Twenty
Ethan felt like a starvingman given his first taste of nourishment. Only it wasn’t a crust of bread and water, but the richest, most luxurious sip of chocolate. The kind that glides smoothly over one’s tongue and saturates every taste bud completely.
Her mouth swept lightly over his—probing, testing. She was almost too rich, and yet kissing Francesca was only a small taste of decadence. He knew there was so much more—chocolate with milk, chocolate spiced with cinnamon or vanilla, chocolates flavored with rose-water. And he wanted to drink them all, savor each one to the fullest. Savor her to the fullest.
He also knew the tentative woman he held in his arms, the woman he now wanted so badly he could taste his desire, was the most fragile of any he’d ever known. After last night, he knew one false move, one awkward stumble, and the delicate trust she’d placed in him would melt as quickly as a pot of chocolate under the flame.
He had to allow her to move at her own pace, allow her to take control. It would not be easy. He’d never allowed a woman so much before. But then he’d never known one so vulnerable, one he...trusted this much.
He barely had time to register the novel feeling of trusting a woman when the feel of her soft, creamy lips against his began driving him to madness again. He fought for control. If he’d had his way...
No, better not to think of that now. Better to enjoy the small slice of bliss she offered.
With a supremeness of will he didn’t know he possessed, Ethan held his hands and body immobile. Only his mouth moved, his lips responding lightly and without demand to her kiss. She drew away, and her dark gaze met his. With only the dim light from the lone tack room window, she appeared mysterious, enveloped in shadows. Still, he recognized the question in her eyes. She’d expected him to take control, take possession of her mouth, her body.
And he would have liked nothing better, but he didn’t dare. Not after the way she’d reacted to his advances in the hospital. He needed to know this was what she wanted too. Another moment ticked by, their gazes locked. He willed her to kiss him again.
Then he felt the fingers of one of her small hands thread through his hair and come to rest on the nape of his neck. Her touch was exploratory, hesitant. Incredibly arousing. Even in the gloom of the tack room, leaning against the rickety desk and surrounded by forgotten equipment, she was seductive, alluring. Her wide cocoa eyes focused on him again, misty with desire. Perhaps it was the contrast between her generous beauty and the austere tack room that brought black velvet and silver shadows on silk sheets to his mind.
She tugged on his neck gently, and he lowered his mouth, stopping just short of physically touching his lips to hers. Thank God she closed the distance, pressing herself deliciously against him.
Her touch was more confident this time, her lips exploring his mouth as her hand had his neck a moment before. And when he felt her open her mouth beneath his, he groaned softly. She stilled, as if waiting for him to turn conqueror, and when he didn’t, she swept her tongue along his.
She continued the gentle assault—thrusting forward, testing his defenses, then pulling back and regrouping. She tasted of moonlight and magic—dark and mysterious, subtle but powerful. He was throbbing for her, delirious with desire, hands and body responding to her without conscious thought.
She was still pressed between his body and the makeshift desk. He released the light hold on the hand he held to his heart and traced a path from her shoulders to her waist. She leaned into him, shivering when his fingers dipped lower, caressing the swell of her hips.
She deepened the kiss, moving restlessly against him, no longer timid and afraid. He realized that if he could show her true pleasure, true ecstasy, he might be able to erase or undo the fear she’d shown in the hospital.
He inched his hands lower, filling his palms with the curve of her bottom, making her gasp and quiver in his arms. He took advantage of the momentary parting of their lips and moved his mouth to her neck, placing small kisses where her pulse beat a rapid rhythm.
“Let me show you pleasure,cara,” he murmured against her skin. As always, it smelled of chocolate and cinnamon. His fingers grasped the fabric of her serviceable gray-green gown and slid it higher.
She shook her head feebly. “No.”
He knew she felt the cool tack room air on her ankles and calves.
“I...shouldn’t.”
“Stop me at any point you choose.” The heat of her hand was warm and soft against the nape of his neck. “Tug on my hair with your fingers, and I give you my word I’ll stop.”
He inched her skirts higher, to her knees. She tensed her body in response. “Test me,” he whispered against her cheek. He raised the hem higher, imagining it skimming the backs of her knees, then he felt the small tug on his hair.
He froze, inched away, and, watching her, waited. Uncertainty and desire warred in her face. He moved one finger from her skirts and pressed it lightly against the back of her thigh. She shuddered.
