He was kneeling beside the sofa and seeing his dark head against her as his mouth closed around the outline of her nipple where it showed dark through the flimsy fabric was incredibly erotic. She wore only the lacy pair of pants that matched the bra but he was still fully clothed, although his jacket did lie somewhere at the side of the room where he had impatiently thrown it.
Without warning he suddenly touched the skimpy triangle of lace that barely concealed the soft, protective thatch between her legs. She jerked with shock at the intimate touch and wound one pale thigh protectively over the other.
‘Don’t you like that?’
She did; she liked it very much. Eyes on his, hardly able to credit her own daring, she straightened her legs.
‘Yes,’ she said throatily as she parted her thighs for his touch. The act of symbolic submission felt thrillingly erotic.
‘It gets better,’ he promised huskily. It did; the sight of his dark head bent over her, the feel of his mouth moving against the thin fabric was almost unbearably exciting. His fingers quested sensitively towards the hot core of her desire.
‘Stop,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t bear…’
‘So long as you remind me where I was…later,’ he conceded. ‘I think you could do with room for expansion up here,’ he mused as he lifted his head. His thumb moved rhythmically against her flattened nipple; the burning sensation made her stomach muscles contract violently.
Holding his eyes, she leant slightly forward and unhooked the bra fastening. ‘Is this better?’
His nostrils flared and the muscles of his throat worked as he stared at the gentle sway of her pale-pink-tipped breasts.
‘It’s perfect; you’re perfect,’ he groaned thickly. ‘The first time I saw you you weren’t wearing a bra under that blue dress…’
‘Lilac.’
‘And I could see how lovely and full and firm you were then. When you bent forward I could see just enough to…’ He cleared his throat noisily. Benedict Arden blushing? That couldn’t be right. ‘Let’s just say enough to drive me crazy. Take them off.’ He hooked a thumb in the elasticated waist of her lacy pants.
‘Do it for me?’ she pleaded huskily.
The agonisingly slow progress of his fingers down her thighs was almost unbearable. Free of the confinement, her hips stirred and rotated as, eyes tightly shut, she imagined him moving inside her…filling her… The choking sound he made forced her to open her eyes. The molten ferocity of his tense features convinced her he was sharing her fantasy. He looked as if he was on the brink of losing control. The idea was both exciting and appalling.
‘Now come here and let me finish what I started,’ she purred huskily.
He looked on with half-closed eyes as her trembling fingers slid free the remaining buttons on his shirt. The glitter she could see within the slits of his eyes made her even more clumsy. She dragged the fabric back to reveal the broad expanse of his bronzed torso; the faint sheen of moisture made his satiny skin glow. His body was built on truly magnificent lines, though his impressive musculature was not unduly bulky; he was built for flexibility, speed and grace, not just strength.
Fingers splayed, she laid her hands on him and sighed deeply. Mesmerised by the texture of his warm skin, she let her fingers move sensuously, delighting in the sharp contractions of his muscles. Her fingers slid under the waistband of his trousers and she felt a tiny quiver of uncertainty. She looked up and the expression in his eyes sent her confidence soaring.
His trousers had slipped down to his lean hips and she could see the line of hair that narrowed to a dark line that disappeared beneath the white cotton he wore underneath.
‘Are you all right?’
Suddenly he sounded concerned and she lifted her head sharply, sending her thick hair fanning cloud-like about her flushed face. She tried to speak and realised that her breathing had become a series of staccato, uneven gasps. She pressed her hands to his shoulders to steady herself and tried to draw adequate breath into her lungs.
‘I’m fine.’ Then, in a rush of honesty, she admitted, ‘I don’t know my own body, not when you touch me, or I touch you. I don’t recognise any of the things I’m feeling, Ben.’
She’d not acted on impulse since she was a green teenager but something compelled her to do so now. This was something she just had to share with him.
‘It feels as if this is happening to someone else.’
The feverish, reckless glow in his eyes deepened. ‘Perhaps I should make this more personal—more real.’
‘There’s plenty of room here.’
‘Slow might not be an option once I join you there,’ he confessed, looking at the narrow space she patted with sultry invitation.