Chapter 5
Deep inside you.
His words evoked images of undulating bodies, of long soulful kisses, and she swayed back against him.
He caught her shoulders, burying his face in the curve of her neck. She shifted into his touch, a tiny fraction of movement that made him tremble. "Oh, Laura," he groaned, her fragrance seeping into him like rain into a dry desert.
She licked her lips, lifting her hand to touch his head, then stilling halfway there. She rolled around, yet as she did, he grasped her wrist, pulling her hands behind her back and locking them in one fist.
The motion drove her body into his, and she inhaled, feeling his thickness taut against her.
"Feel what you do to me?"
She gazed up at his face, hidden in the dark. "It's no more than you do to me, Richard," she said, her body igniting in ways she never dreamed existed.
His face neared. "Would you do even this without seeing me?" he said, his lips barely brushing hers, enticing her.
Sensation and emotion crackled between them.
"Yes," she whispered.
Instantly his mouth covered hers, a soft molding kiss. Then everything went wild. His mouth slanted back and forth over hers, hard and deep.
And she accepted it, relished the power of it, loving the glorious rush of sensation spilling through her body in a hot wave. Her heart thundered in her chest, against his, and when he fell back against the wall, wedging her between his thighs, she went without protest. It was terribly erotic, the dark stairwell, not being able to touch him when she wanted to sink her fingers into his hair and show him he couldn't control her.
His tongue pushed between her lips, and she opened wide for his invasion, making him moan with unquenched desire, the intimate duel growing stronger and stronger. One hand capturing her wrists, his other sliding to her spine, pressing her into him. She shifted, thrust, groaning with frustration at not being able to touch him.
Richard felt the seams of his restraint threaten to rip open as her tongue swept the line of his lips, driving him mindless with passion. Passion. A once-in-a-lifetime fire. It was as if they were both trying to extinguish it in the single kiss, yet all it did was flame it higher.
His free hand slid up her arm, settling on her shoulder, his fingertips grazing bare skin at the edge of her robe. The simple touch sent a bolt of heat through his body. He squeezed, and she arched into him. He touched her, his hand smoothing down her chest to her breast. Her kiss grew wild, savage, her head shifting back and forth, and she pressed deeper into his long length. He cupped her breast, stroked circles around her nipple as his tongue stroked the recesses of her sweet mouth. Richard felt alive, right here, right now, hot and throbbing for her. He wanted more. Wanted to feel her hands on him, feel her body cradle his, to experience the touch of a woman, this woman. Only this woman.
But he could not. This was all he could have, and when he would rather have stayed right here the remainder of the night, he knew he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have. He tore his mouth from hers.
"No," she cried on a quick breath, and knew he was going to abandon her, leave her like this. Damp and hungry.
"I can't." His lungs working to draw in air, Richard set her back from him and straightened. He released her and Laura staggered back on wobbly legs. He caught her. Her hands rested on his shoulder for balance, and Richard tensed.
"Laura, don't."
She didn't obey. She let her hands slide down his silk-covered chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath her palms, his muscles tense till she reached his robe sash.
Every fiber in him locked tight.
"I didn't do that out of pity, Richard," she said softly. "I wanted it." Her fingertips swept over his waistband, dangerously low, before she turned and walked up the staircase. "Or couldn't you tell?"
Richard stayed there. Because he couldn't move. He couldn't even form a retort. He watched her climb the stairs, her robe slightly open and exposing a good portion of her breast. She made no move to cover herself as she paused on the first landing to glance into the shadows.
"Do you still hate the way I make you feel?"
He tipped his head back, leaning against the wall. "Yes … and no."
"Which part of you will win out, Richard? The man who just kissed me into heaven, or the beast locked inside?" With that she mounted the steps in a rush, as if afraid she'd come back downstairs and into his arms.
When she was gone from his sight, Richard smacked his fist against the wall, rattling the paintings like she'd rattled him. He'd been a fool to touch her. He was just going to have to stay away from her. But the thought of not seeing her had him aching already.