And then he kissed her, cutting off all thought and all awareness—everything but the touch of his tongue, the sleek stroking of his hands, and her own growing arousal.
He took his time with her. She protested at first, wanting him to hurry, wanting him inside her as quickly as possible. But much as she thought she wanted him to go fast, she liked his slow caresses and teasing kisses. She liked the way he undressed her as though she were made of china. He undid each button, each lace slowly, then kissed the patch of flesh he revealed.
When she was down to her chemise and stockings, he slowed even more. “So beautiful,” he murmured, flicking the strap of her chemise off her shoulder. The tips of his fingers danced over her flesh, touching her so lightly that he sent shivers up her spine. And then his fingers made a slow, tantalizing trail, across her collarbone, to her other shoulder. He played at dislodging that strap as well, then traveled back to her bare shoulder, where he bent and kissed her sensitive flesh.
He stepped back, his eyes mimicking what his fingers had done; he devoured her, touching her, arousing her with his gaze.
She was standing before the fire and knew he could see through her light shift. She loved the way he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful woman on earth, instead of a thin, gangly girl with an impish face.
He made her feel lush and ripe and sensual.
Reaching up, she slipped a finger under the strap of her chemise, ran the finger along the material as his blue eyes darkened. Slowly, she allowed the strap to dangle and fall. The undergarment’s material slithered with the strap until the swell of one breast was bared.
She traced it with two fingers, her eyes inviting him to do the same, inviting him to take her as he wished. She was his now.
Her eyes roved over his body—the bronze skin of his chest that was the color of beach sand, the square mountains of his shoulders, the V of hair forming a trail from his navel down.
Her eyes met his, and when she saw how large his pupils were and how dark blue his irises, her breathing increased, and she felt her nipples harden in anticipation.
He wet his lips and smiled. “So beautiful,” he murmured again. Reaching for her, he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her into his warm embrace.
He took her where she wanted to be, where she’d always known she belonged, where she felt at home.
Leaning down, he kissed her neck, her shoulder, her breast. “I love the way you taste.”
He tugged the neck of the chemise down farther, his hands floating over her skin, heating it, arousing it, sensitizing it to his touch. His alone. She was bare to the waist, arching for him while his hands cupped her, stroked her, stoked the flame in her until it burned white-hot. She moaned, and he captured the small mew with his mouth. “I love the way you sound.”
Sweeping her off her feet and into his arms, he lifted her, carried her to the rose-strewn bed, and lay her down. “I want to hear you cry with pleasure. I want to hear you moan.”
His hands, instruments of exquisite torture, rode up her thighs, taking the hem of her shift with them. The light material tickled and teased as his hands on her flesh did, and she could not stop her breath from catching in her throat or the small pants escaping her lungs.
“Josie.”
Oh, God, but how she loved the way he said her name. It was so much more than a word when he said it. It was desire and passion and love in five letters. It told her everything, meant everything.
No other words were necessary, but she knew he would give them to her anyway—small gifts, tokens of his affection that he presented her one syllable at a time.
Stephen was bending now, kissing the inside of her thigh. “Your smell, your taste,” he said, his lips whisper light on her jumping flesh. “I can’t get enough of you, Josie. I won’t ever get enough of you.”
“I want you, too.” Her voice was low and husky, and it trembled with need even as his fingers continued their northward trek, teasing and playing, until they parted her and eased inside.
She moaned loudly then and shuddered.
“I want to hear you say my name.” His voice was far away and at the same time inside her head. “I want to hear you call my name when you climax.”
“Stephen,” she breathed as his fingers played her.
“Shh.” He rose up, rose over her. “Not yet.” His fingers went to his trousers, and she could see the strain of his erection, the way the material bulged as he pushed to be free. And then he was free, and she uttered a small “oh” at the sight of his desire. Her heart pounded, and her belly trembled. How lovely to be wanted so much. How arousing to be the cause of his hard, straining erection.
She reached for him, took his warm length in her hands. “I want you, Stephen.” She looked into his eyes, bent and kissed him intimately. His quick intake of breath made her smile. “Take me, Stephen,” she purred.
He pushed her back and slid over her, covering her body with his. His hands were everywhere, and his mouth soon followed. His breath tickled her ear. “Do you want me to take you, Josie?”
She kissed him, the shock of her lips meeting his like the first time—well, the first good time—all over again. “Take me,” she pleaded. “Ravish me. Fast and hard.”
The color of his blue eyes was so dark now that they were almost black. “Your wish,” he growled.
His hands slid under her, flipping her onto her belly. His knee parted her legs, and she could feel his hard length pressing against her intimately. His mouth was on her neck, and his hands on her hips. He lifted her off the bed, arching her and fitting her body to his. He entered her, the tip of his manhood penetrated her, sending ripples of pleasure through every limb and into every pore. Her hair tingled, her fingers felt numb, her throat went dry.
