Even if part of her might want to. He smiled at the thought, and her eyes narrowed. "What do you find so amusing?”
"You, dear Charlotte. " He let his fingers trace the line of her stubbo
rn jaw. Her skin was soft, smooth, creamy smooth, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of her, the touch of her. He was quite unaccustomed to working so hard for anything but a horse. And even more astonishing, he was enjoying it.
He opened his eyes again, looking into hers, and for a moment (heir gazes caught and held, like a physical connection. His fingers carefully cupped her chin, and he felt the tension through her entire body as he moved closer.
"You promised you wouldn't touch me," she whispered.
"I won't touch your body,” he said. “I’m just going to kiss you. I promise you, it won't hurt. You survived my first kiss—you'll survive another. "
In retrospect, that first kiss had been remarkably unsatisfying. She hadn't known what to do, and he'd really concentrate. He wanted to take his time now, see how long it took her to respond.
Because respond she would—he had absolutely no doubt of it. And that would be the first step toward where he needed to be.
It would be too dark for her to see his erection—a good thing. He could feel the faint tremors dancing through her body. If she knew what was going to end up between her legs she'd try to bolt.
He leaned over her, his mouth just above hers. She didn't move, but her eyes were dark with apprehension. "What are you so frightened of?" he whispered against her lips. "It's just a kiss. . . "
She made the mistake of wetting her lips in her nervousness. He couldn't resist, closing the short distance between them, putting his mouth on hers before she realized what he intended.
He'd planned on taking his time, starting soft, but her jaw was clamped shut, her lips tight, and it annoyed him. "Open your mouth," he whispered against her tight lips, "or I'll make you. "
Her eyes flew open, staring at him in consternation. It was enough of a surprise to make her mouth unclench, and he slanted his own across hers, pushing it open, using his tongue.
She froze in panic, and he was damn lucky she didn't bite him. He caught her rigid shoulders and pushed her back against the pillow, and his kiss softened, turning seductive, beguiling, touching her tongue, sliding his against it, gently. She was holding herself very still, simply letting him, when her own longue moved, just slightly, reaching for his as he withdrew, and he let out a groan of muffled pleasure.
Author: Anne Stuart
She'd put her hands on his shoulders, clinging to him, and he suddenly pulled away as he felt her weaken. "Breathe, Charlotte. You're supposed to breathe. ”
She let out a whoosh of suppressed air, bringing more into her lungs. "How?"
He couldn't resist a small laugh. "A combination of ways. You sneak in a breath whenever your mouths change angles. You breathe through your nose. And you take a deep breath if you know you're about to be kissed. Like now. "
He settled his mouth against hers, a second after she drew in her breath, a slow, deep kiss, then lifted his mouth. "Breathe," he whispered before he slanted his mouth against her, changing the angle, reveling in the delight of her untrained mouth. He lifted his mouth to bite her lip. "Again," he whispered. And used his tongue.
This time she was ready for him, kissing him back with real enthusiasm that was all the more arousing for the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Clearly no one had kissed her before, and it made her capitulation curiously endearing.
Even touching nowhere but her shoulders he could feel her slowly building arousal. He moved his lips to the side of her mouth, then brushed them against her eyelids, her cheekbones, the soft curve of her ear.
"You aren't supposed to touch me below the neck," she said in a hushed voice.
He lifted his head to look down at her, and he smiled. "Your hands are on me as well, precious. "
She'd been clinging to his shoulders. She released him immediately, but he simply caught her hands and placed them back on him. "Nothing without your consent," he promised, kissing her again, silencing her midprotest.
He already knew how to loosen the monk's robes—it wasn’t the first time he’d brought a woman dressed in the plain costume back to these dark rooms. It fastened at the shoulder, held together by the rope belt. He slid one arm around her waist, pulling her closer against him, and managed to get his hand on the robe.
She'd double knotted it, of course, and pulled it tight so that it couldn't accidentally become loose. He had a knife nearby—he would have happily cut it, but he needed to sneak up on her. She wouldn't know she'd been compromised until she was climaxing.
In the meantime, he kept her mouth and her mind busy with his kisses while his fingers fiddled with the knot. It took a while, particularly since he didn't want her to feel what he was doing, but he was nothing if not patient, and once the first knot gave, the rest was simple, the belt opening and falling onto the mattress between them.
And then he couldn't resist. His hand was too close, and he slid it up the front of her until he reached her breasts, closing over one.
She jerked, surprised, and if she hadn't been too busy kissing him she probably would have said no. His fingers toyed with her nipple, feeling it harden instantly in his hand, and he wanted to shove the robe away from her and put his mouth on her, sucking in deep.
Slowly, slowly, he reminded himself, trying to control his rampaging body. Maybe he should leave her here, go find someone else to take the edge off so that he could come back to her and take his time. His need for her was advancing at outrageous speed—it usually took him a great deal longer to get so close to exploding. For some reason, Charlotte Spenser's shy reluctant responses were setting him on fire.