Worshipped.
The thought floated through her mind as his fingers gently trailed her cheek. The touch was as wondering as hers had ever been; she suddenly understood how he had known it had been she who had touched him in Horatio's drawing room. She'd never forget his touch, either-it was such a revealing, oddly innocent, gesture.
His fingers drifted lower and he framed her jaw, his tongue surging boldly. Not innocent at all. She met him, knowing now what he wanted, what he liked. A dangerous knowing-so tempting to use it, to learn a little more. Her hands lay passive against his chest-she pushed them up, over his shoulders, fingers spreading over the powerful muscles, then sliding further to tangle in his hair.
It was soft, silky, black as a night sky. She sank her fingers into the thick locks, holding tight as he slowly, unhurriedly, plundered her mouth, taking, certainly, but giving more.
Addictive. Another word that drifted through her mind. It had to be that-the sweetest craving-that held her to the kiss even when he released her jaw.
Forbidden-he was surely that. She shouldn't be kissing him at all, yet the idea of stopping seemed totally foolish, something she never was. His fingers trailed, just the tips tracing tantalizingly down her throat, tightening nerves she hadn't known she possessed. His fingers trailed on, lower; flames followed, heat spread.
Her breast was swollen long before he touched it; once he had, she didn't want him to stop. His touch was light, excruciatingly insubstantial-she wanted more, much more.
Experienced-thank heavens he was that. His hand settled, hard palm cupping the weight of her breast. Delight was all she felt as his fingers firmed, then eased. His hand shifted, caressed. She sighed into their kiss and sensed his satisfaction, felt the hand at her back firm.
The kiss grew more demanding, a fire that needed tending. She gave it her full attention, only dimly aware when the warmth of his hand about her breast slid away.
Need was growing within her, but for what she didn't know. The compulsion was not one she recognized. Then she felt the top button of her bodice give, and knew. A thrill of pure excitement raced through her. That was what she needed-a scandalous need, assuredly, yet… her breasts were swollen, aching with the heat of their kiss. Her wits were awash on the swelling tide that lapped about them. A languorous thing, it whispered promises of things she'd never known, of pleasure beyond imagining.
The touch of cool air on her breasts, the light tracing of his fingers as he brushed her bodice wide, drew her from the mesmerizing warmth of their kiss. She should stop him, she knew it, yet… she couldn't recall why. There was no threat, no danger-he'd told her to trust him and she did. If she wanted this to end, wanted to bring the simple pleasure to a halt, she only had to say.
She didn't say-she had no reason to. She wanted to know, to feel, to be touched and savored. Just once to be a woman desired.
He gave her what she wanted, that and much more.
She hadn't known that his lips would feel like that, there. That the hot wetness of his mouth could scald her so and rip her wits away. Hadn't known that her body could grow so hot and heavy, so wanton with desire.
It was desire that thrummed through her, that pounded in her blood, that rose to every touch, every tantalizing caress. His lightest touch was sharp delight; more explicit caresses left her senses reeling. Heated pleasure was what he conjured; purposely, he wrapped her in it, pressed it upon her, and let it sink into her.
Until she was filled with it, until her mind rode on the warm waves and her body was melting.
His lips returned to hers, and she welcomed him back. His hand closed possessively about her naked breast and her body sang.
He drew back from the kiss, just enough to look down at her. He studied his hand, firm and still about her breast; her flesh filled and heated even more. His gaze lifted to rove her face, her eyes. He glanced past her.
His gaze steadied, fixed beyond her. Then he blinked; she saw his eyes widen and alter focus, saw his features harden. She felt the changing tension in his body.
Lucifer looked back at her-and tried to think. Tried to breathe past the tightness in his chest. She lay relaxed in his arms, her nipple furled between his fingers, her skin hot silk against his palm. He felt dazed. Rational thought had left him long ago; desire rode him-potent temptation flicked a whip.
He knew what he wanted, the need sharp as spurs, as clamorous as any demon.
A tempest was bearing down on them, racing over the sea, piling thunderheads before it, yet looking into her eyes, drowning dark beneath heavy lids, with her body supple and heated in his arms, he wasn't sure in which direction danger lay.
It had been a long, long time since he'd surrendered so completely that he'd lost all sense of self-protection.
Stifling a curse, he bent his head and kissed her, passion-deep, fire-hot. He closed his hand over her breast, fingers kneading, tightening… then easing. He drew back-from the kiss, from the caress, his fingers reluctantly leaving her. He brushed a last kiss to her lips as he drew her bodice closed.
Her eyes blinked wide, revealing surprise… disappointment.
Features setting grimly, he nodded out to sea. "There's a storm blowing in-we have to go back."
Chapter 9
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Late the next morning, Lucifer tramped through the wood behind the Manor and tried not to think about the previous day. He'd told Phyllida the truth; they'd had to go back, to retreat. He'd gone charging into unchartered terrain, far too fast for her, and much too fast for him.
Thank God for storms.