Oh, yes. Before she had time to even try to think, he reached for her face with both hands, holding her steady for an incendiary kiss, one that left them both gasping, chests heaving, bodies heated and urgent. Hers had softened; his had hardened. Their panting breaths mingled. He slid his fingers under the back of her veil, finding the pins that anchored her hair. As they rained on the floor, their lips met again. Heat welled, swelled, grew.
Her hair cascaded down her back, long strands curling on her shoulders. He kissed her long and hard, then drew back.
She tried to lean closer, to follow his lips with hers, but he closed his hands about her shoulders. "No." Even though he couldn't see, could only feel with his senses at full stretch, he knew she was dazed, wanting but not yet frantic, her wits disengaged but her senses still aware. "Not yet."
They'd only just begun.
"Sit still, and concentrate on what you feel."
She shuddered lightly, but did as he asked. He hadn't expected an argument-she was far beyond that-yet he went slowly; he had no intention of overwhelming her-not yet.
Curving his hands about her shoulders, he trailed his fingers lightly down, over the long sweeps of her arms, over her elbows and forearms, down to her wrists, then slid his fingertips along her palms, drawing them out across her fingers. Fingertip to fingertip, he held her arms out from her sides, then let them fall.
She was mesmerized; he knew that as he reached out again, and touched her breasts. They were already swollen, the peaks hard, begging for his attention. For long, heated moments he touched only with the pads of his fingers, listening as her breathing grew increasingly ragged. Then, leaning forward, he cupped one warm mound in his hand and took the peak into his mouth.
A cry died in her throat; her body arched convulsively. He suckled, one hand closing on her knee, the other lifting her flesh to his lips. When that nipple was aching and throbbing, he changed hands and tortured the other.
Her head fell back, her hair a gossamer curtain, its end brushing her hips, her bare bottom and his knees. Her spine bowed, every nerve drew taut; like the master he was, he let them tighten, and tigh
ten, until she couldn't breathe, until she quivered, as fragile as spun glass, then he released her breast and leaned back.
He sensed the huge, shaky breath she drew in. Leaving his hand on her knee, more to reassure than to hold her, he gave her only a moment of surcease, then lifted his hand again.
To her ribs, tracing the fine skin over the smooth bones, then trailing his fingertips down to her waist. Releasing her knee, he closed both hands about her waist, circling her almost completely. Splaying his fingers over the supple muscles in her back, he touched, stroked, caressed.
She eased a little; his lips curving in a smile she couldn't see, he let his hands slide to caress her derriere, then sent them smoothly gliding over her flanks. And away.
For one instant, he left her there, posed on his knees in her naked glory. Then he reached out and touched her again.
He splayed his hand over her taut stomach. She shuddered, but her spine was so rigid she only swayed slightly, then tensed even more as he gently kneaded. She caught her breath on a sob. "I-"
"Don't talk." He waited a heartbeat, then added, "Just feel."
He waited until her senses refocused, then removed his hand. Clasping her knees, he slid his hands up, fingers gliding over the long, taut muscles of her outer thighs, his thumbs grazing the quivering inner faces. At the tops of her thighs, he ran his thumbs over and up, following the creases between thigh and torso outward. Then he removed his hands again.
Again he waited, leaving her quivering expectantly in the dark. Then, with one hand, he reached out again.
And touched her between her widespread thighs.
Her breath shook; she quaked.
"Shh."
He traced the swollen folds, exposed and open to him. He suspected she hadn't realized, modestly shrouded by the dark.
She realized now; she reached out-he felt her fingers brush his sleeve.
"No. Leave your hands at your sides."
She didn't immediately obey, but as he continued to caress her, the slow, steady stroking reassured her, and she let her arms fall.
Her breathing was shallow, racing with her heart. He didn't want to speak again, to risk breaking the spell. She was hot and wet, his fingers slick with her dew. He found the tight nubbin concealed between her folds and circled it, but that wasn't his target. He waited until she'd steadied, until she'd stabilized on a narrow ledge one step away from the peak, then zeroed in.
The long slide of his finger entering her, spearing in, inexorably penetrating and filling her softness, sent her into spasm. Every muscle locked, so tight she was shivering, every fragment of awareness focused, waiting for the final touch that would shatter her.
He didn't administer it; the time was not yet. His finger buried in her sheath he held still, blocking all awareness of the heated softness that gripped him, the supple strength of her inner muscles, the hot honey that dampened his hand, the evocative scent that wreathed his brain.
Then she stabilized again, and the peak had moved away, one step further on. He knew, but doubted she did. He started to caress her again.