And he did. Take her slowly. Bit by bit, achingly slowly, he peeled the clothes from them both, running his hands over her skin as each garment came off, setting her flesh alight. And in the darkness she knew she was safe. In the darkness she knew she could give herself up to the pleasure she was feeling, the pleasure he was giving her.
And she had never experienced such pleasure! Wherever his hands went his hot mouth followed closely behind. Such simple gestures—the liquid sweep of lips against skin, the hypnotic swirl of tongue against flesh, the gentle rasp of teeth—such simple movements, and yet so arousing, so breathtakingly erotic.
Lost in awe and wonder, and given up to sensations far out of her experience, she let his mouth go wherever he wanted. She let his lips dance around her navel, let him flick the tip of his tongue inside, tickling and exploring and foreshadowing the act that was to come. She let him do whatever he wanted because of how he made her feel, so that when his mouth descended over the peak of her scarred breast she reacted with little more than a panicked hitch to her breath—and even that soon evaporated in the heat of a scorching bliss the likes of which she’d never known.
But when he insinuated a knee between her legs and dipped his head lower she knew she wasn’t just going beyond her experience, he was taking her beyond reason. Her back arched as he found her core, his tongue making lazy circles around her most sensitive flesh, lapping at her, teasing her entrance, so that she called out for him to end the torture, to end the search for culmination.
Her hands curled tightly into the bedclothes, her shoulders twisted as she wriggled to escape, but his arms held tight on her thighs, anchoring her to him so that she had no hope but to ride the wild waves that were building inside her—no hope but to go with them, higher and higher. Until his mouth gave one final teasing suckle to her tender flesh and the waves crashed down, spilling her over the edge, tossing her like balsa into the foaming wash of her passion.
He clung to her as the final waves moved through her, turning to ripples and disappearing like the tide slipping out, and then he moved to her side, pulling her in close, hugging her to him as she gasped her way back to something approximating normality.
But she knew she would never be normal again. He’d shattered every preconceived notion she’d had about sex in one cataclysmic act. She’d always thought it should be good, known it ought to be good, but never had she realised how good it could be. And still she hadn’t felt the power of him inside her. How much better would that be?
She nuzzled into his shoulder, already tingling at the prospect, relishing the musky scent of him and the feel of his body, still fully charged, wrapped around hers. His hands were skimming the side of her body from shoulder to mid-thigh and back again, movements that escalated her desire all over again.
‘I thought you said you were going to take things slowly,’ she whispered.
He laughed, a low, deep rumble that she felt to her toes. ‘One thing at a time,’ he answered, rolling her once more onto her back, his mouth coming down hard on hers.
This time she was more aware. This time she was able to hold him, to explore the skinscape of his broad shoulders and the well-defined surface of his back, tapering as if sculpted into his firm waist before rising again into the taut swell of his buttocks.
He groaned as her hands pressed down on him, her thumbs finding the sweat-slickened hollows of his lower back, her fingers curling into his flesh as she felt the press of his erection, proof of his own unanswered need, hard against her.
And in that moment she understood how much he’d given her already. He hadn’t just slaked his need on her in an instant—as he could have done, as she would have let him. He hadn’t just taken what he could have. Instead he’d bestowed pleasure upon her first. He’d given her the chance to find her own paradise without greedily seeking his own.
Whatever came after this, whatever followed—whether it was his censure or his pity—she would never regret this night. Whatever happened, however foolhardy her love proved to be, she would always love him for what he had just given her.
He rolled away for a moment, retrieved something from the bedside table that quickly made good sense, and then he was back, lifting himself higher over her, and she knew with an innate woman sense what he wanted. Because it was what she wanted too. And then he was between her thighs, poised, waiting.