Twenty-seven #2
His mouth found hers and teased her lips till she opened to him. She answered him, groaning into his mouth, all her pent-up frustration melting into the wonder of his lips on hers.
His fingers tangled themselves in her hair. Then he pulled her head back so his mouth could trace the curve of her jaw and down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat.
He loves me.
A weight lifted from her, leaving her feeling slightly giddy, as if she’d drunk too much sherry on an empty stomach. Her fingers plucked at the buttons of his waistcoat. She swept his jacket from his shoulders.
He raised up to divest himself of the garments, then paused to look back down at her.
“No, don’t stop now,” she said and sighed with pleasure when he returned so she could unbutton his shirt.
His blessed mouth danced over her collarbone to the tops of her breasts where the lace of her bodice strafed her tender skin.
Only a few inches down and a thin couple layers of fabric separated her nipples from his lips.
When he straightened to look down at her, she wanted to grasp him by the ears and pull him back to those aching tips, but something in his gaze stopped her.
“What? What is it, Nate?”
“I want to see you.” His eyes flashed feral in the dimness. “Let me look at you, love.”
With breathless tenderness, he rose from the bed and pulled her to her feet so he could undress her completely. She surrendered to his capable fingers. Pieces of her wardrobe fluttered to the hardwood around her like leaves in autumn, a glove here, her lacy stays there.
She bit her lip to keep from whimpering with need when he reached under her hem to ungarter her stockings and roll them down. When she finally stood before him in nothing but her chemise, he tugged at the silk ribbon tie between her breasts. The knot unraveled under his clever fingers.
Georgette unraveled too. He spread the opening of her chemise wider till both her breasts were exposed, tight-tipped and throbbing for his touch.
“My God, you’re beautiful, Georgie.” Nate ran a finger down the valley between her breasts. Then he traced lazy circles around each of them and cupped them as he kissed her again.
That now familiar downward pull in her belly throbbed in earnest. His thumb flicked over a nipple, sending a jolt of heat from her breast to her womb.
“I want to see you too,” she gasped as she tugged his shirt from his trousers. He bent to help her whip it over his head. She let the shirt fall from her grasp.
Georgette was no artist, but she recognized fine symmetry and elegance of line when she saw it. “I never thought it of a man before, but you’re beautiful too.”
Nathaniel stood before her, his muscles bunched and hard. Even in the dim light, Georgette saw half a dozen shiny scars marring his torso and arms, old wounds from his days as a soldier.
She lifted a tentative hand to the one that sliced across his chest, missing one of his brown nipples by a hair’s breadth.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered.
“Not now.”
She pressed her lips against the scars, one by one. She wished she could kiss away the horror behind them all. As she kissed his old hurts, her nipples brushed against him, sending the tight knots into an agony of wanting.
He trembled under her mouth.
When her kisses traveled down his ribs, his breath hissed in over his teeth. Still, he held himself in check and let her explore. She kissed his navel, darting her tongue into the small indentation.
He groaned aloud.
She brushed the bulge in the front of his trousers with her breasts and he pulled her upright to kiss her again.
Hard this time. His hands slid over her, this time bunching her chemise in his fist, rucking up the yards of material to bare her legs and buttocks. His fingers grasped her bum and pressed her against his feverish body.
His heat flowed into her, melting her insides.
Burned alive and not caring one whit.
Nate released her mouth long enough to pull the chemise over her head. She stood naked before him, but seeing the slack-lidded passion on his face, she felt no need to cover herself. It didn’t occur to Georgette to be ashamed.
Instead she worked furiously at the buttons over his hips. She ran her hands down the loosened sides of his trousers, tugging them down his thighs along with his smallclothes. She reveled in his warm, hard flesh and the tiny hairs tickling her palms.
For a moment they stood breathless, drinking in the sight of each other. Nathaniel cupped her cheeks and searched her face for a moment. He didn’t need to say anything.
She could see the love in his eyes.
They came together in a flurry of kisses. The world slipped away and Georgette was aware of nothing but the glory of his skin, warm and vibrant, against hers. They fell as one back into the soft nest of the feather bed.
He stroked her everywhere—the crease of an elbow, the hollow behind her knee, the skin of her inner thigh. Every touch was potent with meaning, charged with longing. She ached to hold him inside her.
“Come to me, Nate.” She raked her nails up his ribs when he entered her slowly, moving with him, urging him in.
He finally filled her, plunging in with hard thrusts.
She looked up at him in the shadows and saw only the feral glare of a male animal in extremis. He was passion-blind as he moved within her, mindless, unable to stop. She welcomed him, raising her hips to meet each thrust.
Oh, the feel of him. Hard and strong and hot.
Blood pounded in her ears, in her womb, throbbing with life. A coil within her constricted, wound tight, stretched thin till it finally burst in bone-deep spasms. Her body shuddered its release.
Then Nate came, arching his back, and driving as deeply into her as he could. Georgette felt the warmth of his seed pulsing into her.
So much for guarding against conceiving a child, she thought absently.
It didn’t matter. Georgette gathered him close, accepting him with greediness. She wanted all of this man she could possibly hold.
He collapsed on her, nuzzling at her neck. He was still beyond speech, but she knew exactly what he meant by the low groan that escaped his lips.
Beyond the shuttered window of Nate’s Cheapside flat, the world spun on, ever faster. But there in that capacious feather bed, it had stopped its dizzying pace for a bit, spooling down to a slow, slightly wobbly roll.
Georgette decided if she never rose from that fluffy bower it would be quite all right.
Until Nathaniel uttered one word.
“Damnation.”