She plunged into his mouth, deliberately seized his senses with a scalding kiss, then broke away to take mouth, lips, and tongue on a ride of pleasuring delight over his burning skin, over his tensed muscles, flickering beneath the restraint he’d placed on them.
He hauled in a breath, held it as her fingers dallied once more at his waistband. As her mouth cruised across his chest, then commenced a leisurely descent. Slowly raising his hands, he spread them over her back, holding her lightly, tracing upward to rest on her shoulders as she wended her way down.
Until she flicked the buttons at his waistband free, in one easy stroke slid his breeches down, in the same movement sank to her knees, fitted her mouth over him, and smoothly took him in.
He nearly expired. For one finite instant, his heart stood still, then bolted. Raced as she experimented, hurdled when she bent to her self-appointed task of pleasuring him witless.
His hands had risen, without direction had fisted in her hair. His fingers tightened as she drew him deeper still; he realized he could no longer breathe. Eyes closed, he clung to the only thing she’d left him—sensation—and felt every last scintilla of her devotion as she licked, stroked, sucked, his existence reduced to the hot wetness of her mouth, to the scope of her will as she caressed him.
He’d had no idea she would even think of it, of pandering to his senses, his passions in such an overtly immodest way. In such a blatantly wanton way. Battling to mute the groan she drew from him, he wondered if she’d guessed what her being wanton, so utterly abandoned, did to him.
It was more than torture to stand still and force himself simply to accept all she pressed on him, to look down at her pale head moving against him, her flaxen locks spreading and tangling, catching as she worked, and not respond, not grasp, seize, and demand more.
Simply to receive.
To not have to issue any demands at all, but to have many of the wanton thoughts he’d indulged over the years brought to life. To have caresses he’d dreamed of lavished upon him.
Because she wished to.
The thought very nearly brought him—and her—undone. He endured for ten heartbeats, then, gasping, sensually reeling for the first time in more years than he could count, he guided his hands to her face, slid his thumb into her mouth, and withdrew his erection from that gloriously wet haven. “No more.”
The words were so gravelly Penny could barely make them out, but through her hands on his thighs she sensed the tension in him—more than she recalled evoking in him before—and knew enough to heed it. But she’d learned enough for now; the maids she’d overheard whispering hadn’t been wrong.
Rocking back on her heels, she rose, trailing her hand up as she did, closing it around his jutting length. With her other hand, she prodded his chest. “Sit on the bed.”
His eyes met hers; she glimpsed the predator in him, but he complied. Obligingly, he sat back. She followed, clambering up, setting one knee on either side of his hips, straddling him. Then she locked her eyes with his. One hand on his shoulder for balance, the other wrapped about his erection, she slowly, deliberately, entirely at her own discretion, impaled herself on him.
And he let her.
She felt the effort it cost him, saw how clenched his jaw was, saw his lids drift down in surrender as she sank fully down, her softness sheathing his hardness, her body sliding down his to finally come to rest breasts to chest. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she set her lips to his, slid into his mouth, danced her tongue over his, then started to move upon him.
A dance of a different sort.
It wasn’t the same as when he’d lain flat; although she experimented, she couldn’t find quite the right angle…
Desire had already burgeoned within her; she needed more, soon.
Drawing back from the kiss, dragging in a gasping breath, she clung and pressed closer; her head beside his brought their bodies even tighter against each other, but no…
“This”—she had to haul in another breath—“isn’t quite right.” She whispered the words beside his ear. Dragged in another breath. “Is it?”
She felt rather than heard a chuckle that came out more like a groan.
“You saw this in some book, didn’t you?”
She bit his earlobe—hard. “How else?”
“You’re too tall—there’s a better way for us.”
She licked the spot she’d bitten. Purred, “How?”
His hands, until then loose across her back, slid down to grip her bottom. He held her to him as he shifted, swinging his legs up, holding her against him as he came to his knees, then sank back to sit on his ankles.
Resettling her over him, straddling his hips, he resettled himself within her. Brushed back the veil of her hair and met her eyes. “How’s that?”
Her hands on his shoulders, she rose up, then slowly sank down. Her knees and thighs now at a different angle, she had much better purchase on the bed. Their bodies entire seemed much better aligned, at least for their present purpose. Sliding her hands up, she framed his face, smiled her answer—and kissed him.
Let go all restraint and gave herself over to the now driving need to love him, to meet him on the physical plane, match him and experience all that together they might know. That together they could share.