Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
And Delilah, at last, noticed.
It wasn’t simply his solid form that she was straddling.
It was his solid length beneath her…his manhood…him.
The something more he would give her.
It struck her like a bolt this was what she’d been so empty for. She’d needed this to fill her. Instinctively, she moved her hips and ground against his hard, thick shaft.
His intense golden gaze half-lidded, a groan rumbled deep through his chest.
His responding lust sent a feeling rippling through her. It wasn’t only her lust she wanted to sate; she wanted to sate his, too.
“Oh, Sebastian, I need you inside me.”
“This’ll be a deal more pleasurable if you consent to release my hands.”
Her grip relented, and he reached up and took her face in his hands, his skin deliciously warm against the cool of her cheeks. “You are so beautiful, Delilah,” he said into the space between their mouths.
She didn’t make a face or try to avoid the compliment the way she usually did.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have a concept of her beauty—she did.
Her sort of beauty was quite popular in the annals of Western art—but she always took the compliment for what it was.
A man’s calculation to see how far he could get with her.
With Ravensworth, it wasn’t so.
Such words from him were worth more than the breath they were spoken upon.
“You are beautiful, Sebastian,” fell from her mouth.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Likely, he’d never been on the receiving end of that particular compliment. Still, he took her words in and appreciated them as she had his. His long, masculine fingers twined through her curls. “I like your hair.”
“Isn’t it too short?” Everyone said so.
He shook his head. “It’s perfect for you.”
That was, everyone said so—except Sebastian.
Unable to take any more, she inelegantly pitched forward and planted her mouth on his. Well, one thing was certain. He was certainly better at kissing than she.
This time, the smile did reach his lips. She felt it against her mouth. She would be mortified if she didn’t want him so badly.
She planted her palms to either side of his head and began to push away, and possibly apologize, and then likely beg him to give her another chance. But his hands tightened on her back, and he gave her no room to wriggle away. “You’re alright, Delilah,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His hold on her shifted—one hand cupping the back of her head, the other sliding down her back over the curve of her waist until it rounded over her bottom and squeezed, grinding her against his rigid length.
She groaned, and he caught it in his mouth as his lips softened and took control, the tip of his tongue sliding across her bottom lip, that slippery glide shooting a feeling of raw want straight through her.
From the outside, kisses had always appeared chaste to her. But Sebastian’s kiss was showing her a whole new side of what a kiss could be.
She’d never known a kiss was a carnal act.
Again, she squirmed against him. This time, they both groaned in pleasure—and frustration.
It was achingly clear there was a problem.
Too many layers of clothes stood between them.
Of course, one layer would be one too many.
Through brute strength of will, she tore her mouth from his. “Sebastian, this won’t do.”
His brow crinkled with bemusement. But it was action rather than words that would get her what she wanted.
She bolted upright, still straddling him. He shifted forward, propped on his elbows, eyes intent, very clearly wondering what her next move would be.
Well, she wouldn’t hold him—or herself—in suspense longer than absolutely necessary. She grabbed her shirt and the chemise beneath, untucked the articles of clothing from her waistband with a few efficient movements, and flung them over her head and away.
Beneath her, he froze, taking in her brazenness and nudity. Her nipples tightened against the breeze lifting off the water and beneath the intensity of his gaze. The look in his eyes told her they were firmly—decidedly—on the path to more.
He liked what he saw.
His eyes told her that, too.
Well then, wouldn’t he like to see a little more?
On sudden decision, she pushed entirely off him and sprang to her feet.
And silent, he watched.
Oh, the appreciation in his eyes. How she warmed to it.
She felt like she was on stage.
For this audience of one.
The only audience that mattered.
And though it was performance, there was no falsity to it.
She was following her instinct—and something else, too.
Something she’d never considered in the same breath that she’d ever considered this man.
She was following her heart.
Sebastian wasn’t the sort of man who romped in haylofts.
Nor rutted against secluded tree trunks.
Nor trysted upon abandoned stretches of midnight beaches.
He simply wasn’t that sort of man.
His bedsport took place upon firm mattresses clad in cotton sheets—or on the odd chaise longue in a pinch.
And yet…
Here he was, gone midnight, stretched out on a beach on the verge of tupping a woman outdoors.
And not just any woman.
Delilah.
For her, he was that sort of man.
Beneath pale moonlight and stars that winked their faraway brilliance, she stood before him, golden hair curled against her elegant neck, her breasts bare, taut, and proud.
They were the most perfectly formed breasts he’d ever beheld.
Breasts didn’t need to be large to be perfect. So many men never understood that.
She bit her bottom lip between her teeth, and her fingers found the waistband of her skirt and tugged, loosening a button, then another. The garment fell to the sand on a muted shush, leaving Delilah as naked as Venus on her half shell.
His cock had been full before now.
Now it was adamantine.
“Come closer,” he found himself saying, willing himself to remain sprawled on the ground.
It was all he could do not to ravish her here and now—for Delilah looked in need of a thorough ravishing.
And he was just the man to give it to her.
The only man.
She lowered to her knees beside him. Her gaze steady, unflinching, she said, “Now it’s your turn.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Over his head went his shirt, and the boots were kicked off his feet. He reached for the fall of his trousers, and her hand covered his, stopping him. “And it’s my turn again,” she said, mischief and intention in her eyes.
Again, he leaned back onto his elbows. Her tongue darted out to swipe across her bottom lip as her gaze roved over him. Shoulders…chest…stomach… She liked what she saw.
But he’d known that.
She had to have what she saw.
That was new.
Her gaze landed on the long, thick outline of his cock, and it throbbed—hard—in response. He’d long suspected Lady Delilah Windermere would be the death of him, but it was only now that possibility became certainty.
If she didn’t touch him soon, he would surely turn to dust.
Fingers that trembled slipped one button from its loop. Then another, and another. Anticipation and lust built inside Sebastian to the breaking point. What sort of idea was it to allow a virgin to take the lead in a seduction, anyway?
His cock—free, finally—lay across his stomach, exposed, hard, and ready. She feathered her fingers across its long length. He sucked in a sharp breath.
A little smile tipped one corner of her mouth. “That couldn’t have hurt.”
A dry laugh escaped him. Virgins. He’d never been with one, and he was coming to find that one was enough. “Delilah,” he said, her name a raw scrape against his throat. “What you’re going to do now is wrap your hand around my shaft.” Warm fingers closed around him. “And stroke along its length.”
“Like this?” She squeezed tighter and tugged.
Bright sensation sparked through Sebastian, pulling all his muscles taut, sending lightning through his veins, pinpricking his skin with a light sheen of sweat. He reached out. He had to touch her. This passivity didn’t suit him. “Delilah, you know what to do.”
She took his meaning and held on to him even as she moved to straddle him again, her quim, wet and swollen with need, hovering above him. He grabbed hold of her waist to steady her as she slid the crown of his cock along her—oh, yes, wet—slit and he pressed at the opening of her sex.
He growled. An actual growl. Like an animal.
Who was this man he was becoming?
She planted her other palm on his shoulder and began to lower onto him. Inch by slow inch, she took him into her sex—her flesh swollen and tight around him—her half lidded gaze gone hazy with need. To be inside Delilah…
How long had he wanted this?
How many nights had it stolen into his dreams?
“Oh, Sebastian,” she gasped. “How…oh…how much more of you can there be?”
“You can take it, Delilah. You can take all of me.”
She went still, and a slow beat of time ticked by. “Can I?”
Quick on the question’s heels, the certainty crashed in that they weren’t simply talking about this carnal act. They were speaking of something less tangible—something they would need to talk about later.
For now, the carnal had its demands.
Having taken most of him in, she slowed, adjusting to the feel of him—her body bathed in moonlight…knees digging into the sand…her nipples puckered and begging for a lick…her sex, wet and effulgent, impaled on him…
How had he captured this goddess and made her his for the night?
His.
Careful, a voice warned. It would be too easy to feel like a god himself for having accomplished the feat.
Hubris.
Hubris he hadn’t truly earned for he hadn’t given her what she wanted.
Yet.
Toward that end, he pushed himself upright, bringing their chests to touch, their mouths so close their breath mingled.
Her taut nipples pressed into him, and his hands found the hollow of her spine and the bead of perspiration trickling down, before tightening around her hips and moving her on him.