time, pure and simple.
“Let’s do it again. Naked.”
She laughed.
He kissed a hot line to her navel, lower, licking the length of her sex as he pressed and circled his thumb, and—
She spun out of control, careening off a cliff but not falling. No, she waltzed up into the stars, weightless and lovely and… perfect. Every muscle loose and languid but…
They were not done. Not close to done. He kissed her scream quiet and stroked her lovingly. She eased him backward, and he responded to her touch instantly, falling to his back. Time to grasp the confidence she’d worked up, the boldness she’d been borrowing.
Time to grasp him.
His back arched off the bed when she wrapped her hand around his shaft. “Good God, warn a man, Tessa.”
She swiped her thumb over its head where a bead of liquid sat. On her thumb now. She sucked that digit into her mouth, tasting it.
He moaned. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.”
“Can I… taste you, as you did me?” Her gaze flicked to his member, her hand still wrapped loosely around.
“Yes.” The single word more of a yelp. “You do not have to, though. You—”
Her mouth was already on him. First, she set a kiss there on the very tip, then she used her tongue to explore the rest of it. He moaned a curse, low and long, that made her hips want to roll again, made her crave his fingers between her legs.
“I need inside you.” His last word almost a whimper as his muscles bunched. She would be flat on her back again in no time.
She pressed him back to the bed with a palm. “I want that too. But… I do wonder… I have accidentally seen this act done in a variety of ways. Lady Chattaway does not lock doors.”
“What do you want? Anything, sweetheart.”
“I want to control it. Can I… I mean, I know it is possible to…” She straddled his hips, her sex brushing against his staff, stiff between them. “I should like to be here.” She wrapped her hand around the head of his shaft and stroked it downward. “Or here, more precisely.”
“Yes.” The word a rough, guttural sound, as if he were holding back.
She nodded, barely rose, inching forward on her knees, lifting up.
She grasped him, wrenching a groan from his parted lips.
He grasped her thighs, his hands big there, and scalding, and he stroked them up and down as she parted her folds with the head of his shaft and lowered herself.
He hissed, hips almost bucking, their impulse harnessed under Remmy’s tight control.
She bit her lip. He filled her up so much, stretched her out.
He squeezed her thighs, and she met his gaze.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice strained.
“Not quite. Can I go slow?”
“You’re killing me.”
“I should stop.”
“That will kill me.” He coasted his hands upward, found her breasts, and loved them gently. He rolled his hips beneath her, encouraging her, and each stroke of his fingers across her nipples made her achy again.
“Remmy,” she sighed, relaxing as he rolled up to meet her with a groan.
He grasped her hips, burying himself to the hilt and instead of the inching pain, she felt nothing but growing pleasure.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Up and down, sweetheart, in and out, over and over.”
“Stage directions even a novice like me can follow.” She tried, up and down, slowly, awkwardly, frustratedly. With a growl, she slapped both hands to his chest.
He curled up and kissed her, such a sweet thing she almost forgot her frustration. “Let me? Please let me, Tessa.”
Remmy wanted for her what she wanted. She trusted him. She could give him control because he would use it to bring her pleasure then give it right back when she asked. “Yes.”
His eyes blazed, and he surged upward, wrapping his arms around her, flipping them both so that he was above her, in her, and she was breathless and dizzy. Before she could recover, he was kissing her, pulling out of her, driving hard into her.
And each meeting of their bodies spun her back to that edgeless cliff where stars had settled into the grass and she could waltz on air.
He slowed, and she caught her breath, but only until he slipped a hand between them, finding her throbbing pearl once more. And then she barely recognized the sound she made as hers.
He rocked slowly.
She matched his pace.
His perfectly wicked grin flashed above her.
Deeper emotion flared in his eyes.
Her hands could not touch him enough.
She needed more, but he pushed her to slow down, to enjoy.
It could have been how she lifted her hips for him, or how she’d cupped his face and kissed him. Or maybe how she’d then put her arms above her head and arched her back to lift her breasts.
But he broke.
No more gentle rocking.
Fast and fiery.
And she began to scream his name.
But he swallowed it on the first sound, kissed her as he thrust into her until she couldn’t think let alone speak a single syllable.
Her name became a curse in the curve of his lips as his muscles rippled and his body trembled.
Then he pulled out of her and spent onto her wrapper.
There was a long, heavy moment where he was poised above her, eyes closed.
Then he dropped on top of her, laughing lightly in her ear.
Laughing? She didn’t have the strength, but oh, the sound of his joy was a song she was happy to fall asleep to. She barely moved when he left the bed. He returned with a cloth and cleaned between her legs then gathered her up and held her close as he positioned them both beneath the covers.
She laid in his arms, glowing and warm with a sensation she’d never felt before. Not simply the satiation of what they’d done together. Something deeper, heart-aching, half comfort and half crying—just a little—when he kissed her temple and told her, again, that he loved her.