His lips, his tongue, teased hers, then he lifted his head and brushed a kiss to her temple.
Whispered in the heated dark, “I want to see y
ou. Touch you.”
He drew back just enough to catch her eyes. His were dark pools, compellingly intent.
His strength surrounded her, caged her; his hands stroked her bare skin. She felt them slide to her sides, then tense to press her gown and chemise lower.
“Let me.”
Command and question both. She breathed slowly out, infinitesimally nodded.
He pushed her gown down. Once past the swell of her hips, both gown and chemise fell of their own accord.
The soft silken swoosh was audible in the room.
Darkness had closed in, yet enough light still lingered. Enough for her to study his face as he looked down, as, still holding her within the circle of one arm, with his other hand he traced from her breast to her waist, to her hip, flaring outward, then inward across her upper thigh.
“You are so beautiful.”
The words fell from his lips; he didn’t even seem to notice, as if he hadn’t consciously said them. His features were set, the harsh planes austere, his lips a hard line. There was no softness in his face, no hint of his charm.
All lingering reservations of the rightness of her actions were cindered in that moment. Turned to ashes by the stark emotion in his face.
She didn’t know enough to name it, but whatever that emotion was it was what she wanted, what she needed. She’d lived her life longing to be looked at by a man in just such a way, as if she were more precious, more desirable than his soul.
As if he’d willingly trade his soul for what she knew would happen next.
She reached for him as he reached for her.
Their lips met, and the flames roared.
She would have been frightened if he hadn’t been there, solid and real for her to hold on to, her anchor in the maelstrom that swirled through them, around them.
His hands slid down and around, closed over her bare bottom; he kneaded, and heat raced across her skin. Fever followed, a hot urgent ache that swelled and grew as he evocatively plundered her mouth, as he held her close, lifted her hips against him, and suggestively molded her softness to the rigid line of his erection.
She moaned, hot, hungry and wanting.
Wanton. Eager. Determined.
He hoisted her higher; instinctively she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, her long legs about his hips.
Their kiss turned incendiary.
He broke from it only to demand, “Come. Lie with me.”
She answered with a scorching kiss.
Tristan carried her to the side of the bed, and tumbled them both onto it. They bounced, and he angled over her, pressing her down, wedging one leg between hers.
Their lips locked, melded. He sank into the kiss, letting his wandering senses luxuriate in the heavenly delight of having her under him, naked and wanting. Some primitive, wholly male part of his soul rejoiced.
Wanted more.
He let his hands roam, shaping her breasts, then sliding lower, caressing her hips, then pressing beneath to cup her bottom and squeeze. He nudged her thighs wider, freed one hand, and placed it on her stomach.
Felt the feminine muscles beneath his palm jump, contract.