The whispered words sighed through her. She moved her feet, then, as she felt him reach between her thighs, she curled one ankle around his booted calf; that gave her better balance.
"Yes." The encouragement came with another kiss. She ran her hands, trapped between them, up over his chest, his shoulders, and clasped them at his nape. Her breasts tingled, abraded by his hair-roughened chest; exquisitely sensitive, they felt hot and tight. The kiss ended and he laid his cheek against hers; she glimpsed his face, eyes closed, expression blank.
She rested her head on his chest and gave herself up-to him, to the thrills of sensation his fingers pressed on her, to the desire that beat about them, strong and growing stronger.
He held it back-held her anchored, safe from being taken and consumed too soon. She wanted to know, to learn, to experience desire in its full glory, so he reined himself in, and reined her in, too, so she could feel and know all that was, and anticipate all that would be.
He'd touched her before as he was touching her now, yet only now did she fully realize, fully feel, the true intimacy. The slickness of her flesh, its swollen state, the growing sense of aching emptiness-these had happened before, yet only now did she appreciate them.
"Desire," she breathed; it wasn't a question.
She lifted her head and looked into his face. She stretched up and kissed him. Brief, hungry. Their lips parted. She leaned her forehead against his jaw, and he slid one finger slowly into her.
She closed her eyes and felt her body tighten, clasping him within her. Her eyes opened and she relaxed, then he stroked. His lips brushed her temple. "You do that when I enter you."
He continued to stroke slowly, then withdrew and explored, only to return to slide within her again. Whether he was learning her or teaching her, she wasn't sure, but she felt every touch, every circling glide.
Heat fell from them in waves; desire rode the tide. She could feel it all around them, a welling sea rising to swamp them. It beat in her blood and his, in an increasingly compulsive tattoo.
It was she who lifted her head and breathed, "Now."
From beneath heavy lids, he looked at her face, then met her eyes. His were so drowning a dark blue they seemed black. His fingers didn't cease their slow, repetitive motion. "Can you think enough?"
For a moment, she was lost, then she remembered. She drew in a short, tight breath and nodded. Tracing one hand slowly down his chest, she felt at his waist, then slipped the buttons free.
Hot, iron-hard, he filled her hand. She closed her fingers slowly, then slid them down, then up, marveling anew at the contrast of velvety softness encasing rigid strength. She ran her finger around, then over, the broad head.
His breath shivered by her ear. Fingers closing, she looked up; eyes shut, his expression was tight, fraught.
"Does that hurt?"
"No."
Smiling, she looked down and closed her hand again.
He bore with her torture for only a minute more.
"Enough." His hands left her, then gripped her hips. He lifted her and balanced her on the edge of the sofa table.
She grabbed his shoulders; she wasn't far enough back to sit securely. Wild panic gripped her-exhilaration and anticipation raced through her. But she didn't want to lose her wits-not yet. There was more she'd yet to see, more she'd yet to appreciate. She wanted it all-every moment. She sucked in a
breath. "How?"
Her question snapped his attention back to her face; he met her gaze-in his eyes she saw the fight he waged to releash his need, to bring it back under control. He paused, then drew in a long breath and nodded. "Wait."
Fingers sinking into his shoulders, she did.
He lifted her skirts and chemise, pushing them back, catching them under her so they pulled tight across her hips and stomach. She looked down and blushed; the dark locks below her stomach curled wildly, a soft nest between her bare thighs. Her stockings were gartered just above her knees; hands closing on the bare skin above her garters, he eased her thighs wide and stepped between. He'd loosened his breeches, releasing himself fully.
She ran her hand down, fingers trailing the length of his chest, then down still farther, until she coiled her fingers around his length. He caught her wrist and moved her hand away. He grasped her hips, drew her right to the table's edge, then held her there.
He stepped closer and she caught her breath.
"Watch."
She did.
Lucifer watched her, watched the total absorption in her face as he pressed against her soft flesh. He found her entrance, and let her feel the pressure build before, with a gentle nudge, he slipped inside. Only a fraction. Just enough for her to catch her breath, then shudder and tense. He waited, expecting her to relax again. Then he realized.