He blocked off the thought, knew he couldn’t—wouldn’t if he was wise—rush her. This time he was playing a long game, one where his goal was forever. And that goal was too valuable, too precious, too fundamentally important to him—to who he was and who he would be, too much a central part of his future to in any way risk.
But she’d offered him an opportunity to make his case; he wasn’t about to decline.
He found it surprisingly difficult to free enough of his mind to take stock, to assess the possibilities. The vision of the padded bench beside them flashed through his mind; he acted on it, eased her back enough to straddle the bench, then drew her down to the deep cushions with him.
Her hands framing his face, she clung to the kiss. Leaning back until his shoulders propped against the arch’s side, he drew her with him, settling her within one arm. She went readily, leaning into him, her forearms on his chest, caught in the kiss.
He reached for her hips, eased her around within the V of his thighs, trapped her lips again, more greedily took her mouth, fed from it as he raised his hands, stroked down her back, and found the laces of her gown.
They were easily loosened. That accomplished, he slid his hands around, pushing her arms up, over his shoulders so he could close both hands about her breasts. She shuddered; he kneaded and she moaned. He drank in the sound, set himself the task of eliciting more.
But too soon she was quivering with need, her hands greedily, hungrily grasping—at his hair, his shoulders, sliding beneath his coat to spread and flex evocatively on his chest.
There were tiny buttons down the front of her bodice; fingers expertly flicking, he undid them, eased aside the fine fabric and reached within—cupped her breast through the thin silk of her chemise.
Her breath hitched, then her fingers firmed about his nape and she kissed him with almost desperate ardor.
His desire, already rampant, escalated; he met the demands of her greedy lips, then settled to pander to her ravenous senses. And his.
Within minutes they were both heated, both wanting and needing yet more. Unquestioning, he reached for the ribbon bows securing her chemise, with deft tugs unraveled them. Boldly drew the thin barrier down and set his palm to her breast, skin to naked skin.
The sensual shock shook them both. Their responses, instantaneous, seemed mutual, like strands of the same desire twining and tightening, growing stronger, gaining power through the simple fact that they both wanted this, needed this, somehow quite desperately needed the other, all the other could bring, could give.
He didn’t doubt she was with him when he pushed the halves of her bodice aside and laid her breasts bare. Reverently cupped the firm, swollen mounds in his hands; thumbs cruising, brushing her nipples, already tightly furled, he drew his head back, broke from the kiss, and looked down.
In the faint light her skin shone like pearl; its exquisitely fine texture felt like silk. Fine silk heated by the provocative flush of desire. He looked his fill, examined, caressed, and she shuddered.
Caro briefly closed her eyes, fleetingly marveled at the intense sensations slicing through her, that he so easily evoked.
She’d been this far before, but this time she felt immeasurably more alive. Last time…she thrust the old memories away, buried them. Ignored their taunting. This time everything felt so very different.
Opening her eyes, she fixed them on Michael’s face, drank in the lean, severe lines, handsome but austere. His attention was wholly focused on her, on her breasts…they weren’t large, were, indeed, rather underweight, yet the concentration, the intensity in his expression, was impossible to mistake. He found them satisfying, worthy….
As if he’d read her mind, his gaze flicked up to her face, briefly searched, then his lips curved…the tenor of that smile sent heat rushing through her.
He shifted. Eyes locking on hers, he released one breast, slid that arm around her waist, then eased her back over it.
And bent his head.
She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath as his lips touched her, as they cruised, firm and taunting, over the aching swell of her breast, then followed a tortuous path to its peak.
He teased, and she felt her body react as it never had before. Nerves unfurled, came alive, greedily reaching for sensation—for the sensations he created as he tormented her flesh, until it ached and pulsed. Spread over his shoulders, her fingers tightened involuntarily. She felt his breath warm on her nipple, then he lapped.
Licked, laved, and she gasped.
“Say my name.”
She did. He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled. Strongly. She nearly shrieked.
He released her with a soft chuckle. “There’s no one near enough to hear.”
Just as well; he bent his head to her other breast and repeated the torture until she begged. Only then did he take what she so willingly offered, and give her all she wanted.
All she’d never had before.
He was gentle yet forceful, experienced and knowing. But although he clearly took pleasure in pleasuring her, that at no time disguised his ultimate goal.
She wasn’t the least surprised when his hand slid down from her now burning breast to splay over her stomach. To knead evocatively, then press lower, gently stroking her curls through her gown before reaching further, until his long fingers provocatively probed the indentation at the apex of her thighs.