“Please,” she whispered brokenly, “don’t make me feel like this.” But even as she spoke, she pressed against him, consumed by her own desire.
As his fingers parted the buttons of her gown and drew open the ribbons of her chemise, he murmured, “I want to touch you, be close to you, be drawn deep inside of you.”
His mouth closed over her breast, and she arched her back against him. He weaved his passion about her patiently, tauntingly, until at last she cried out brokenly, her voice slurred with desire, “Please, I cannot bear it . . .”
“Do you want me, Cassandra? Do you want me inside you?”
Her eyes took on a vague, smoky sheen as his fingers glided lightly over her breasts.
“Do you, Cassandra?”
“Yes.”
The small word seemed wrenched from her. He let his mouth close once again over hers. He felt her hands fumble with the buckle of his infamous belt and was delighted that for the first time she was showing initiative. But she could not free the silver hook and with a moan of frustration, she pounded her fists against his chest.
“Savor your passion, my love,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Let it build inside you until you feel you will die if you do not find release.”
As he spoke, his hands, with the smooth skill of long practice, pulled her free of her gown and petticoats. She wanted to help him, to tear off the offending garments, but he would not allow it. Soon, her undergarments and silk stockings bunched softly about her ankles.
He let his fingers slowly trail over her belly until they touched her. Her eyes widened upon his face in mute surprise as his fingers caressed her. He smiled.
“Do you know how soft you are, cara?” His lips touched her cheek, the tip of her nose, her chin.
She felt his finger gently ease inside her and she gasped aloud, clutching her hands about his neck to support herself. He felt her tense.
“Not yet, my love.”
He took her hand and led her to the bed. He slipped out of his clothing as smoothly as he had removed hers.
She drank in his body without fear or embarrassment, her fingers clenching at the sight of his muscled chest and his taut belly. Her eyes fell to his sex and she felt a warm, insistent heat between her thighs that made her legs go slack.
“You are so different from me, so exquisite,” she whispered, scarcely aware that she spoke her thoughts aloud.
He laughed, a rich sound from deep in his throat. “All of me or just part of me, cara?”
“All of you.”
“Ah, we make progress.” He sat down beside her and laid one large hand lightly on her thigh. If only, he thought, gazing at her soft, parted lips, he could make her tell him that she loved him. But it was too soon, much too soon, and he knew that it was the passion he awakened in her that drugged her mind. She turned suddenly toward him, pressed her breasts against his chest, and tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders. He moved his hand slowly from her thigh, and stroked her belly.
He felt his control near to breaking. He eased her down upon her back and gently parted her thighs.
“Remember I told you how you tasted, Cassandra?” He pressed his mouth over her belly and she felt him nuzzling at her, until his lips closed over her.
She whimpered softly, and arched her back, raising her hips to let his mouth burn into the depths of her. He felt her body shudder, quicken, and rose to enter her. Her thighs closed about his sides and her hips lurched upward, drawing him deeper within her. He felt her hands pressing against his back, and he knew that he was lost. He drove into her, and she cried out. As she stiffened in her climax, he let himself go.
He sprawled on top of her, his head beside hers on the pillow. He knew that he must be crushing her, but when he made to move, her hands tightened about his back. A deep ripple of pleasure shot through him, and he smiled, contented. He remembered her still tender back and turned onto his side, drawing her close in the circle of his arms. Her breasts stilled their rapid heaving, and he felt her go slack. Within minutes, she slept.