He applied more gel to his hands then continued the sweeping caress, down my spine and sides, and across my butt. I ached for him to touch me more intimately, and yet I wanted to delay that moment for as long as possible. There was something very sweet about the agony of anticipation.
He grabbed a sponge from the basket at the side of the bath and dipped it into the water, then pressed it into my back, working the gel into such a lather that it dribbled down my spine and left me humming in pleasure.
“Turn around,” he said eventually.
I was only too happy to comply. He was kneeling in front of me, his body covered with droplets of water and soap that scooted down his well-defined abs and stomach, pooling briefly around the tip of his hard cock before moving on down his legs. I wanted to explore those glistening trails, wanted to linger where they had lingered.
I reached out, but he caught my hands and said, “No touching allowed. I have to finish respecting every inch of you first.”
I grinned and let my hand drop. “Then by all means, continue.”
He soaped his hands again, then gently spread the lather over my breasts and belly. My nipples hardened almost painfully and a shudder that was all pleasure rolled through me. His soapy caress slid all the way down to my hips, his thumbs gently—and all too briefly—teasing my clit. Then his fingers slipped upward again until his large hands cupped my breasts. I shuddered in enjoyment—a sensation that grew when he pinched my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and gently began to pull and twist. Desire grew, until I was torn between wanting the delicious torment to go on and the need to feel his whole body on me, and in me.
Again his caress slid downward. My breath hitched, expectation thrumming, as his fingers teased the inside of my thighs. I spread my legs wider and softly, tantalizingly, his caress brushed me. I groaned, arching into the press of his hand, wanting more than just teasing. He laughed softly, his lips brushing mine as his fingers delved deeper, pushing into me, sending waves of pleasure lapping across my body. I wrapped my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth hungrily as his fingers probed and teased and delighted.
Then he pulled away so suddenly it left me dizzy. “Stand and face the wall,” he ordered, voice harsh with the rawness of desire.
I stood, trembling with anticipation and need. He rinsed the soap from my body then stepped into the bath behind me, the hardness of his erection nestled firmly against my butt. I pushed against him, loving the feel of him, but wanting more. His hands slid up my back then around to my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, caressing them, until every inch of me was shuddering and the ache was a fire that burned through every fiber of my being.
“Enough,” I muttered, the words little more than a pant of air. “I need you. Now.”
“Good,” he growled, and touched the back of my feet with his toes.
I shifted, widening my stance and bracing my hands against the wall. He gripped my hips then thrust inside me, the heat of him piercing and delicious and oh-so-right. A sharp mix of longing and need ran through me as we began to move in rhythm—slowly at first, then gradually faster. Pleasure spiraled, until every muscle felt ready to shatter and I couldn’t even breathe, the intensity was so great.
His breathing became harsh, his tempo more urgent. His fierceness pushed me into a place where only sensation existed, and then he pushed me beyond it.
My orgasm hit, and I couldn’t think, only feel. And what I felt was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, because what I felt was a connection that went beyond flesh and pleasure. Far beyond it.
And that scared the hell out of me. But it also made me hungry for more.
Well, no one had ever accused me of being sensible.
For several minutes neither of us moved, our panting breaths filling the silence and our bodies still gloriously locked together. When he finally withdrew, I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him tenderly.
“How do you think I did on the whole respect thing?” he said, his lazy smile that of a man who knows full well that he’s done a good job.
I pretended to consider the question, then pressed up against him a little harder, delighted to feel he was already half erect again. “Well, as these things go, it wasn’t half bad.”
“Not half bad? Woman, you are crazy!”
I grinned. “No, I just remember a promise to respect the whole of my body, and it seems to me that half of me missed out.”
“Ah yes. The toes and legs,” he murmured. “Well, I guess we’d better go find a bed and tend to that problem immediately.”
We did, and he did.
And it was even better the second time around.
The fading moonlight played across Damon’s stain, highlighting the rich blues and deep purples in the black leathery strip that wove down his spine. I traced its journey with my fingertips, loving the cool, almost snakelike feel of the skin, which was such a sharp contrast to the heat of the rest of his body.
My fingertips reached the end of his stain, and I let them rest there at the base of his spine as my gaze followed the curve of his butt and traveled down the long length of his athletic legs to his feet. I’d never considered feet and toes sexy before, but this man was rapidly changing my mind. Like everything else about him, they were long, quietly powerful, and elegant.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Damon said, his voice muffled by the depths of the pillow wrapped around his head.
“I’m not used to sleeping beside someone,” I said. “The heat woke me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”