He drew her down to the bed, down into his arms, drew her to him and kissed her. Knew from the way she so readily put aside their discussion and responded, ardent and eager to experience more, that she imagined that discussion was finished with, over. Won.
It wasn’t, but he wasn’t yet ready to pursue the point of her journeying to London in James’s defense. She was right; he did understand about power, about how to wield it. That being so, there was no real reason for her to return to the capital, especially if that would involve some difficulty on her part. But…there were other issues to consider, such as whether, no matter how persuasive he was, she would consent to remaining at Avening.
That, however, was an argument for another day. Tonight…he followed her lead, set the matter aside, and devoted himself to one much nearer, much dearer to him, to the warrior-lord he truly was.
Drawing her to him, dispensing with her shawl, he devoted himself to conquering her.
That, at least, was his intention, but this time, when he tense
d to roll her beneath him, she pulled back from their kiss. Pushed back; planting her hands on his chest, bracing her arms, she rose above him in the deepening dark.
He’d already parted her long legs and drawn her knees high, had already caressed the swollen flesh between her thighs to slick readiness, so when she pushed back she was straddling his abdomen, and the musky scent of her wreathed through his brain…he was already aching, tense with the expectation of sinking his throbbing erection into her welcoming heat.
He had to catch his breath, clench his jaw, and hold that breath, hold himself back long enough to discover what her new tack was. To decide whether he would permit it, or instead change their direction.
Upright, she sank down, her well-toned thighs, ivory white against his darker skin, gripping his sides, her calves tucking along his flanks as she settled astride him. Her gaze was locked on his chest. She pressed her hands, fingers spread, across, sweeping from the center outward, tracing the wide muscle bands, then sweeping farther, over his shoulders and along and down his arms; she followed them to his wrists and locked her fingers about them.
Lifting both wrists, she raised them, then leaned forward, and pressed them back until he felt the carved wood of the upper edge of the daybed against his hands.
“Keep your hands there.” An order. She didn’t even look to see if he obeyed. Releasing his hands, she returned her attention to his chest.
The look on her face, intent, focused yet still considering, still planning, had him curling his palms over the carved wood.
“Don’t move them unless I give you leave.”
He suppressed a smirk at her commanding tone; he’d keep his hands off her for exactly as long as he wished, and no longer. But he waited to see what she would do, what new aspect of herself his warrior-queen might reveal.
Knowledge was the surest route to victory, with her as with anything else.
She lifted her gaze to his eyes; decision clearly made, her plan defined, she leaned forward, her hands on his chest once more, fingertips sinking in as she pressed close, and kissed him. Covered his lips, then, when he parted them, swept her tongue into his mouth. Exploring, learning…he relaxed beneath her, remained as passive as he could, and let her lead where she would.
Let her take from him what she would, let her give what she would in return.
Remaining unresponsive beneath the heated sweetness of her kiss, the increasingly definite demands of her lips and her tongue, was beyond him; he responded, but tried to hold to minimal involvement so he could continue to think, to watch her.
She wasn’t appeased; the kiss turned sultry, not just siren-like but bewitching, calling forth the beast in him. She deliberately taunted until that less-than-civilized male shook free of the shackles he’d set, and roared forth to do sensual battle with her…
That was what she wanted.
In the instant he thrust rapaciously into her mouth, he sensed her satisfaction. A satisfaction that bloomed, that patently thrilled her as she shifted and closed both hands around his face, rising above him, holding him steady while she met him in a glorious exchange—of heat, of fire, of promise.
The battle continued until they both burned, until flames seemed to crackle, the very air about them spark.
Abruptly, she pulled away. Looked down on him with dark eyes glowing with passion and something he recognized as feminine will. They were both heated, both wanting, their breaths already coming hard and fast.
Slowly, she looked down at his chest. Then she drew breath—her breasts swelled—and she edged back, still straddling him. Pressing his jaw up, she bent her head and set her lips to his throat. Kissed, licked, laved. Set her teeth to the steely tendons and grazed.
Sensation and need swamped him. He closed his eyes, locked his hands about the carved wood above his head and endured…her touch, her ministrations, all the while burningly conscious of her body, all flushed silk and wet heat, supple and strong, a unique match for his moving above him, not touching except where her thighs and calves gripped his flanks, instead hovering, the ultimate temptation, mere inches above his rigid flesh.
It was all he could do to lock his jaw and survive.
She was thorough, yet she didn’t dally; she worked her way steadily down his throat, paying attention to the indentation between his collarbones, pausing briefly to lave, then close her mouth over the pulse raging at the base of his throat and suck, before shifting lower.
To his chest. Her fingers swept through the crinkly hair adorning it, then curled, lightly tugged. He cracked open his lids, but found she didn’t want his attention; she was busy examining, then setting her mouth to one flat nipple. Her tongue flicked, then her teeth gently closed, tightened…he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. His jaw felt as if it would break.
But she was far, far from finished.
Eyes closed, he tracked her direction, tried to predict her intention, tried to mute the storm her innocent yet bold experimenting was wreaking on his senses, and only partially succeeded.