She responded, more than willing. It seemed very right that she should thank him this way, that she should give and appease the hunger she sensed in him, that elusive desire she exulted in evoking, equally exulted in sating.
As far as she dared.
The warning sounded in her mind—there could not be that many milestones left in the long road they’d agreed to travel. All but instantly, that small voice of caution was drowned out by the memory of his assurance that instead they would dally longer, more intensely, more intimately at every stage.
His mouth feasted on hers; his hands roamed, pleasuring her while feasting on her curves. He molded her to him, explicitly rocked the hard ridge of his erection against her.
Heat erupted inside her, spread through her veins, suffused beneath her skin. Raising her hands, she framed his face, then ran her fingers back, spearing them through his hair. She opened her mouth wider beneath his, with her tongue boldly taunted, deliberately incited him to take, and take more. Never had she felt so alive, so blatantly desirable.
So wanted.
They were standing locked together in her family’s parlor; she was sure he wouldn’t forget. Felt sure she could leave the decision on what was appropriate to him.
She knew, in her heart, in her soul, that he wouldn’t let her down.
Tony had no intention of doing so, yet the demands of the moment were many. A wild and primitive emotion was burgeoning within him; he didn’t recognize it, but he knew what it demanded.
Her. Not just her giving but his taking. A claiming, yet… this, he accepted, was neither the time nor place.
Not yet, not here. Soon, yes, but tonight…
He didn’t question the instincts that told him what to do; he’d been their captive for too many years. Experience analyzed, instructed, informed; he fell in with its directives.
Breaking from the kiss, he murmured, unsurprised his tone was low, almost harsh, “Jenkins?”
Courtesy of their kisses, she was close to breathless. “Upstairs. He locks up the front of the house early, all except the front door.”
Thank God. He kissed her again, ravenously, arms locking her against him, lifting her as he backed her toward the chaise. Stopping before it, he lifted his head and let her slide down until her feet touched the floor. “So we’re alone?”
“Um-hmm.” Her hand pressed under his collar and curled around his nape; she lifted her lips to his.
“Good.” He took them, kissed her hungrily, in no way disguising his need. She met him, flagrantly urged him on—didn’t so much as catch her breath when he eased her gown over her shoulders, then pushed it down to pool about her feet.
Still he held her to the kiss. Shifting to trap her between the chaise and him, he closed his hands about her breasts. Through the fine silk of her chemise, he teased the sensitive mounds, stroked and kneaded until they were full, until her breathing was tight, threatening to fracture.
Swiftly, he undid the ribbon ties and eased the fine fabric down; it fell in folds about her waist. Deciding his control didn’t need further strain, he left the flimsy garment there. It was so fine, it was barely a sop to modesty, but having her completely naked on the chaise beneath him might be that one step too far.
At the first touch of his hands on her bare breasts, she murmured incoherently, the words trapped between their lips, and pressed closer.
He held her, for long moments simply savored the sensations—of her mouth freely offered, all his, of her tongue slowly tangling, caressing his, of the way she softened as he explored, claiming at will, then artfully stoking her fires. A deep pleasure coursed through him, part victory, part desire, at the tactile confirmation his hands reported; he had her in his arms all but naked, her breasts bare, pressed to his chest, her hips, the cradle in which he ached to lie, screened by nothing more than a thin barrier of silk.
Now she was his, it was time to feast.
His hands shifted over her body, then he lifted her, knelt on the chaise and laid her on the damask, following her down so their lips didn’t part, settling beside her, his longer, harder frame trapping hers on the cushions. One hand rising to cradle her face, he plunged once more into her mouth.
Plunged them both back into the building flames.
Alicia went willingly
, eager to know, to experience whatever and wherever he led. She knew it was dangerous, yet when he finally lifted his head and released her lips, and she struggled to breathe, to fill her starved lungs, there was no thought in her mind of drawing back.
Not when he looked at her with desire, hot and glowing, behind his black eyes. His gaze had dropped to her breasts; they were swollen and aching. Nerves tightening, she waited for his touch, waited for the burning delight of his mouth, for the sharp, addictive pleasure.
His gaze flicked up to meet hers, briefly locked, then his lips curved, knowing and sure. He looked down, bent his head, and gave her all she’d wanted, all her tight nerves craved, the intoxicating play of lips and tongue, the hot, wet suction of his mouth.
He orchestrated the whole until her gasps filled the room, until her fingers were clenched on his skull, her body bowing under the hand he’d splayed across her midriff.
A deep rumble of satisfaction reached her; he shifted lower, leaning over her. One hand still massaged her breasts, stroking, tweaking, caressing as his lips trailed down between, down over the centerline of her body. With one finger he drew the silk folds of her chemise aside, so he could continue his line of openmouthed kisses to her navel.