He took his time, savoring the feast of her breasts. There was no other word for it. He savored while she gasped and clutched her fingers into the sheet above her head, through sheer will power, when she wanted to bury her fingers in his hair and hold him to her. Her body felt feverish. Empty. Desperate. His hands were everywhere, kneading her breasts, tugging at her nipple, sliding down to cup her mound possessively. He added his tongue and teeth until she began pleading with him.
“Fane. I have to touch you. I can’t just lie here. It’s too good.”
He lifted his head. “Just another few minutes, hän sívamak, let me have this for another few minutes.”
She might die of a heart attack. Or heatstroke. Or another mini orgasm that came out of nowhere, but she would give him anything when he looked at her like that. Once again, because he seemed to need an answer, she nodded. He smiled again, so beautiful. So perfect. All hers. She would never, ever, forget that smile or the way he looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world. She would take that vision home, burned into her mind, and whenever she was alone, she would dream again. She would allow herself that. She would dream of him.
His mouth left her breasts and moved down her rib cage to her tummy. She squirmed a little, and it took a huge effort not to cover herself up. He had a twelve-pack, or maybe even a twenty-four-pack. Not a single ounce of fat. She was soft all over, especially her tummy. She was no young girl, but a woman . . .
Stop, Trixie. You are my lady.
Fane whispered the words into her mind. So intimate. She shivered at the intimacy, almost as intimate as when he was inside her body, maybe even more so. She loved that he called her his lady. Loved it.
My lady is beautiful and sexy. Everything about her is. I love your curves and your lush body. I love the way you feel against me. For me, you are perfect. I do not care about the rest of the world, nor will I ever care what their opinions or standards of beauty are. For me, you will always be the epitome of beauty in a woman.
Now the tears really did form. She couldn’t stop them so she closed her eyes. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice. She heard truth from him. He really felt that way about her body. About her as a woman.
She felt his kiss like a brand on her belly button. A trail of kisses led down to her hip, first one, and then the other. He kissed her mound and the breath left her lungs. He smoothed his hands over first one thigh, and then the other, his mouth following. He pressed kisses to her legs and down to her feet. He lifted her legs and wrapped them around him as he moved up and into her, using his body to open her legs for him.
Her sex throbbed. Her channel pulsed. Hot blood rushed through her veins, calling to him. And then his mouth was there. Gentle. Not ravenous. Not crazy. Gentle. Light almost. Driving her crazy. He sipped at her as he might at the finest wine. He savored each drop of her honey. He used his tongue in a languid exploration of her body. An unhurried claiming. She thought she might go out of her mind.
Her body shuddered with anticipation at that first touch of his mouth, but then settled into a joyous, easy bliss. But he didn’t pick up the pace. He didn’t stop. He just kept on, using his mouth and fingers so that it became torturous, glorious but torturous. She began to think she might actually go crazy.
There was no keeping her hands where he wanted them. She had to touch him. Her body couldn’t keep still. Her hips bucked against his mouth, ground deep, trying to reach that explosive end, but his tongue circled her clit, flicked hard so that she gasped, reached, and then it was gone.
She caught his hair in both fists to tug him closer. “Fane.” She could only gasp his name. He really was driving her mad. He stabbed his tongue deep and used his thumb on her clit. She came close. So close. Then it was gone and he was sipping at her. Eating her as if she were a leisurely meal. Before she could settle into that, his teeth scraped and his mouth suckled and she screamed and begged.
“Fane. Please. I need you.” Her voice said it all. Ragged pants. Gasps. She could barely plead with him, unable to find enough air.
The moment she said that, he was up and over her. Blanketing her with his weight. With his heat. He caught her legs on his arms, planted his hands on the mattress and surged into her. Not slowly. Not leisurely. Hard. Deep. Fast. Perfection. Exactly what she needed. The wave took her on that first stroke. She fragmented. Dissolved. All the while, he stared down into her face as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He didn’t stop moving, taking her while her body squeezed and strangled and pulsed, scorching hot around his cock. Already, the first orgasm was building into a second, not flowing easily, but building sharply. So hot. On fire. He leaned his weight into her, catching her bottom in his hands and urging her hips to meet his harder. Stronger. Deeper. Another wave took her. Shaking her. Consuming her.