by Jillian Hart
"I've never had a man touch my bosom either." She matched his humor with some of her own. "I like it."
"This isn't touching them." Both amusement and a promise rang in his voice. "In a few minutes, I'll show you touching."
"Ooh, that's a promise I'm going to make sure you keep." She trembled as another button released, followed by another. Her entire body felt ready to melt, as if her bones were giving away. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No," he answered, swallowing the chuckle that rose up, the one that he wasn't sure was from happiness or from a sense of impending doom. Then again, maybe it was from all the scotch. He tugged the last button free at her waist, and the calico fabric sagged open, offering him a tantalizing view of her cotton covered breasts. "This is supposed to be serious. No laughing."
"Then are we doing it wrong?" she asked, her dark gaze searching his, innocent, unaware of the feelings coursing through him like a flash flood, impossible to hold back.
"Yes," he rasped, nearly beyond all self-control. He could hardly see her in the shadows, in the dark, orange-tinted light from the fireplace. What he needed was to get her on that carpet, where he could see her, see everything. Nothing else mattered. Just her. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her collarbone, tasting her satin skin. When she moaned, it moved straight through him, tightened his groin, swelled his already hard shaft. "No laughing is allowed unless I say so."
"Oh, I thought I was in charge here." Teasing, sweet as spun sugar, she caught hold of his shirt collar and released button after button. Every button. "What's fair is fair."
"I can see how this is going to go." A smile quirked the corner of his mouth, lit places that had gone dark within him. He moved in to brush the fabric off her shoulders, exposing creamy skin he had to kiss. He had to. He couldn’t stop now if he tried. Her arms were bare and he caught the straps of her chemise, pushed those down too until he could see the plush fullness of her breasts resting in her corset. He tugged at the laces, loosening them.
"It's been a while," he confessed. "A long while. I'm out of practice. I used to be able to get these off with a few good tugs."
"Oh, so you weren't always this irritable around women." She laughed at that.
"No," he agreed about his attitude toward women. "And I'm not irritable."
"Of course not. Sorry." Light, that voice, teasing. But beneath it hid a layer of warmth, of affection, that undid him.
Her fingertips skimmed down his bare chest, her fingernails sensual against his swirl of hair. His nipples tightened, and goose bumps traveled across his skin.
With one final tug, her corset fell away, revealing lush, full breasts so perfect, he moaned. He wanted her, he wanted to touch her and show her how good he could make her feel.
His throat tightened, a lump growing there, right beneath his Adam's apple as she quietly shimmied the folds of her dress and chemise down her hips, taking her drawers with them. Beautifully naked and unashamed, she gazed up at him through her thick lashes, an unspoken plea in her eyes.
"Make me feel wanted," she whispered, as if afraid he would say no and reject her, as if afraid he was hesitating because he didn't want to touch her. "Please."
The lump in his throat grew another notch—unfortunately right along with his manhood straining uncomfortably in his trousers. He felt the iron wall surrounding his heart melting away, remembering her confession to him. How the men in her hometown thought she was past her prime and undesirable. It killed him.
"You are so desirable." He kissed her hard, wanted to possess her, needing it with every wild beat of his heart. He kissed her with all the power and might he had in him—and all the tenderness. "I've never wanted anything more in my life than you. Not anything. Ever."
The tears in her eyes were all the answer he needed. He'd said the right thing. He'd told the honest truth. Hell, he had no more defenses left as she leaned into him, her soft mouth claiming his. A moan rose up as he gave himself over to the kiss, and before he knew it his shirt was on the floor and she was stretching out on the carpet in the reach of the fire, the light and shadows dancing over her, the way his hands longed to.
He went down on one knee, beyond the point of no control. Unbuckling his trousers, he bent over her, then stopped to grab the pillow and slip it under her head. She watched his every movement, her chest rising and falling, her pink nipples pebbled, her body writhing slightly with arousal. A strange thing happened in his chest. It warmed up, coming to life again.
"I've never seen anything more beautiful than you right now." He leaned over her and kissed her again and he felt her desire. Desire for him. That meant everything, as he nibbled her lips, then nibbled her jaw. He kissed his way down the lean column of her throat, let his tongue linger over the rapid pulse beating there, and felt her frantic need for him. Honest and true need.
He loved that there was no pretense about her. And that same sincerity was the least he could give her in return. So he let his emotions show—all that he'd been fighting to hold back—and lowered his body onto hers. Flesh to flesh, he felt her gasp of surprise and consent. The bold arch of her body against his erection, still contained in his drawers, trapping him against her belly. Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the underside of her jaw, feeling her every moan and her every breath.
He didn't know how she moved through him like a part of him, but he didn't stop. He kissed his way to her breasts, ran his tongue down the length of her breastbone and groaned as the soft slopes of her flesh brushed his jaw. When he caught one turgid peak with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth, she cried out, and he added both hands to caress her and draw out her pleasure. Her fingers wrapped around the back of his head, holding him to her, begging for more.
And he intended to give it to her. He drew her other nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue around the puckered bud. Encouraged by her gasp of pleasure, he sucked softly at first, then harder, feeling her body move beneath him, demanding and pressing into his erection. She was hot, hot need.
So was he. He released hold of her breasts and ran his hands down her ribcage, kissing smooth, heated flesh as he went. She looked down at him, her nearly-black eyes full of want, watching as he kissed and laved his way over her belly, his arousal insistent against her thigh. Good thing there was fabric between them, he thought as he ran one hand along the heat of her skin. Maybe it was the scotch in his system, whispering at him to do the forbidden, taking down his inhibitions, but he wanted to rip off his drawers, plunge inside her and claim her as his, even if it was just for this night.
But he wouldn't ruin her. Regretfully, he pulled his fingers back, stretched out over her and rested his cheek against her belly. Oh, he wanted her, his shaft felt ready to burst, but he forced his breathing to slow. Squeezed his eyes shut until he could trust himself not to slip his hand over her stomach and into those soft curls, to pleasure her without wanting that same bliss for himself.
"Miles." Her hand settled on the back of his head, gentle, loving. Hell, that moved him—she might as well have reached inside and grabbed hold of his heart. "Why are you stopping?"
"You know why," he ground out, more in control now. This was about her. He cared about her so much. "I have to stop, but you don't."
"What do you mean?" Her forehead crinkled with thought. Then she smiled. "Oh, you're going to—?"
"Yes," he confirmed, his eyes as black as sin. "Don't worry. You'll like it."
"Oh, I know. My sister has told me all about—" She fell silent, because she was unable to speak. Her head rocked back, her thighs parted and she let out one enormous sigh of happiness at the first touch of his fingers to her unmentionables, parting her swollen folds, spreading heat and dew. Wow, she really did like that. Her jaw went slack. Definitely wow. Nothing had ever felt this good. Not ever. And she didn't want him to stop.
Eagerly, she opened to his touch, letting him discover more secret, wetter places. She lay back, all modesty gone, and let him caress her, there, where it f
elt so bright. Where ribbons of sharp, sizzling pleasure zinged through her, traveling outward and inward all at the same time, making it nearly too much to bear.
Except this wasn't how she wanted it. She opened her eyes, watching Miles, his face strained, his drawers straining even more beneath the pressure of what looked to be quite an impressive erection. Maggie smiled, remembering Callie's descriptions of a man's private part. All this time, Maggie had looked forward to getting this close to one, and she had to go and get Miles—a man who looked like he would rather spontaneously combust than take her virginity.
Honestly. She hadn't come this far to fail. This was her chance and for all she knew, it could be her only one. So she caught hold of his hand and lifted it from between her legs.
"As nice as this is," she said, sitting up and trying to catch her breath (impossible, as she was really aroused). "I want to move onto the next thing."
"The next thing?" He looked confused. His hazel eyes glowed black with desire, his bare hair-dusted chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. His forehead furrowed as he frowned. "There is no next thing. This is it. You come, and we're done."
"Oh, I don't think so." If she wanted to get an orgasm this way, then she could have done it herself. Honestly. What was wrong with the man? She sighed, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Well, the bigger question was what was she going to do? Let him stay in charge and give her everything short of what she wanted? Or was she going to take matters into her own hand, so to speak?
Well, since she was completely naked in front of him, there was no sense in being shy or modest or in trying to hide how much she wanted him. With his shirt off, the firelight licked across his bronzed skin, making her want to do the same. She wanted to kiss every inch of him, lick every contour and masculine curve. Excitement fisted low in her abdomen, tightening deep, secret muscles as she let her gaze drift lower to the impressive outline of his private part straining against his cotton drawers. She could see the contour of head and shaft, and licked her lips.
"I'm trying to do right by you." His voice sounded strained. He looked strained, with the cords in his neck tensed and standing out, his jaw clenched so tight, he could barely speak. The muscles of his chest and arms looked rigid and ropy, as if the fibers of his muscles were stretched tight to the breaking point. "You've never had alcohol before and it's impairing your judgment. You need to trust me on this."
Oh, how those low, caring tones in his words got to her. They went straight to her heart.
"It's not the scotch," she told him, daring to lean forward, watching his gaze drop to her swaying breasts and then to her hand reaching out. "It's you."
"It's not really me," he said as if he alone knew the truth, as if what he wanted was what mattered here. "Your inhibitions are low—"
"Yes, they are," she interrupted, agreeing completely as she caught hold of his drawers and yanked them down by the ties. "But don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
His shaft bobbed free, arrowing upward with inspiring length and girth. Her eyes widened as she studied the fascinating purpled blunt tip, the engorged veins in his shaft and, goodness, it seemed to throb with each heartbeat. She reached out and curled her fingers around his thickness. Mesmerizing. It exceeded all expectations. How could something be so soft and hard at the same time, like velvet covered iron? She gave a little tug and a stroke, and Miles's hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.
"Trust me," he ground out, tortured. "This isn't what you want. Come morning, you will have nothing but regrets."
"Regrets? Because of you?" She pressed her free hand to the side of his face, feeling the heat of his skin and the rough texture of his whiskery cheek. "I want this more than you'll ever know. I want this with you. Please."
The cords in his neck looked tight enough to snap. Agony twisted across his handsome face and his erection throbbed hard in her hand. Unable to help herself, she gave a little squeeze. When his shaft seemed to enlarge even more against her palm, she squeezed harder.
With a groan that was more growl than consent, he released her wrist and pulled her down to the carpet with him and kicked off his trousers. She lay back on the carpet, trembling beneath him as he stretched out above her, his weight balanced on his hands. The heat and steel of him jutting against her hipbone, catching in her curls, leaving a slight trail of dampness.
Dizzy with excitement, she let her thighs fall apart, baring her aching center watching his eyes go completely black. His erection nudged against her inner thighs (getting closer) and breathless she stared into his eyes, his dark, passion-hazed eyes. There was no more control, they'd both tumbled over that dark edge. She moaned the instant his jutting hardness nestled up against her there, where she wanted him the most.
What a blissful sensation. She let her head loll back, felt her body relax, surrendering utterly to his invasion. Her entire world zeroed down to his hardness pushing against her, the pressure of her swollen folds giving way and the press of his penis into her virgin passage. She gasped, feeling stretched apart, feeling her tender area hurting sharply as he stopped, waited, letting her adjust to his girth.
And as much as it hurt, it felt good too, and getting even better. Oh, my! She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, needing more, so much more. This was just the start, she knew, the start of the most amazing pleasure she would ever know.
"God, you feel good." He groaned, the words torn from him as he settled completely over her, heated skin to heated skin, the movement spearing him a bit deeper inside her.
"So do you," she told him, arching up to catch his mouth with hers, to seal this amazing moment with a tender kiss, but the rock of her body drew him in deeper, the pressure becoming unbearable, both pain and pleasure. Her body was thrumming, her blood ringing with need. She wanted him deeper, she wanted everything. She ran her hands along his spine to the small of his back and pushed, lifting her hips.
"You are a needy one," he laughed against her lips, opening his eyes, his gaze penetrating hers as he thrust deeper, smoothly into her, and the pain gave way completely until he was buried deep inside her, as far as he could go, hilt deep.
"Oh, God," she gasped, wrapping her legs around his hips, feeling his incredible hardness against her inner muscles, sparking all kinds of unbelievable sensations. "Don't stop. Oh, Miles, oh, please."
"Is this what you want?" He smiled against her lips as he began to move, pinning her down, driving deeper. The friction of him within her, the unparalleled pleasure it gave her brought tears to her eyes.
"Yes," she told him, clinging to him, surrendered utterly to his every thrust and withdrawal, letting him rock her hard and then harder until the world faded away and there was only the two of them, moving together. Every muscle she owned tensed and stretched to the breaking point, besieged by the assault of lightning-bright streaks of sensation gathering there, where they were joined, and radiating outward.
Her entire body began to tighten. Helpless, she held onto Miles as her abdomen and her inner muscles cinched around his thickness, ever tighter. She felt ready to fly apart, gasping for breath, as his thrusts deepened, quickened. Exhilarated, she gave in to the building sensations, the heat and the sweetness, to the friction so spellbinding she rocked harder up against him, craving more.
Then it happened. Her inner muscles began to throb, clenching his shaft, squeezing as white-hot sensation streaked through her like lightning, unrelenting, scorching her from the inside, where they joined, and then rocketing through her in thrilling, ecstatic waves of pleasure. Above her, Miles stiffened, groaning in a primal male way as he climaxed, thrusting hard and deep, so deep, so urgent. His shaft throbbed, pumping his seed against her sensitive walls and womb in wet, hot bursts. She kissed his jaw, his throat, his face with wonder as he gave one final thrust, one tortured-sounding moan, and collapsed over her, spent.
What a man, she thought as his mouth found hers. He kissed her more tenderly than anything she'd ever known. His shaft was flexible insid
e her, hot and heavy. It felt comfortable and intimate lying with him like this, his weight holding her down, the arch of her hips holding him in.
"You are going to be the death of me," he murmured against her lips, and they smiled together. He brushed back a ringlet of her hair, pushing it gently out of her eyes. "We shouldn't have done that. I just ruined you."
"Thank you for that." And not a moment too soon. She pressed her hand against his jaw, gazing up at him, at her dear Miles. She would remember this moment and this experience for the rest of her life. This new awakening Miles had caused within her. She felt his penis twitch inside her and she gave him a little squeeze, felt him surge, thickening.
"Maybe you can ruin me a little more," she said with a sly smile. "Since we're here."
"It would be my pleasure." He rose up over her, thrusting deep, spreading the wetness inside her. His seed, she thought with a shiver. It felt so intimate as his erection grew, stretching against her, giving her all kinds of pleasure.
What a way to spend a night, she thought, smiling against his shoulder. That was the last coherent thought she had as he thrust into her over and over again.
Chapter Fourteen
"It's getting late." Miles broke the hush, his voice grating low and gravelly in the near dark. The fire had burned low, tossing a dark orange glow over the carpet and onto the blanket he'd dragged over from one of the sofas to cover them.
Maggie gave a contented moan and stretched, loving the way her body felt. Sated and intensely relaxed and yet every nerve ending remembered everything that had happened—every caress, every throb, every orgasm. Yes, lying like this at his side, with her head on his shoulder was the second best thing she'd ever known (with making love to him being the first).
"I don't want to move," she confessed. "Because that will mean our night together is over."
