Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(26)

As he kissed her, odd, tormented mental images flashed through her  brain, and when he slid his mouth from hers to her throat she said  huskily, 'This morning … I didn't … '

The champagne still clouded her mind, still relaxed her inhibitions and cautions.

'I did,' Oliver told her groaningly, his mouth against her ear, sending  fierce shivers of pleasure over her skin. 'I looked at you in that  damned pyjama top and the last thing I wanted to do was to leave you and  go to London.'

The new Charlotte, the one she had never known existed before, the one  who seemed recklessly to court ever-increasing danger, whispered  coaxingly, 'What did you want to do?'

At the sound of the words a mild shock ran through her, but there was  also a sense of accomplishment, of pleasure almost in what she had done  as she felt Oliver's body tense for a moment before he whispered rawly,  'I wanted to take you back upstairs to bed, and unfasten those damned  buttons, one by one, like this … '

Like what? She was lost in the dreamy warmth of delight conjured up by  his words, and it was several seconds before she realised that he  actually was unfastening the buttons on her top, and that his lean dark  hand really was lying against the exposed upper curve of her breast,  that his gaze had actually found the small dark mole just hidden under  the edge of her bra, and that his mouth had left her ear and was now  nibbling its way along her throat, and down over her collarbone to the  place where he had pushed aside the fine cotton of her bra, so that his  tongue could touch that small dark dot of flesh.

Why should such a light, delicate physical contact release such a flood  of heat inside her? she wondered muzzily. Why should the pressure of his  hand against her breast make her want to moan and tear away the cloth  barriers between it and the bareness of her skin? Why should it make her  want to turn to him and press her mouth against his throat, her body  against his, to … ?                       
       
           



       

'And then I'd have done this,' she heard Oliver saying silkily against  her skin, his voice so soft and gentle it seemed to lap over her in warm  waves, making her sink deeper and deeper into the delicious sea of  sensuality in which she was floating.

She felt his hands removing her bra and sighed voluptuously in pleasure  as they touched her skin; she felt his mouth moving against her breast  and moved eagerly to speed it on its journey to the summit of her  nipple. The sensation of his mouth bathing the aching pulse of her flesh  in moist heat made her spine arch and a soft moan of pleasure leave her  throat.

After that, for a long time, the only sounds disturbing the peace of the  evening were the soft ones of pleasure Charlotte smothered against  Oliver's skin as mindlessly she gave in to the urgings of her body and  put into practice the fantasies she had indulged in earlier. The  sensation of Oliver's hands and mouth against her own flesh, as he  slowly revealed inch after inch of her body between whispered words of  such promise that her body melted, was slowly driving her out of  control. There was no one in the whole world but Oliver … nothing in the  universe but the intimacy they were sharing.

She heard him groan when her hands stroked the flat plane of his belly,  felt the sound reverberate against her mouth as she caressed his throat,  and then cried out in aching pleasure herself when his hand touched her  intimately and her body opened out to him, so femininely enticing and  arousing that he whispered things against her skin which turned her  mindless with delight. A delight that was doubled when she realised that  he shared her need, her desire. It was surely impossible that she could  arouse him to this pitch of intensity, this fierce, pulsing desire that  he told her raggedly he no longer had the power to check. This could  not be reality.

Once he hesitated, almost as though he was asking her … what? For  permission to possess her? Hadn't she already given that permission  without words … with the sensual pleading of her flesh when it so wantonly  invited his touch?

Soon they would be lovers. Lovers …  She shivered in expectant  anticipation, wanting him, aching for him, knowing recklessly that  whatever might follow she would always have this … always have the  knowledge that he had desired her.

Deep down inside her a small voice struggled to be heard, to warn her  that something was wrong, that this physical intimacy was too much, too  soon, that there were things which should have been said, but it was  drowned out, deafened by the fierce sensation of need that pierced her  when Oliver drew her down on the rug beneath him, covering her body with  his, fitting himself against her as her body, more knowing than she had  dreamed, moved to accommodate the weight and heat of him.

Her heart was racing frantically, all her senses concentrating on the pleasure that lured her on.

The brief cessation of his hands and mouth caressing her skin, drugging  her senses with delight upon delight, promise upon promise, confused  her, so that when his hands shaped her face and she looked into his eyes  she felt a momentary schism within her, a sudden stabbing realisation  of what she was doing, but then she felt Oliver's mouth move against her  own and heard him saying rawly, 'My God, I shouldn't be doing this, but  it's too late now to stop.'

The pressure of his lips on hers hardened, quickening her pulses, his  tongue plunging fiercely into the moist sweetness of her mouth, the  movements of his body against hers relentlessly driving them both to a  pitch of such intense desire that she cried out in tormented frustration  as she waited impatiently for the first thrust of his body within her  own, welcoming it with such voluptuous pleasure that he cried out in  turn, abandoning himself to the enticement of her, taking them both so  far beyond the boundaries of earthly reality that Charlotte felt briefly  she had become immortal, capable of touching the stars in their  heavens, capable of reaching to every part of the universe, and most of  all capable of giving this man who was holding her, and whom she was  holding in turn, such pleasure and fulfilment that the rest of their  lives would become as irreversibly entwined as their bodies.

The pleasure, once so sharp and piercing, so unbelievably immense, died  slowly, floating her back down to earth, to the realisation that she was  lying naked in Oliver's arms, on a rug under the shade of one of her  own apple trees … that odd blossoms had drifted down from the tree and now  lay against Oliver's skin.

She touched them gently, too deliciously inert to even think of moving,  her body so unbelievably relaxed and lazy that she wanted to stretch  like a cat with the pleasure of being inside her own skin.

The thought made her smile. Oliver reached out and touched her mouth with his fingertip.                       
       
           



       

'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked her softly.

She flushed defensively, distracted by the subtle sensation of pleasure  evoked by the teasing movement of his finger, and then said honestly,  'It never occurred to me. Did you mind … that I hadn't … ?'

'Had another lover.' He shook his head, but already she could sense a constraint in him that was communicating itself to her.

Like Eve in the garden of Eden, she was abruptly conscious of her  nudity, of what she had done and why, but the euphoria of the pleasure  they had shared still warmed her veins, and it was easy to dismiss the  vague doubts crowding the edge of her mind like the shadows stealing  over the garden when she bit softly at the tormenting finger and watched  desire banish the constraint from Oliver's eyes, saw and felt the  immediate response of his body to her own as she moved softly against  him.

This time, it was different; this time he took her deeper into an  intimacy she had never suspected she would experience, never mind enjoy.

She discovered why the dark arrowing of hair disappearing beneath the  waistband of his jeans had tormented her senses so, and how powerful and  feminine it made her feel when her own longing drove her to caress him  intimately, to place her mouth against him and to feel his instant  uncontrollable response.

The things he said to her, the way he touched her, these were things she  would treasure until the end of her days, she acknowledged tiredly,  nestling close to him a little later.

At first she had been hurt, had ached both emotionally and physically,  when he had refused the mute invitation of her body to possess it a  second time, but when he had gently explained to her that he didn't want  to hurt her, that there were other ways he could ease the tension she  was suffering, that giving her pleasure gave it back to him, she had  allowed him to show her what he had meant, a little shocked by the  intimacy of his mouth against the inner core of her body until the  pleasure that racked her overwhelmed everything but the need to accede  to its demands.