Now where?
She had kissed the rest of him that was not covered by clothes except for his hands, which he had stripped bare in the coffeehouse, presumably, though she did not remember the exact moment he’d done so. She wished she’d paid attention, watched him reveal his strong, capable hands, bit by bit.
Lillian lifted those very hands and kissed each fingertip, then his palms, twelve kisses in all if one were counting.
And as she explored these bits of him, he explored her.
Her mind was branched like the forks of a tree, focused on two different places at once, on his body and on hers where he made her acutely aware of it.
His fingers ran up and down her spine then ventured lower and cupped her bottom and squeezed.
The shocking caress gave her courage, and out of bravery or stupid curiosity, she poked her tongue out at the end of one of his thumbs, licking it.
He hissed and squeezed tighter. She arched her back, a guttural sound escaping her throat. Then his grip tightened even more. Impossible. She might be bruised there in the morning. Difficult to sit.
She didn’t want him to let go, not even a bit.
Then every muscle in his body clenched, and he stood. She wrapped her legs instinctively, tightly, around his waist and held on to his neck with all the strength she had. Throwing caution to the wind, she slammed her lips down on top of his. He walked until her back hit a wall, vibrating the paintings on either side of her and, yes, digging into her back. He jiggled her a little until her legs loosened, and she slid down his body until her feet hit the floor. Her arms still clung around his neck, and his body pressed hard and hot against her own. One of his hands left her backside and traveled over the curve of her hip, then slipped between her legs. He found the precise location she felt achy with need and pressed, rubbed, until she rolled her hips and rubbed hard against him.
His other hand slid down her thigh and hitched it high, bunching her skirt around her waist. He chained it there with strong fingers and let his other fingers roam. Under the gown and shift, sparking fireworks along her belly and slipping between her legs.
Lillian gasped, and his mouth found the side of her neck. He nipped her with a playful bite.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
“I wanted to give you something,” she sighed. “Now you’re… you’re…”
“Taking. But not if you tell me to stop.”
“Don’t stop.” No hesitation. No reason to hesitate.
His lips pressed against the skin of her neck, and his fingers pressed through the curls at the apex of her legs, searching, finding, stroking.
He whispered in her ear, “You chose me.Me. Now I choose you.”
His fingers circled, round and round, and a pressure built inside her.
“I am not your second choice,” he said, so very low but so very near her ear that she heard every hiss and intonation.
“No. I chooseyou.” More than he could ever know. When she’d made the choice, she’d had no idea who he really was, how much she’d really want him. Now she knew, but he only saw her now, wanted her now, because she’d made herself one ofthem.
“I don’t give a damn about the lot of them.” He pulled away from her neck and peered down at her, his eyes sapphire fires. “Whatever the hell I do for you is not for them or their approval. Do you understand?”
She thought she did, but she couldn’t be sure because that pressure had eclipsed all understanding, all sense and logic. Her world had narrowed to his hard body, her melting one, and the exquisite pleasure he rolled between her legs, stroke by delicious stroke. She nodded because he might stop before… something, whatever it was she was waiting on, pressing forward, happened.
“Yes,” she said, a barely whispered word.
He must have heard it because he kissed her hard, and the desperate tilt of his lips over hers sent her over an edge. First, she was a burning flame, but then she was a haze of steam, no body holding her to the earth.
Except for his.
He gathered her to him and rolled until his back pressed against the wall, and she leaned against him, her panting breaths fogging the fine lawn of his shirt. He ran his hand down her hair, which had come undone and streamed down her back, from the tip-top of her crown to the middle of her back. Then his hand disappeared for the briefest of moments and reappeared back at the top of her head to make its descent all over again.
She felt tired, limp all the way to her very bones. “Whatwasthat?”
“What?” he mumbled.
“That… explosion. Here.” She curled her fist low on her belly, as far low as she dared go with him so near. “Then it rippled… everywhere.”
