He gently eased her out of her pyjama bottoms, sliding them down her thighs with reverent care. She snatched in a hitching breath when his fingertip traced the seam of her body. His touch was so light, so careful, yet it stirred every nerve in her body into a riotous happy dance.
‘I don’t want to rush you,’ he said.
Rush me! Rush me! Miranda silently pleaded. ‘You’re not... It’s just...been a while.’
Leandro meshed his gaze with hers. ‘I want to make it good for you. Tell me what you like.’
Anything you do will be just fine, Miranda thought. Even the way he looked at her was enough to send her senses into the stratosphere. ‘I’m not very good at this...’
His brows came together. ‘You have had sex, haven’t you?’
She moved her gaze out of reach of his. ‘Yes, of course...’
He gently inched up her chin so her eyes came back to his. ‘But?’
Miranda moistened her lips, suddenly feeling shy and hopelessly inadequate again. What a pariah he would think her. So inexperienced she didn’t know what worked for her and what didn’t. How could she tell him she hadn’t had an orgasm other than on her own? That she had found sex a bit one-sided? He would think her a prude, an unsophisticated Victorian throwback. She bet the women he dated—the Nicoles—would know exactly what worked for them and what didn’t. They would be totally comfortable with their bodies and its needs. They would know what to say and what to do. They wouldn’t be feeling gauche and stupid and useless because they had never had satisfying sex with a partner.
‘Miranda?’ Leandro prompted softly, his dark eyes holding hers.
Miranda drew her lower lip into her mouth, pressing down on it with her top one. ‘It wasn’t always good for me with Mark,’ she said at last. ‘It wasn’t his fault. We were both inexperienced. I should’ve said something earlier. But then he got sick and I just let him do what he needed.’
Leandro’s frown was a solid bar across his eyes. ‘Did you ever come with him?’
She could feel her cheeks heating up like a radiator. ‘No...’
He cupped the side of her face in one of his broad but gentle hands, his thumb moving back and forth in a slow, measured way. ‘So you’re practically a virgin,’ he said.
Miranda lowered her gaze. ‘I know you probably think that’s ridiculous...that I’m ridiculous.’
He continued to stroke her hot cheek, his gaze soft as it held hers. ‘I don’t think that at all,’ he said. ‘It’s not always easy for young women to get their needs met. Men can be insensitive and ignorant and selfish. That’s why communication is so important.’
Miranda looked into the warmth of his coal-black gaze and wondered how she was going to keep her heart secure. He was so considerate, so understanding and so deeply insightful. Hadn’t she always sensed he was a cut above other men? Why was he wasting himself on shallow relationships when he had so much to offer? He was ‘life partner’ material. The sort of man who would stand by his partner through thick and thin. He would be dependable, loyal and trustworthy. He would put his partner’s needs before his own. Like he was doing now. He was taking the time to understand her. Treating her with the utmost respect and consideration.
She put her hand against his jaw, her skin tingling at the contact of his stubble. ‘Make love to me,’ she said in a soft whisper.
He leaned down to kiss her in a lingering exchange that made her body tremble in anticipation. His hands moved over her with tenderness but with the undercurrent of passion. Excitement coursed through her from head to toe, her breathing becoming faster, more urgent, as he stoked the fire of her desire. Sensations flooded her being, showers of them, cascades of them, great, spilling fountains of them that made her feel she had been sleepwalking through life until now.
He kissed his way from her mouth to her belly button, dipping his tongue into its tiny cave before going lower. She forgot to breathe when he came to her folds. His tongue moved down the seam of her body, tracing her without separating her. Fireworks erupted under her skin at the feel of his warm breath skating over her.
He gently separated her with his fingers, waiting for her to take a steadying breath before he put his mouth to her. A host of insecurities rushed through her brain. Was she fresh enough? Was she waxed enough? Did she look normal? Was he comparing her to his other lovers?
Leandro placed his hand on her belly in a stabilising manner. ‘Relax for me, cara,’ he said. ‘Stop fretting. You’re beautiful. Perfect.’
How could he read her mind as well as her body? Miranda wondered. But then she stopped thinking altogether as he put his mouth to her again. His tongue tasted and tantalised her, stroking and caressing her into spine-loosening delight. The tension inside her body built to a breaking point. It was like climbing a mountain only to be suspended at the edge of the precipice. Hovering there. Wavering. Teetering at that one tight, breath-robbing point, every cell in her body straining, pulling and contracting until finally she was pitched into the unknown. She felt like she was exploding into a thousand tiny fragments, like a party balloon full of glitter. Waves of pleasure washed over her, through her, tossing and tumbling her until she was spinning in a whirlpool of physical rapture.