“Have you, darlin’? I didn’t think so. But please, just a bite. Annamae will be hurt if I return with it untasted.”
He unwrapped the napkin to reveal sugar-dipped slices of jelly roll. Breaking off a piece, he offered her a taste. Eden laughed when the sugar clung to her lips and slowly gathered it up on his fingertip and offered it to her.
“The sweetest bit for last.”
His compelling voice was soft, and Dara hesitated. Then, with a shaken tremor rippling her body, she leaned forward. With the dainty tip of her tongue she slowly licked the rough grains from his finger. Her eyes were closed, and even in her innocence she knew she caused his breath to hiss sharply through his teeth. Pleased, she opened her eyes, smiling up at him as he removed the plate from her lap, his forward move bringing his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. Dara felt herself drift backward, Eden’s leg no longer offering support, but just as his mouth brushed hers, the press of her bustle dug deep, and she lurched to one side.
“Good Lord, woman,” he managed to say, restraint tested fully in his voice, “what was the damnable cause of that?”
“My bustle, Eden,” she whispered, kneeling beside him.
He sat back, leaning his forehead against his spread fingers. “May I inquire,” he asked after several tense minutes, “why the item in question caused you no discomfort in attaining this same position last week?”
His reminder flashed a picture of her wanton sprawl beneath him, and in a prim voice she informed him, “It was a diminished one.”
Eden lowered his hand. “Love, the only thing that is being diminished here is my self-esteem.”
His expression was droll, and Dara relaxed, smiled, and then softly laughed.
“We can,” he suggested indulgently, “solve the problem in another manner.” He lifted her hand to his chest, the move tumbling her off balance as he reclined backward, and Dara found herself shifted a bit, settled upon him, and gently ensnared. “There, love, much better.”
“Eden,” she asked, freeing herself of the tangled waves of her hair, “do you intend to seduce me?”
His smile appeared spiced with earthly pleasures, and his eyes brightened. “Does the notion hold some appeal?”
His fingers threaded her hair, tucking it back behind her ears, and Dara, resting her chin upon her folded hands that longed to sculpt his chest, thoughtfully studied his features. His eyes drifted closed, the lashes thick, his mouth relaxed, and Dara believed him more than handsome in a uniquely masculine way, and a blend of hot yearning made her answer him.
“The notion,” she whispered, “holds more than appeal, but if the option is mine, I’m afraid I must decline.”
His hands caressed her back in a soothing manner, settling on her waist to lift her a bit higher. His smile deepened with male satisfaction to feel her quick little breaths spread over his lips. “Love, I don’t think I can offer you the choice of options,” he noted with tender regret. “You see,” he added in a rich sensuous voice, “I’ve quite run out of patience.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Is there nothing that will bring it back?” His brilliant eyes met hers. Beneath her palms Dara could feel the heat of his skin under his linen shirt, and with an unconscious kneading motion, she parted the cloth to reveal the taut muscle of his chest, the rich dark hair drawing her avid and most curious gaze. Her fingertip brushed against it, his steady heart rhythm abruptly changed tempo, and the game ceased.
“No, little saint.” His hand molded her to his long body, and with a hard, flat-palmed caress, he traced the unwieldy shape of her bustle to find the softer curve of her buttocks. Sloping his hand beneath, he lifted, then settled her firmly aligned with his hips.
Dara ached with unexplored needs, feeling the hardness of him pressed against her belly. He had teased her that layers of cloth would offer no protection, and she knew he was right. There was a heat between them that spread without aid.
His lips moved gently to hers, his kiss spare, before moving to her throat, her ear, delicately feathering breaths across her flushed cheek. “Love,” he murmured, seeking her mouth as it opened to him with a sigh of pleasure, “move with me.” And Dara did, willing to be dragged into his kiss as his hand left its courtship of her hip, gathered up the length of her hair in a gentle fist, guiding her head back against his shoulder. With unhurried leisure he kissed her, sliding his hand between the drape fold of her blousewaist, searching out the tiny pearl buttons. His fingers deftly began to engage in his own fantasy, every slow plunging thrust of his tongue into the wine-tinted flavor of her mouth aided his patience when he realized there were more than twenty to be undone. And he had discovered, soothing the urgent little moans she gave, that she was indeed wearing the damnable corset!
“Did you believe, little saint,” he asked, his enticing gaze studying the flushed cream of her skin, “that a full complement of fashion’s armor would aid in your defense?”
Dara lifted her eyes to his. Withdrawing from his tongue’s caress, she rubbed his lower lip with her fingertip. “I only hoped you would not deliberately seduce me, Eden. I don’t know how to fight you otherwise.”
“Must you think in terms of fighting, love? And while your charming admission unmans me, didn’t you know what your acceptance to come today could lead to?”
Innate honestly forced her reply. “I knew.”
Brushing a wayward curl from her temple,” he trailed the back of his hand down her flushed cheek. “Didn’t you realize, little saint, that if seduction is not deliberate, the matter becomes something else entirely?” His gaze held hers, and Eden, to his surprise, found he had a great deal of patience left. “The something else might not hold as much appeal to your delicate sensibilities.” Cupping her chin, he urged it closer. “We won’t go into details. Give me your mouth, love, and we’ll see which you prefer.”
He made no move to kiss her, but Dara, newly awakened sensuality sinking tiny claws inside her, wanted it. She lifted her mouth to his, losing herself in the dark magic of his lips, twisting her fingers into the lush thickness of his hair, her body languidly following the pagan thrust and retreat of his. Every soft press of cloth layers tantalized the need that built inside her.
Eden gently rolled her onto her side, his mouth offering her every heated pleasure he knew. The light skimming thrust of his knee, a barely noticed intrusion that spread a froth of virginal laced-edged petticoats aside, slid between her legs. Under the richly warmed caress of his hand, the soft fold of her blousewaist draped in wanton allure over the silk bareness of one shoulder, drawing his lips to taste this newly revealed treasure. And while he bathed and then sipped his fill of desire-induced mist from her skin, Dara found her innocent exploration of his nape could bring a tremble from him.
With whispered adoration for the tenderness he displayed, she asked, “Is this deliberate seduction, Eden?”
“Yes, love,” he murmured, “yes.”
“I don’t want to know the other,” she breathed through kiss-damp lips before he sought to claim them.
“I’ll show you a man’s passion, love.” Aching hunger drove him back to the sweeter taste of her mouth, savoring its turn to an innocent sensuality that twisted her body restlessly against him. A stroke of his fingertips lowered the sleeve to her wrist, where tiny buttons snagged its decent. And while he swore at fashion’s dictates, his lips skimmed the silken warmth of lavender-scented skin above her demurely cut camisole.
For Dara the tiny quivers of desire began deep down and ended with a rippling shudder. “Eden.” She lifted delicately shadowed lids to stare at the rich blackness of his hair, which stroked her bared throat with every fervent kiss he bestowed. “Please … please give me—”
“Oh, love,” he whispered, stroking her side, “I have so much I want to give you.” His hand cupped the soft unfettered rise of her lushly full breast, his mouth quick to drink her startled cry, and when she answered his kiss with a wildness born of p
assion, he released her lips. “Watch, love, watch what I can give you.” His touch was almost reverent, his thumb caressing the dark rose peak, and she closed her eyes as he finessed the crest into pouting hardness. “No, Dara, don’t close them. Watch me love you.” Her lashes fluttered, but she looked to see his long, lean fingers, dark against the pure sheer white cloth. The too-new eroticism had her betraying blood rush to fill sensitive skin, and she couldn’t draw a spare breath. “It’s choices and options, love. What will you have? More?” he inquired, his voice deep and rich with the desire that thickened it, gently rubbing the peak between his fingers. When her eyes drifted closed, and her body arched into him with erotic grace, he murmured, “I could show you another pleasure.” He nestled her breast’s softness within his palm, rolling his lips over the nipple, tenderly stroking it with his tongue, bathing the sheer cloth. “Shall we try it and see, just to be fair?” He coaxed the exquisite peak with his tongue, tracing a silky pattern that wanned and aroused, feeling the strain of controlling the desire to be buried deep inside her.
Dara heard her own soft moans. Pressing his shoulders, her fingers found the strength of his body all she had to anchor her dizzy ascent into Eden’s pleasure-rich world of passion. Her body was not her own to govern, but his, yet no protest formed on lips eager to test the tautness of his neck. She didn’t know his taste, but learned it with an eagerness that brought his body hard against her. His knee rode the quivering length of her inner thigh in tender splendor. The cloth of his pants, dark and heavy as the need that spiraled through him, rubbed against the fragile delicacy of cambric that sheathed her legs. Dara wanted the freedom to breathe. She felt full, swollen with a strange heaviness that drew her blood to the peak suckled within his mouth.
Her cry held a hint of pain, his murmurs were soft and his fingers quick to unhook the waistband of her skirt, drawing her closer. “Tell me, love, I’ll make it better.” She whispered in a fretful voice the shamed admission that the corset was a damnable nuisance. His laugh was rich with his own need to ease the hardened tension of his body, but he sensed a deeper distress. “Look at me, love. It’s time for choices and options. We could, if you like, continue as we are, although,” he noted with a decided edge to his voice, “I can’t offer a guarantee for how long. I want you, love, but if you choose, we can stop now.”
She looked up at him, at his eyes, the sheen of desire for her brightening them, at his lips, those finely molded lips that had taught her what sensual promise they offered and the passion that sharpened his features. She thought of the dreams that plagued her nights, of the lover who would teach her passion. The past stretched its lonely years behind her, the future, beyond this time with Eden, she could not see. A tender feeling that she knew could grow into love spread within her. He claimed no patience, he claimed his seduction was deliberate, yet he offered her the choice. A hectic color spread over his cheekbones, and she smoothed his brow with her fingertip, drifting down to touch his throat and stroke his chest. His hand caught hers, his eyes demanding an answer.
“You said I would never doubt that you wanted me. I don’t.” Her voice was husky, her gaze imploring. “You promised you would never need to see the longing in my eyes because you would feel it.” She drew his head down with one hand, breathing the last against his lips. “Look at me. Can you really stop?”
His kiss came in answer, and the desire she had for some word of love dissolved under the demand of greedy, sharp-set passion. Twining closer, hampered by the still-fastened cuffs of her blouse, her tongue explored the dark wine-tanged essence beyond his lips. He taught her new rules to the love game they played, dueling with her tongue until she became the aggressor and his eyes darkened. He opened the bow to her lacing, rubbing his hand against the satin that hid a richer silk from his touch. With infinite care he slid the white cotton tape from each eyelet, and Dara buried the thought of his skill, refusing to be displaced from the shimmering new world he revealed. He lifted the corset free and carelessly tossed it aside. His lips teased her nipples with feather brushstrokes that left the sheer cloth clinging, and his breaths, warm, brought them to aching. There was a decided impatience in his working free the tapes that held her bustle in place, and he knew, with every hot, open kiss he scattered over her face, that he tore more than a few of them until it joined the growing array of discarded feminine apparel.
Dara dragged humid air redolent with an earthy lushness into lungs that found ease for a moment. She couldn’t breathe when he encircled her waist, his fingers splayed wide, then higher, spilling the curves of her breasts over the camisole top. He gently massaged her through the thin lawn cloth, introducing her to a new shocked intimacy when he raised her to his mouth, and with a man’s passion riding rein, showed her the pleasure she brought him with every love bite and tender suckling that brought heated fluids to pump and swell her body.
“Eden,” she pleaded, “help me.” Lifting her wrists, she offered for his inspection the cuffs that bound her, the soft drape of lavender cloth a chain between them.
“Tell me, love.” His smile became a deep male promise, his gaze hidden by the fall of his lashes, and he rolled her onto her back. He leaned over her, studying the way the sunlight played over her delicately flushed features, the way the dark sheened thickness of her hair tumbled in wild abandon across one shoulder, and his lips couldn’t resist pressing a kiss on the pristine white strap that appeared. He lifted the mink dark mass slowly, arranging it with a connoisseur’s attention to detail above her head and gazed into her luminous eyes. “So beautiful, love.” He captured her hands, raising them to his lips, and then gently nestled each one on either side of her head. Eden raised the shimmer of lavender cloth above her head, creating a veil drape against the darkness of her hair.
“I believe I found a wild orchid, all lavender, cream, and”—he paused, his breath arrhythmic, as he slowly lowered his body over hers—“the softest of velvet.” He kissed her with a caressing intensity that left her molten, for she could withhold nothing of herself from him. While visions of charming games such gentle restraint suggested crossed his mind, Eden freed her of those cuffs, finding that her eager, if innocent, participation, heightened his jaded senses without aids.
Dara absorbed the weight of his body, her own body filled with a restless need that was teased by his. Her skirt was tangled about her hips, and she had a fleeting moment’s regret for the deliberate use of all she could find that would yet keep her from knowing his possession.
When his kisses had brought her to another shimmering peak, he carried the weight of his body on his arms, lifting his head. “Love, I want to see all of you.” With soft, sensuous anticipation he added, “Help me or I’m afraid we’ll end up frolicking like puppies.” Her smile came slowly, but he had eased the tension he sensed was building too quickly. He rolled to his side and stood, lifting her up beside him, taking her weight against him when she couldn’t stand.
Dara was willing to surrender to his greater experience in these matters, allowing him to slide first her skirt and then one petticoat into a billowing cloud at her feet, but shyness along with virginal fear prompted her to ask, “Must you see … all of me?”
“Oh, love,” he said, burying his face against her hair, bidding the laugh that rose to silence. “Would you care to offer a suggestion as to what I may see?”
The question shocked her. “No self-respecting woman with any morals would answer that.”
“Making love is not a passive experience, darlin’. I want to please you as well as myself.”
She snuggled against him, blushing furiously at the frankness of his talk, and yet, curiously, his very willingness to do so eased her fear. “Goodness, Eden, I don’t know.” She mumbled against his shirt. “You’re the expert.”
“How kind of you to say so. Shall we then,” he asked in a wicked tone, “play out a proper wedding night? We could, if you feel inclined, hide beneath the quilt, grope about, and see what results.”
His offer was indulgent as he caressed the trembling length of her back. Eden waited, the powerful desire he experienced tempered by the strength of tenderness he felt for her.
“That sounds horrid.”
“I’ve always believed it a barbaric custom to keep a young woman ignorant of what to expect. We will go as slowly as you like.” He brushed aside her hair, kissed her bared throat, and when he judged the tension eased to be replaced by the desire momentarily stilled, he added, “Don’t be shy, love. Tell me. I’m very open to suggestions. We’ll begin with you helping me to finish unbuttoning my shirt.” Her throat pulse beat beneath his lips, and he engaged his mouth to test its rhythm for long minutes until she softened her body against him.
Dara squeezed her eyes closed. Everywhere they touched was stirred and soothed. “Eden, must I?”
“It adds,” he explained, lifting her hair to place dainty kisses over her shoulder, “another pleasurable dimension…” Her fingers timidly stroked his chest, and his eyes drifted closed as her lips scattered kisses over his skin. Cradling the delicate bones of her rib cage, he guided her into a slow abrasive dance, rubbing her breasts against his chest, smiling to feel her tentative move to unbutton the rest of his shirt. She stopped at the barrier of his belt and Eden wisely didn’t pursue the matter. “See love, we’ll share … all there is.” With a deft move the last two cotton froths drifted down, and he lifted her free of them, caressing her hips as he knelt before her.
Dara shivered and braced her hands on his broad shoulders, as Eden, with soft murmur words of praise, rid her of ankle-high button shoes and dainty lace garters. He kissed at random the pale skin of her legs, rolling down stockings, so that after minutes, she stood, barefoot and slender, swaying against the press of his lips. Expert fingers massaged her calves, easing the tension, and she drew a soft, shuddering gasp as he grazed her thighs, all the while telling her how beautiful she was to him. No wine of any vintage was as intoxicating as the sweetly heated scent of her, and he palmed the swell of her buttocks, cupping them to bring her against his mouth. Beribboned drawers slid down her hips, caught between silky curls and the heat of his kiss.
Silver Mist Page 20
