Blood rushed to his cock, hardening him with only the thought. It had been years since he’d wanted a female as much as he wanted this one. He’d lost his desire when he’d lost his freedom. But with her, here, now, he felt as if he was regaining a tiny piece of himself.
She pushed on her hands, straightened her arms and looked up at him. His fingers stilled against her upper back as he gazed down at her face. The warm breeze ruffled her hair against her cheeks, and the way the sunlight fell across her skin, she almost sparkled. Want and need and desire swirled in her eyes. The combination left him hard and achy. And though he knew for her this was merely a wish, for him it was so much more.
“Roll over,” he said in a raspy voice.
Her gaze held his, then slowly she complied and rolled onto her back.
Light hair fanned out beneath her. Her breasts pressed against the thin cotton of her dress, her nipples visibly hardening in the slight breeze. He swallowed pushed to his feet, and moved around the chaise to sit at her side, his hip brushing hers, his gaze running down the length of her body. “Close your eyes again.”
She breathed deep and did as he said. At her sides, her fingers grasped the edge of the cushion.
He started gently, running the tips of his fingers along her bare arms, down and back up again, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Watching the muscles around her eyes tighten as he traced his way up to her throat, then back down, moving over her dress to her legs, then all the way to her feet and back. As his hands stroked her body, she relaxed inch by inch once more, easing deeper into the cushion, turning herself over to him one wicked touch at a time.
His gaze slid to her lips as he stroked her—plump, pink, so perfectly made for kissing—then to her collarbone, over the Firebrand opal at her chest, just like the one he wore but which she couldn’t see in this realm, then finally down to the front ties of her dress, hanging against her creamy cleavage.
He wanted to know what she looked like beneath that dress he’d conjured. What she felt like, her skin against his. When he brushed his fingers against the base of her neck then lower, stopping on the ties and pulling until her bodice loosened, she sucked in a breath and held it but didn’t push him away.
Her breaths quickened. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he watched in rapt attention as her lush, firm breasts were slowly revealed to him, one agonizing inch at a time.
He went slow. Gave her every opportunity to stop him. But she didn’t. And by Allah, she was beautiful. Dusky pink areolas, so tantalizing he wanted to lower his head and draw each one into his mouth. Firm, high breasts he knew would fit perfectly in his hands. He had an overwhelming urge to rip the dress from her skin, to part her thighs and press inside her until they both cried out in ecstasy. But more than that, he wanted her to want him. As much as he suddenly wanted her.
He leaned forward, marveled at the way her body trembled when he pressed his lips against her collarbone. When he kissed the soft skin of her throat and trailed his mouth up to breathe hot against her earlobe.
“Tell me what you want, Mira. I’m yours to command.” Her skin was silky soft, so damn sweet against his tongue. “Yours to use in any way you want. This is all about you.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Mira’s fingers slid into his hair, and she moaned as she tipped her head to the side, granting him access, showing him the first sign that yes, she wanted this too.
Desire bunched in his stomach, shot straight into his groin. He licked the tender column of her neck, latched on, and suckled.
She moaned when he found an extra sensitive spot. And, drawing one leg up, she pressed her naked breasts against his bare chest, rubbing herself against him in a way that was so sinfully erotic, he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
“Tell me, Mira,” he whispered.
“I—I want you to kiss me,” she whispered.
Yes. Finally. “Where?”
“My—my throat.”
Disappointment flowed that it wasn’t her mouth, but he moved to the other side, breathed hot against her skin until she shuddered, then closed his lips around the column of her throat once more. She’d beg for his mouth on hers later. He’d make sure of it.
“Where else?” he asked against her skin.
“My ear.” He trailed his lips up to her lobe, felt her shudder beneath him, loved the way her naked breasts pressed into his chest.
“My collarbone,” she added before he was done. One corner of his lips curled at her enthusiasm, and he answered by licking the spot, swirling his tongue around a mole, then sliding lower to trace his tongue along the very top of her cleavage.
Heat gathered all along her skin, penetrated his and amped his desire to a full-blown inferno. “Where else?”
“My…my breasts.”
He breathed hot against her right nipple. She trembled, moaned, arched her back, and closed her eyes, and as her breast came closer to his mouth, he groaned himself, then licked at the tip and finally drew her into his mouth.
“Oh God,” she muttered. Her updrawn knee pressed against his side. The hem of her dress fell to her hip, exposing her long, toned thigh, dragging his attention from what he was doing.
He wanted his mouth there. Wanted to brush her skin from hip to mound. To trace the line of her sex with his tongue and stroke her deeply until she came in his mouth.
His heart beat fast and hard as he moved to her other breast, as her fingers tightened in his hair, as she arched and offered more of her luscious body to him. Her nipple hardened in his mouth, and she groaned in pure pleasure. He answered by circling the tip with his tongue and asking, “What else?”
“Touch me,” she said. “I want you to touch me.”
“Where?” He scraped his teeth across her nipple ever so slightly. “Tell me where.”
“Oh…” Her whole body shook. She lifted her hips, lowered them. Aching, he knew, for his touch between her thighs. And he wanted to give it to her. That and so much more.
“Tell me, Mira.” He sucked harder on her breast, drew a long, shuddering groan from her throat.
How on earth did this woman think she was not desirable? Her reactions alone had him lingering on the edge of control. There was passion inside her long denied and dying to be set free. A passion he was bound to corrupt with his wicked, lascivious ways.
His arousal began to dim, but he forced the thought away. Today was not about guilt. It was about pleasure. About making her feel good. The corruption…what it would do to her…what it would do to him…he’d worry about that later.
He brushed his fingertips across her updrawn knee and licked her nipple again. “Tell me, Mira. Should I touch you here?”
Her knee fell open. “Yes. God, yes.”
He skimmed his fingers up her thigh, to the hem of her gown resting against her hip, just barely covering her sex, and breathed heavily against her naked breast as he looked down her body. “Here?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Tell me,” he whispered, feathering his touch along her inner thigh. “Tell me where.”
She groaned in frustration, lifted her leg higher, and as she did, her dress fell against her mound. He drew in a breath as her white, cotton panties came into view. Even through the thin fabric he could tell she was swollen. Hot. Wet. And he groaned himself because now he knew for sure she wanted him. Wanted him with the same burning desire that was consuming him.
He looked back at her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, but her lips parted in pleasure as he traced his fingers down her inner thigh, stopped short of touching her overheated flesh, then back up again. “Tell me, Mira.”