The Royal Conquest(39)
“More than I would have imagined possible,” she breathed.
A slow smile creased his lips, moving him from sensual predator to charming seducer. He lightly encircled her left ankle and pushed to bend her knee, so she sat with her leg drawn up, the sole of her foot flat on the sheets. Her breath hitched when he leaned across, his fathomless eyes holding hers captive, and repeated the action with her other leg.
His eyes flicked to her hands poised above her head, gripping his shirt, before lowering in a heated caress to where she leaned against the small headboard, her bent knees pulling her dress to her shins, her ankles on shocking display.
“Open your legs.”
Her gaze flew to his at the rough command. The deep blue of his eyes glinted with wicked knowledge, and God help her, but Payton complied, parting her legs invitingly.
Approval flared in his eyes. He coasted his fingers up the top of her leg, pushing her dress farther up, letting his thumb drag along the sensitive inside of her left thigh.
She clutched his shirt even tighter as his devilish fingers continued to the apex of her thighs, a frustratingly teasing caress. Without releasing her from his stare, he nudged her legs wider. Need coiled low below her stomach, and a heated throb started at her core. Her eyes widened when he cupped her mons and pressed gently. Pleasure consumed her, shrouding every logical thought.
“Have you ever been touched here?”
A fission of need rippled through her body. “Never.” She pushed the words past her throat. For some reason, when he’d told her to sit on the bed, she had expected kisses. This was wildly inappropriate and simply decadent, but she desperately wanted to hold on to the aching pleasure dampening her drawers. “Touch me,” she moaned, unable to bear the anticipation.
He shifted even closer, and his scent wrapped around her. He pressed a fleeting kiss to her mouth, and she parted her lips and darted her tongue to glide against his, hoping to tempt him into a deeper taste.
Holding her gaze, he shifted her drawers and slid a finger through her curls, down to part her. She was achingly wet and embarrassed.
“Look at me.”
As if she could look elsewhere.
“Do you want me to stop?”
No! “You wouldn’t dare,” she warned.
“You are beautiful in your need. Do not ever be embarrassed to welcome this passion between us.”
She nodded. “I feel as if you are speaking too much, Mikhail.”
He laughed softly, and she leaned forward and stole the air from his mouth. He paused for a fraction, then his tongue stroked past her lips to meet hers in a sensual duel. She whimpered into the kiss when with maddening delicacy, he stroked her wet core with firm pressure, alternating rimming her entrance and flicking against her nub of pleasure. Their kisses grew hungrier, and Payton sobbed against his lips, so intense was the fever burning away all sense of herself. She craved.
He caressed the straining nub at the apex of her thighs over and over. On a sob, she arched up, yearning for the hovering fulfillment.
She squirmed with the need for more, and when he would not comply, she pulled from the kiss, breathing heavily. “I swear if you do not end this torture, I will release your shirt and strangle—”
He pushed two fingers deep into her without warning, sliding through the wetness he had created.
“Mikhail!” Pleasure and erotic pain lashed at her, causing her limbs to tremble.
“Shhh,” he soothed, brushing her lips with light kisses. He held his fingers still, allowing her to adjust to the wonderful strangeness of them buried so deep.
The only window to the cottage rattled, and the coolest of breezes rushed inside, but it did nothing to lessen the fever of need beating in her blood. “Is there more?” she demanded hoarsely.
“Infinitely,” he murmured, wicked carnality suffusing his features. He withdrew his fingers and thrust in deep and slow. Her hips jerked, she pulsed, shivering deliciously.
“You are so wet and responsive.” He inhaled, and his obvious struggle for control delighted her.
“There is nothing I want more than to draw you underneath me and bury my cock deep.”
Temptation rose in her. There was the strongest possibility she would never feel such bliss again. She waited for the guilt to surface at the idea of going to a husband impure. But it was thankfully absent. “Then make me yours.”
“No, my sweet, not until you are mine.”
She heard the possessive way he said mine, and her throat tightened. “Yes,” she agreed, and he smiled.
“But I will have your taste until that time.”
Her taste?
He withdrew from her, and she gasped as he pushed her day gown and chemisette indecently high. He bunched the material at her waist, gripped her knees, and widened her legs.