He almost couldn’t touch her, her luscious body too perfect a work of art to mar with his rough hands. If he’d drawn the perfect woman, it would have resembled her in every way—tall, soft, strong, generous curves, a study in contrasts with pale skin and dark auburn hair. Her breasts—so much more than agoddamn handful… Was he salivating? They made him feel a wolf, ready to pounce.
Unable to look without touching after such a long fast of adoring Clara with his fingertips, he settled his hands gently on her. He palmed her breast, stopping her words, then dragged his lips over her breasts. A bounty, a feast. A distraction from her question. Her dark nipple puckered, a deep-red bloom on a creamy field. He licked it, sucked it, and she arched with a moan while he played with the other breast. Good. So, so good. He’d almost forgotten the taste of her—sweet with the tang of sweat. He tasted her again, a shiver rioting through him. Nothing better than Clara with a sheen of sweat across her skin. And so much skin to delight him. Her breasts overflowed from his large hands, and his cock throbbed harder. She moaned. He ached to drive into her.
Not yet.
Keeping a single, blessed hand on her bosom, he licked a line down her torso, kissing each silvery mark of stretched skin on belly. The woman possessed art all over her body, the paintbrush that had marked her a life lived boldly. She was thick and creamy and soft. Strong muscle beneath her curves. Her entire body winding his like a clock. Tight and hard and needing to thrust home.
Not yet.
He wanted to tend to her needs first, and she’d liked it when he’d cupped the curls between her legs, when he’d slipped his tongue into her and stroked her to a frenzy. He’d liked it to. Like? Ha. Such a paltry word. He’d wanted to taste her morning, noon, and night. He craved her as he’d craved any morsel of food, water, safety, when he’d been abroad. Her lovely form all of that combined—sustenance to break his fast, water to revive him, safety to curl up in.
Stroking his hands up and down her body, from knee to her perfectly curvy hip and back again, he tasted her. She grabbed for him, couldn’t quite reach, fisted her hands in the blankets instead. His name a moan on her lips. Her taste a miracle on his tongue. He’d do nothing to muck it up this time. She’d somehow found reason to invite him back into the bed, and he’d do everything in his power to remain there.
“Atlas,” she breathed. He’d lost count of how many times she’d said it. His name rushed forth with every breath she took.
His body raged to take her. He caged it.
Not yet.
Her hips rolled and bucked, her body close to where he wanted it. So he pulled away, flipped her from back to belly, and reached a leg backward for the edge of the bed. He lowered himself to the floor. She rolled her head to regard him quizzically, sleepy eyes round with curiosity.
He answered her question by clasping her hips, dragging her backward. She gave a little yelp, then a laugh, and as her feet settled on the floor before his, she wriggled her delectable arse into his cock.
He hissed, his every muscle snapping rigid.
“Too slow, Atlas,” she moaned. “It’s been so long. Now.”
He lightly smacked the side of her bloody gorgeous arse, and she yelped, chuckled, seemed to sink deeper into the bed.
He leaned over her until his body fit perfectly against hers, her backside tight and warm in the crook of his hips, and he whispered in her ear, “I’m not done tending to you, love.”
Her breath hitched, but she huffed and mumbled, “Selfish scoundrel.”
A truth, though she didn’t mean it.
He stood upright until only their thighs touched. Their thighs and the hand he stroked up and down her spine, letting it find ahome at the base and dipping the tip of his thumb between her globes. “Yes, yes I am.”
Her body jerked. She tried to turn. “No, Atlas, I was teas?—”
He dragged the tip of his cock between the perfect halves of her arse, his hands tightening on her hips. Her thighs clenched together as he dipped his shaft between them, teasing her swollen sex. He kissed a path up her spine, nipped at the back of one shoulder, at her neck.
Her body trembled, her hand clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “I want to touch you.”
“I’m not done giving you what you need.”
“I need to touch you, damn you, Atlas.”
He chuckled, nipped at her earlobe.
“I need you inside me.” A plea.
He needed that, too. And since she asked so nicely… He tried to never disappoint.
He slid one hand beneath her to tend to that perfect breast as he drove into her from behind. All of him all at once. Her sharp inhale, then her muscles going limp for a languid moment. He slid out of her, then back in with even more hot intention, watching her react to his every move, watching her writhe and grin and revel in what their bodies created together.
In and out of her, so slowly, so many times. He bit his lower lip, his body crying out for him to go faster. Better to ignore that urge and give her pleasure in the slick slide of him, so slowly, inside of her. She couldn’t move much, but she didn’t seem to mind. She laid herself bare and open before him. He fisted a hand in her hair and tugged her toward him, arching her neck. His other hand fastened tight around her hip, holding her steady, and he thrust hard and fast. Faster. Almost…
Not yet.
