knuckles.
"I wish you wouldn't," he murmured. "You're such a pleasure to look at."
She hadn't thought she'd feel shy, knew it was foolish, but she had to
order herself to let her hand fall onto the bed. When he slipped out of
his jeans she had to struggle with her breathing all over again. No
fairy-tale knight had ever been built more magnificently or borne scars
more heroically.
Desperate with love, she held out her arms in welcome.
He slipped into them, careful not to press his full weight onto her. She
was fragile, he reminded himself, so slim and so much more innocent than
she believed.
As the rising moon slanted its first light through the window, he began
to show her.
Sighs and murmurs, long, slow caresses, quiet sips and tastes. His hands
aroused, devastated, but never hurried. Hers explored, admired, and
forgot to hesitate. He found where she was most sensitive, the underside
of her breast, the back of her knee, the sweet, shallow, seductive
valley between her thigh and her center.
So focused on her was he that his own rising need took him by surprise,
flashing once, hard and strong and dragging out his moan when he took
her breast into his mouth.
She arched, shuddering at the edgier demand.
And the rhythm changed.
With his breath growing ragged, he lifted his head, his eyes intent on
her face. His hand slid between her thighs, pressed there against the
heat. Found her already wet.
"I want to see you go over." He played his fingers over her, in her, as
her breath quickened. Pleasure, panic, excitement all raced over her
face. He watched her climb, closer, closer, with her breath tearing,
then releasing on a strangled cry as she peaked.
She tried to shake her head to clear it, but the delicious dizziness
continued to spin. The familiar room revolved, hazed, so that only his
face was clear, was real. She felt drunk and dazed and unspeakably
aroused.
This, finally this, was love as she'd dreamed it would be.
Her skin quivered as he slid slowly up her body, his mouth laying a
warm, damp trail.
"Please." It wasn't enough. Even this wasn't enough. She craved the
mating, the union, the final intimacy. "Ethan." She opened for him,
arched. "Now."
His hands cupped her face, his lips covered her lips. "Now," he murmured
against them and filled her.
Their long, groaning sighs blended, that first endless shudder of
pleasure as he buried himself inside her rocked them both. When they
began to move, they moved together, smoothly, silkily as if they'd only
been waiting.
Desire was fluid, its current steady. They rode it, thrilling to the
pace, to the deep, resonant pleasure of each long, slow stroke. Grace
swirled close to the edge, felt the orgasm build, slide through her
system like velvet ribbon so that she rose up, farther up, wallowed in