Chapter Twenty-One
Botheration. He saw through her ploy.
His advice was helpful, of course, but what she really wanted was him.
Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind.
The slow burn of his kiss set fire to her senses, and she slid her hands into his tawny hair, relishing the rough silk texture between her fingers. She kissed him back with all the passion she felt for him: this man who was worldly and wise and treated her with care. Who didn’t gloat or make her admit that he’d won… which made her want him even more.
She parted her lips, inviting him in, but his kiss remained gentle and coaxing, as if she needed to be courted. Didn’t he know how desperately she wanted him?
She broke away, pleading, “Please, Andrew. I want you so much.”
Satisfaction glittered in his eyes. Then he was pushing her back, his muscled length crushing her into the cushions. His mouth was no longer gentle but wild. His tongue thrust boldly between her lips, and she craved the thick glide, the flavor of whiskey and Andrew tingling over her taste buds. She sought out more, and when she tangled her tongue with his, he groaned, their mouths fusing as hunger flared out of control.
Her neck arched as he caught her earlobe between his teeth, licking, nipping. He worked his usual magic on her clothing, buttons and laces no match for his skill. He stripped her layer by layer, and she struggled to help him, to be freed from constriction, to be rid of anything that separated her from him.
When she lay naked before him, however, she felt suddenly shy. Unsure. Was she pleasing enough for him?
His pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring. “By God, you’re a feast for the eyes.”
Blushing yet emboldened, she fumbled with his cravat. “I want to see you too.”
“Let me, love.” He rose, tearing off the starchy linen, shrugging off his jacket and waistcoat. When he dragged his shirt over his head, a breath whooshed from her lips.
He was only the second man she’d seen unclothed, and his beauty was stunning. Worthy of being immortalized in marble. Taut, golden skin stretched over his wide shoulders, the defined slabs of his chest. She couldn’t see an ounce of fat on his muscular torso, his abdomen rippled as a washboard. Bronze hair sprinkled his upper chest, narrowing into a trail that bisected his lean belly and disappeared into his trousers.
His hands on his waistband, he said, “On or off?”
“Off.” Was that her voice, so sultry and breathless? “Take them off, please.”
His lazy smile made her heart stutter. He dispensed with his boots, trousers, and all the rest of it. When he stood before her, his raw virility unveiled, a buffle-headed feeling stole over her.
Oh, my.
His mouth faintly curved, he let her look her fill—and, make no mistake, there was a lot to look at. His lower half was just as statue-worthy as the upper, his narrow hips girdled by a defined vee of muscle. His legs were sinewy and lean, and between them…
Her breath puffed out. Here, he veered from any Greek sculpture she’d seen. She couldn’t help but stare at his manhood: its proportions were rather, well, startling. The big, thick shaft stood straight up from its bronze nest, the fat tip nudging his navel. Raised veins ran along the length, his heavy stones dangling at the base. When he took a step forward, his male equipment swayed like a ship’s mast.
The thought inserted itself into her head: Goodness, is that going to fit?
As she fought to stay calm, he stood there, not arrogant (although he had ample reason to be) but comfortable in his own magnificent skin. Her gaze met his, and the message in his warm brown eyes flowed into her. This desire between us is natural. There’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing to hide. His confidence eased some of her apprehension.
This was Andrew; he would not hurt her.
Before she lost her nerve, she held out her arms. “Come to me,” she whispered.
He did, stretching over her, and at the first contact of skin on skin, she shivered. Sensations bombarded her: the heat and hardness of his body, his musk and spice scent, his turgid cock prodding her belly. It was overwhelming. A rash of heat spread over her insides, and she felt as if she might burst out of her skin.
“We’re a perfect fit,” he murmured. “Can you feel it?”
Could she. “It feels too good,” she said, squirming restlessly.
“Sunshine,”—there was a smile in his voice—“it’s about to get better.”
He began kissing his way down her body, and she gave up resisting the pleasure. It was simply too much. Too powerful. Too good. ’Twas as if she’d been fighting against herself all her life, and now, finally, she had no choice but to surrender: to the decadent way he sucked her nipples, the velvet-soft lashes of his tongue over her ribs and belly.
He surprised her by turning her over. With her cheek pressed against the velvet cushion, she shuddered as his lips measured each dent of her spine, lingering at the dip. He pressed kisses on her bottom, the quicksilver flick of his tongue in between the mounds making her twitch in surprise. He seemed to know her body more intimately than she did, winnowing pleasure from every nook and cranny. Never would she have guessed that the backs of her knees were so sensitive nor the curves below her ankles nor the arches of her feet.
By the time he turned her over again, she was a wobbly mass of need. He leisurely nibbled his way up her legs, and, when he parted her thighs, she knew what was coming, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to stop him. The first swipe of his tongue made her writhe in shameless delight.
“You’re delicious all over and especially here.” His voice was dark honey. “I want you to spend on my tongue, love. Can you do that for me?”
He gave her no choice. Not with the way he licked her, up and down, as if she were the sweetest treat. Not when he delved upward, teasing that hidden peak, praising her pearl, her love-knot for being so bold against his tongue. His thumb took over, rubbing that center of sensation until fragments of sound escaped her. Yes. More. Please.
“You’re almost there, sweetheart,” he urged. “Let me taste your ambrosia.”
His tongue thrust into her opening, licking her inside—and she broke. Bliss shattered her into a thousand sparkling pieces. In the next instant, he moved over her, entering her in a swift thrust that startled a breath from her lips.
“All right, love?” His neck corded with tension, his brow glazed with sweat, he watched her face keenly. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
His self-control and consideration filled her with tenderness—and a desire to please him as much as he pleased her. The truth was, despite his size, there was no pain. Or perhaps, on the heels of pleasure, she couldn’t feel it. Whatever the case, he stretched her exquisitely to her limits. Filled her in a way that she was meant to be filled.
She touched his cheek, said wonderingly, “It feels… right.”
“Yes.” A wealth of emotion was conveyed in that single word, in his smoldering gaze.
He began moving, her breath stuttering as she skated the edge between pleasure and discomfort. His cock was huge, hard, each incursion opening her up to new sensations. When he withdrew, she felt relief followed by a strange ache; when he plunged, the ridges of his erection rubbed against nerve endings, setting off sparks of sensitivity and bliss.
It was too much; she wanted more.
“You’re so tight,” he rasped.
Sudden worry punctured her. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“God, no. I’ve never felt anything so fine.” The glitter in his eyes told her he was telling the truth. “I want to fuck your tight pussy forever. I want to feel you squeezing my cock like you never want to let me go.”
His wicked words, the slow roll of his hips made her gasp. Moisture gushed from her core, and before she could fret, he growled, “That’s it, sweetheart. Drench my cock. Help me get deeper inside you.”
He surged into her, deeper than he ever had before, her dew lubricating his penetration. Discomfort eased, pressure burgeoning into need, friction into consuming heat. When he hit some magical spot deep inside, embers of pleasure showered her insides. His hands cupped her bottom, tilting her up, and his next thrust pushed his name from her lips.
Her legs instinctively found purchase in the lean hollows of his hips, and she clung to him as his pace grew wilder, rougher. He shed his urbane mask—he was raw, animal in the pleasure he was giving to her and taking in return. The primal momentum swept her up, pushing her closer and closer to the fiery peak.
“Come for me,” he growled.
At his command, her entire being seized. With his body rooted in hers, her release was more intense than any she’d experienced before. She cried out as she convulsed around him, her muscles milking pleasure from every thick inch.
As she tried to catch her breath, he suddenly withdrew. He rose onto his knees, cords leaping in his neck, his cock in his fist. He jerked on the engorged stalk with shocking force, his chest heaving, his gaze holding hers.
“Feel me, love,” he groaned.
Moisture exploded from his cock, and she gasped when a hot splatter landed on her thigh. With a sensual growl, he directed more of it at her, warm rain falling on her ribs and breasts. One droplet clung to her nipple, and she cautiously caught it with her fingertip. Rubbing his slippery seed against the tight peak gave her a shivery thrill.
He collapsed onto the sofa with a groan, tucking her against him.
For a few moments, she was content listening to their hearts racing in unison.
Then she whispered into his chest, “So this is lovemaking. I never knew.”
“Neither did I, sunshine.” His deep voice was laced with triumph… and wonder. “With God as my witness, neither did I.”