Chapter 14 #2
And the extraordinary thing was that she did know.
She knew it in the way she knew everything about Oliver by now.
Not because he said the right things but because his actions and his words lined up, every time, without exception.
He meant what he said. He did what he said he’d do.
In a life that had taught her to expect the opposite, that alignment was the most intimate thing she had encountered, more intimate than anything that was happening in this room, though what was happening in this room was also rather extraordinary.
She laughed, once, unexpectedly, at the ceiling.
Oliver lifted his head. “What?”
“Nothing. Only that I thought…” She stopped, then said it anyway, because why not, because she was in Oliver Sommerset’s bed at midnight by her own free choice and the world hadn’t ended.
“I thought I knew what this was. I thought I understood all of it because I’d had no choice but to understand it, and I found I don’t know anything at all. ”
He looked at her in the low firelight, and his expression was something she didn’t have a name for. Tender was the word that offered itself, and she turned it over, because tender was a thing she hadn’t applied to anyone in a very long time.
“Good,” he said, quietly. “That’s what it should be.”
She pulled him down, because she was done talking.
Oliver kissed his way down her neck. Her nipples hardened, and as she arched back, his tongue played over them. He licked and suckled her skin, his exquisite mouth sliding along her body.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he murmured.
Then he bit down, sucking hard on her breast just above her left nipple. He was marking her at the same time as he was saying goodbye. She knew this was a goodbye because he’d promised her nothing. He couldn’t.
He was marking her heart. Making it ache forever.
“You have too many clothes on,” were the only words she could manage.
This time it was he who helped her as she struggled to remove his shirt.
Finally, she touched skin, glided over sleek muscles.
Flickering flame shadows glided over the sleek contours of his skin as if they, too, took joy in his shape.
The corded steel of his chest, the hard strength of his sinewy arms, the rippling muscles of his abdomen, stirred her even more. She memorized every inch of him.
He gazed into her eyes, his own dark and stormy with passion. They smoldered as she reached out and undid the fall of his breeches. Glinted as she grasped the rigid length of his arousal and stroked him.
He throbbed in her hand as he allowed her to play, to incite, and to worship. She leaned in, kissed him deeply, sucking on his tongue, a teasing taste of what she would soon do to the hard length she stroked in her hand.
Not once did he close his eyes as she pleasured him.
Soon she forgot he was watching, entranced by his masculine grace. The solid power of his hardness, so thick in her grasp, told her he was more than ready.
She pushed out of his hold, and standing naked before the fire, the heat in her belly came not from the flames, but from the longing look in her lover’s eyes, his need, his desire.
This was magical. She pushed him into the chair beside the fire.
Holding his heated gaze, she lowered to her knees and let her fingers walk up his thighs.
The muscles contracted under her touch. As her finger trailed up his erection, his rippled stomach muscles clenched.
She leaned closer and blew on the tip of his erection as her hand wrapped around his hardened length.
A drop of moisture appeared at the tip, and she swept her tongue across the head of his penis, tasting him, thrilled as he responded to her touch.
A groan escaped his throat and deepened to a rumble in his chest as she took him fully into her mouth. She alternated between gentle and hard, first licking and then sucking. Giving pleasure. Stoking her own desire until she was lost in the pleasure and response.
Finally, he stopped her with a groan and gathered her back onto his lap. “I want you.”
She brushed her cheek hungrily against his. “I want you, too.”
He lifted her and, with his powerful hands at her waist, lowered her onto his pulsating member. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of fullness as she took him into her body. As he filled her to the hilt.
Breathless, squirming, Megan ran her nails down the sculpted wall of his chest, exulting in the flex of his muscles as she began to ride him.
She grasped his nape, took his tongue in her mouth. Joined to each other in ravenous need, she was desperate for completion. And yet, this would be the only time they made love. She wanted to savor the joy, the joy of having him buried deep within her.
His warm fingers cupped her breast, kneaded it, tweaked her nipple.
Breaking the kiss, she leaned back, giving him space to tease and taste to his heart’s content, using the unguarded moment to watch him from beneath half-closed eyelids.
His face was set and focused as he struggled to hold off his release until she’d found hers. But she wasn’t ready. She wanted this to last all night.
Her thighs gripped his as she took control and began to slow things down.
He tried to urge her on by lifting her, but she would not have it.
Instead, she used his shoulders to push up and once more watch his face.
His eyes had darkened to the color of ink.
On a guttural groan he took the other nipple into his mouth and bit down none too gently.
The pain mixed with pleasure eroded her control and she jerked and writhed as if riding a bucking horse. Her moans of need blended with his ragged gasps and the sound became a sensual symphony, and the pleasure was almost unbearable.