Lord of Wicked Intentions
Page 81

Marveled at the wonder of it. So much skin against skin. Silk to satin. Velvety warmth. If not for the wound in his side, he would have picked her up and carried her to the bed. Instead, he took her hand and led her to it.
She lay on her back and he covered her.
Not like before, raised on his arms, allowing himself to touch her only for what was required for the act to reach completion. With a sultry smile, she tiptoed her fingers along his back and over his shoulders. Skin on skin, more than he’d ever experienced. It was intoxicating, addicting. With her, he experienced no sense of suffocating.
“Press harder,” he commanded.
She did, and he felt the indentations along his skin where her fingers traveled. He arched his back, curled it forward. It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until he was buried inside her, until her velvety heat was surrounding him. He’d probably rip his stitches, but he didn’t care. He was lost in the sensations she created, lost in her. The blue of her eyes, the blond of her hair, her bodily fragrance mingled with rose perfume.
A wicked gleam came into her eyes and she lifted her head slightly, pressing her lips to his throat. Hot moisture dewed along his skin. “Ah, Evie.”
She pushed on his shoulder, nudged him. “Off,” she ordered.
He rose up. “Am I’m too heavy?”
“No.” She smiled. “I want you on your back.”
Then she was raining kisses over him as though he were covered in confection that she needed to gobble up. His hand became tangled in her hair. He was desperate for the connection, to be touching her as her tongue swirled along skin that had never known the caress of a woman. Had she required the connection as well? Had what they shared been less because he had denied her this?
Before now, he had never felt adored, worshipped . . . worthy. He had kept so much of himself frozen, behind stone walls, impenetrable. With each stroke of her tongue, each sweep of her hand, she was loosening the stones, she was warming the frigid center of his being.
And it hurt. God help him, it hurt to know that he had gone so long without this. That he had denied himself ultimate pleasure. Lower she went, lower and lower, her hair spread out over his chest like gossamer. So faint as to barely be there, but for a man who had not known another’s caress in years, it might as well be a woolen blanket, he was so aware of it.
His senses were coming alive as they never had before. Pleasure began rippling through him. It didn’t matter where she touched, it was everywhere.
Lower still, she went.
“Evie,” he rasped.
She lifted her sweet face and gave him the softest of smiles, and yet in her eyes he saw the determination. He wouldn’t deter her from her goal. “I’ve wondered what you taste like.”
Then she bent her head and wrapped her velvet mouth around him, and he nearly wept from the pleasure of it. His hand tightened its hold on her hair while his other hand fisted in the sheets. He groaned low, a beast being set free.
All this time, he’d thought he was acquiring pleasure, but it was nothing like this. To be receiving so grand a gift. He’d always thought it was enough to simply give. But now he understood that the taking was also a form of giving. She may have been innocent in her ministrations, perhaps even unskilled, but having never known anything else, he was convinced that her enthusiasm was more than he would ever find elsewhere. She spoiled him with her endeavors. She brought him more acceptance than he’d ever known.
He wanted her more than it was wise to want, but he had ceased to care about wisdom. He was like a man addicted to games of chance. Life was filled with more disappointments than successes, more bad cards than good, but when fate smiled, nothing else mattered but that one moment of victory.
He felt vulnerable, exposed, but it heightened the adventure, the moments with her.
“Evie.” He urged her up and onto her back. Kissing her, he thought he tasted himself on her tongue. He was humbled by how much she wanted to do for him, how much she desired him. Deepening the kiss, he wedged himself between her thighs, surprised to find her so moist, so ready.
Rising up, he plunged into her and then sank down until his chest flattened her breasts. Her arms came around to rest lightly on his back. He should have been sweating by now, trembling, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest, but all he felt was her. He began rocking against her. Her legs came up, pressed against his hips. He should have objected, but it felt so marvelous to be enclosed within the cocoon of her warmth.
He quickened his pace. Never before had the pleasure been so intense. Never before had it encompassed all of him. She was riding the crest with him, her cries echoing around him, her body spasming beneath his. He could feel her muscles undulating. Never before had he been so close to someone physically. He thought a shadow could not slip between them.
As she arched against him, her arms tightened around him, and the force of his release ripped through him. If he wasn’t lying on the bed, it would have dropped him to his knees.
Resting on his elbows to keep from crushing her, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the underside of her ear.
“I knew it could be like this,” she whispered softly.
Her words stung his pride. “Did you not enjoy it before?” She’d certainly given the impression that she was quite pleased with his performance.
“It’s always lovely. You make it so. But it’s also lonely, as though we’re each drawing pleasure in our own little worlds. This time it was as though we shared the same world. I liked being able to touch you, to feel your muscles bunching and straining with your efforts. I liked thinking that perhaps you found some joy in my touch.”