The Sum of All Kisses

He returned the expression, then rolled them both so they were on their sides, facing one another.

“I’m going to marry you,” she said again. “I really like saying that, you know.”

“I could listen all day.”

“But the thing is . . .” She let her head rest on her arm and slowly reached out her foot, letting her toes run lightly along one of his legs, which, she was delighted to note, were also quite bare. “I just can’t seem to summon the moral rectitude required of a woman in my position.”

“An interesting choice of words, considering your current position in my bed.”

“As I was saying, I am going to marry you.”

His hand found the curve of her hip, and the hem of her nightgown began to travel up her leg as his fingers slowly bunched the fabric.

“It will be a short engagement.”

“Very short,” he agreed.

“So short, in fact, that—” She gasped; he’d managed to get her nightgown all the way up to her waist, and now his hand was squeezing her bottom in the most delightful manner.

“You were saying?” he murmured, one of his fingers straying wickedly toward the very spot it had pleasured earlier that evening.

“Just that . . . maybe . . .” She tried to breathe, but with everything he was doing to her, she wasn’t so sure she remembered how. “It wouldn’t be so very naughty if we got a bit ahead of our vows.”

He pulled her closer. “Oh, it will be naughty. It will be very naughty.”

She smiled. “You’re terrible.”

“May I remind you that you were the one to sneak into my bed?”

“May I remind you that I’m a monster of your making?”

“A monster, eh?”

“An expression of speech.” She kissed him, softly, at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t know I could feel this way.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted.

She stilled. Surely he wasn’t saying that he’d never done this before. “Hugh? This isn’t . . . Is this your first time?”

He smiled as he drew her into his arms and rolled her onto her back. “No,” he said quietly, “but it might as well be. With you, it’s all new.” And then, while she was still reeling from the beauty of that statement, he kissed her deeply.

“I love you,” he said, his words almost lost against her mouth. “I love you so much.”

She wanted to return the sentiment, she wanted to whisper her own love against his skin, but her nightgown seemed to have melted away, and the moment his body touched hers, skin to skin in full, she was insensible.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he said, his lips moving along her cheek to her temple. He pushed his hips against hers, the hard length of him pressing relentlessly against her belly. “Every night,” he groaned. “Every night I have dreamed of you, and every night I have been like this, with no release. But tonight”—his mouth made a slow, wicked trail down her neck—“it will be different.”

“Yes,” she sighed, arching beneath him. He was cupping her breasts, plumping them in his hands. Then he licked his lips . . .

She nearly came off the bed when he took her into his mouth. “Oh my oh my oh my oh my,” she gasped, clutching at the sheets beneath her for purchase. She’d barely given thought to this part of her body before. They looked nice in a dress, and she’d been warned that men liked to look at them, but heaven above, no one had told her that her breasts could feel such pleasure.

“I had a feeling you’d like that,” he said with a satisfied grin.

“Why do I feel it . . . everywhere?”

“Everywhere?” he murmured. His fingers moved between her legs. “Or here?”

“Everywhere,” she said breathlessly, “but there most of all.”

“I really can’t be sure,” he said in a teasing voice. “We shall have to investigate the matter, don’t you think?”

“Wait,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.

He gazed down at her, his brows rising in question.

“I want to touch you,” she said shyly.

She saw the instant he understood what she meant. “Sarah,” he said hoarsely, “that might not be such a good idea.”

“Please.”

He drew a ragged breath as he took her hand and slowly led her down his body. She watched his face as she drifted past his ribs, his abdomen . . . He almost looked as if he was in pain. His eyes closed, and when her fingers reached the smooth, taut skin of his manhood, he groaned audibly, his breath coming in shorter, hotter gasps.

“Am I hurting you?” she whispered. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She knew what went on between a man and a woman; she had more older cousins than she could count, and several were quite indiscreet. But she had not expected him to be quite so . . . solid. His skin was soft and smooth as velvet, but underneath . . .

She wrapped her hand around him, so intent on her exploration that she did not even notice the indrawn breath that shook his body.

Underneath, he was hard as stone.

“Is it always like this?” she asked. Because it didn’t seem comfortable, and she could not imagine how men fit it into their breeches.

“No,” he rasped. “It . . . changes. With desire.”

She thought about that, her fingers continuing to stroke him until his hand closed over hers and pulled it away.

She looked up at him apprehensively. Had she displeased him in some way?

“It’s too much,” he said raggedly. “I can’t hold out . . .”