A bedside lamp was all that illuminated the room, softening its contours as he drew her towards the waiting bed. A sense of rightness filled him that they were coming together now, like this. Whatever it was about this beautiful, breathtaking woman, she was right for him.
And this was right, what he was doing, sliding his hands on either side of her face, feeling the softness of her hair, her skin, gazing down at her with desire in his eyes, and warmth, and something more than both.
For one long moment he just gazed at her, into those clear grey eyes which showed she had made the decision to be here with him, now.
For this.
For his mouth slowly moving down to hers, kissing her slowly, carefully, to start the union that they would make together.
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She answered his kiss, gave herself to it, and he folded her to him. Her arms moved around the strong column of his body. She felt him surge against her, and whilst a little ripple of shock went through her in its wake came a shiver of excitement. His desire for her was blatant, and she welcomed it. She felt her breasts cresting against his hard-muscled chest and knew he felt her reaction to him. Heard the low laugh of pleasure in her pleasure.
Slowly, sensuously, he peeled her clothes from her, never taking his eyes from hers, letting her delicate hands perform the same intimate office for him.
He let her do what she realised she had been aching to do—run the palms of her hands over his bare, smooth, taut-muscled torso, glorying in its muscled strength. And for answer he cupped the small weight of her swelling breasts with his hands, thumbs lifting to their cresting peaks.
She gave a moan in her throat, dropping back her head at the arousal of the sensation. Desire quickened in her, a sense of urgency, and in that same harmony that united them he was pressing her back down upon the coverlet of the bed, drawing it back so they lay upon the sheets.
Italian words broke from him as he gazed down at her perfect body, expressing his desire for her, telling her how beautiful she was, and she answered with a sensuous smile, for of course she understood his husky praise, answered it with her own for him. She lifted her hands to run them once more over that glorious torso, to glide them downwards over his taut, muscled abs and then, with a little gasp, realised just how very, very ready for her he was.
He laughed, collapsing down beside her, rolling her on to him so that she gasped again, then quickened, heat surging in her. His hand was around her nape, drawing her eager mouth to his, feasting on its sweet delights. She moved upon him, and with another groan he flipped her back on to the sheets, coming over her. His hands clasped hers, high on the pillow, and her hair was like a flag, blazoning her welcome of what was to come.
His eyes poured into hers. ‘Fran...’ He said her name, nothing more. And in it was a question—he wanted her to be sure, so very sure, that this was what she wanted.
She could sense his absolute self-control, his absolute assurance that nothing would happen that she did not want, did not want to share, totally and consumingly, with him.
She lifted her mouth to his. Kissed him softly, sensuously. Then she let her head fall back upon the pillow. Still gazing up at him. Knowing what she wanted. Knowing absolutely.
It was all the answer he needed.
Slowly, with infinite precision, he lowered himself to her, and with a response as old as time her thighs slackened, letting him find what he so urgently sought. She opened to him, feeling her body flower, all her blood surge in a swelling tide. Her heated flesh fitted around his strength, enclosing him within her, feeling the power of him, the desire of him for her, for her body, for her answering desire of him.
She felt her spine lift, arching towards his body as it reared over hers. Her crested nipples grazed his torso so that he gave a groan, his fingers meshing with hers yet more tightly. The strong cords of his neck, the tensed line of his jaw—all told her how very, very near release he was.
Yet he waited for her. Waited for her to make slow, exploratory movements of her hips, to feel him full and engorged within her, to feel the rightness of him being so, the sensual pleasure of it. With every slow, deliberate movement she made she could feel the tide of her desire mounting within her, heat rising within her, dissolving her into him until, in a vast upwelling of unstoppable sensation, they ran together, flooding out into the wholeness of her body, sweeping through her, consuming her, possessing her...
She heard her voice cry out, felt her neck arching, and heard his own roar of release, felt the spasming of his hands on hers, the surging pulse of his body within hers, carrying them forward, onward, into the vast unknown, into what bound them, body to body, to blaze and burn together.
Time stopped. Everything stopped. There was only this now, this possession, this fusion, this glory of desire fulfilled, passion sated upon passion, binding them together, making them one...
Until slowly, infinitely slowly, time began again, and now she could feel the pounding of her heart, of his, as their bodies slackened. And now he was cradling her trembling body, moving away from her only to draw her back against him, his strong hands tender on her, his breath warm on her shoulder as he held her until her body lay still and quiet with his.
Softly he eased the tangled tendrils of her hair back from her face, kissing her cheekbone gently, murmuring low words she could not hear for the ebbing drumming in her ears, the heartbeat that was quietening finally.
Peace, a wondrous peace, filled her. The peace of fulfilment, of a contentment that seemed to be in every atom of her being, body and mind and soul. She could feel his powerful body, relaxed, exhausted in the aftermath of the overpowering intensity of their union.
A slow, tender smile eased her lips and then her eyelids were fluttering closed and sleep, so necessary, was sweeping up over her like the softest cashmere, embracing her as sweetly as did his slackening arms around her.
In the cradle of the night they slept...in the cradle of their embrace of each other.
* * *
‘OK,’ said Nic, ‘all set for the Grand Canyon?’
They were having brunch at the buffet bar of the motel—late, for theirs had been a long, long lie-in. Fran’s thoughts skittered away from just what that lie-in had entailed, lest it make her want to rebook the room.
A kind of wonder filled her—wonder that the night that had passed had been like nothing she had ever experienced. Her eyes fastened on the man sitting opposite her, his lithe, powerful frame relaxed, indolent, even. But then he was like no other man ever could be.