He cupped her breasts, one and then the other, his hand engulfing them. He whispered that they were beautiful. “Delicate,” he said. “Perfect.”
She believed him. Seduced by the magic of his knowing touch, she had relinquished everything, even the wisdom of a little healthy skepticism. She believed all the things he whispered to her. She believed every last rough-tender, arousing word. Every knowing, skilled caress. He touched her face and she smelled the tart sweetness of blood oranges on his fingers. And it seemed to her that the scent was his scent—sweet, tempting, ruby-red.
His hand moved downward, over her breasts again and lower, along her belly. She gasped as his fingers eased under the elastic of her panties.
He found the feminine heart of her. He whispered that she felt like heaven there, so wet and hot and slick for him. He stroked her, a touch that quickly set every last nerve she possessed ablaze. Her whole body seemed to be humming with excitement, with electricity, with heat. She was liquid and burning and close to the brink.
She wanted it to last, wanted the climb to the top to go on forever, wanted to hold off on completion until she had him within her. But in no time, she was shuddering, going over the edge, moaning his name, working her hips against his fingers—oh, those fingers of his: magic, just … magic. She cried out.
He whispered, “Yes, like that. Just like that.”
And then she was sailing out from the peak, into the wide open, drifting slowly, slowly down into her body again, her body that had his body wrapped around it.
“You feel … so good,” she murmured, lazy. And she took his hand and tucked it tenderly close to her heart.
But he wasn’t through yet.
Which was totally fine with her. She could go on like this, touching him, being touched by him, forever.
He was moving, shifting her onto her back, resettling himself close against her side. She sighed and let him do as he wished with her. She was drifting, satisfied, deeply content, on the borderline of sleep.
“Sydney …”
Reluctantly, still lost in the echoes of so many beautiful sensations, she opened her eyes. He was up an elbow, gazing down at her, his eyes liquid, black as the middle of a very dark night.
She reached up, touched his mouth. “So soft. You’re such a good kisser …”
He bent near again, kissed her with that mouth of his, her fingers still on his lips, so he kissed them, too. “Sydney …” He kissed her name against her mouth, against her fingers.
“Mmm.” She eased her hand away, parted her lips, took his tongue inside. “Mmm …” Maybe she wasn’t so sleepy after all. She clasped his hard shoulder, loving the rocklike contour of it, and then she let her hand glide around to his strong nape. She caressed the amazing musculature of his broad back. “I just want to touch you …”
He didn’t object. He went on kissing her, as she indulged herself. She wanted to touch every inch of him—his back, his powerful arms, his fine, strong chest. He had a perfect little happy trail and she did what a woman tends to do—she followed it downward.
And when her fingers closed around him, she took great satisfaction in the low groan he let out. She drank in that groan like wine.
Was there ever a guy like this? She doubted it. Every part of him was beautiful, her fairy-tale prince made flesh.
She closed her eyes again and reveled in the feel
of him. She wanted … everything from him. All of him. Now.
She whispered in a shattered sort of wonder, against his beautiful lips. “Oh, Rule. Now. Please, now …” And she urged him to come even closer, all the way closer, opening her thighs for him, pulling him onto her, so eager, so hungry.
More than ready.
“Wait …” He breathed the word against her parted lips.
“What?” She moaned in frustration. “No. I don’t want to wait.”
“Sydney …” He took his mouth from hers.
And again, she lifted her heavy eyelids and gazed up at him, impatient. Questioning. “What?”
He gave her one of those beautiful, wry, perfect smiles of his. And he tipped his dark head toward his raised hand. She tore her gaze away from all that manly beauty to see what he held.
A condom.
“Oops.” She felt her cheeks flush even redder than they already were. She let out a ragged sigh. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t even think about that. How could I not think of that? I’m never that foolish, that irresponsible.”