against the intrusion, but he was so gentle, his fingers undulating like the sway of water reeds in a slow current. Her legs spread a little, and soon she felt the need to push upward, to take more of him in. As she raised her hips, something inside her loosened and stretched to enclose him. He breathed her name raggedly, seeming to luxuriate in the feel of her, his fingers twisting and curling with almost protean grace. Keeping her crimson face pressed against the cool linen sheets, she squirmed and gasped and arched tightly.
As his fingers slid from her body, the opening felt oddly open and liquid, muscles clenching on emptiness. His weight lowered over her back, the hair of his chest tickling pleasantly as he bent to kiss and lick her shoulders and the nape of her neck. His lungs were expanding and contracting with full, heavy breaths. Her eyes opened wide as she felt an intimate nudge between her thighs, the shape of him broad and hard. He pushed, but despite her willingness and arousal, her flesh resisted.
“Wait,” she gasped, flinching at a sharp ache. He stopped at once, lodged solidly but not quite penetrating. Panting with effort, she tried pressing back onto him, but hesitated as it began to hurt. “I can’t, oh, I’m sorry, it’s no use, I’m—”
“Darling,” West interrupted, having the effrontery to smile against her ear, “before we admit defeat, let’s try it another way.” He rolled off her and coaxed her to leave the bed with him. After retrieving the small flask of oil, he led her to the upholstered wing chair.
Phoebe shook her head in bewilderment. “Surely you don’t mean to . . . on a chair? . . .”
He sat and patted his knee.
She regarded him with amazement. “You great immodest creature,” she exclaimed with a nervous giggle, “sitting there with a flagrant erection and showing not one hint of concern about it . . .”
“On the contrary, I’m very concerned about it. And since you’re the cause, you should take some responsibility.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said doubtfully, glancing at the upthrust length of him. “Although it’s a bit more responsibility than one would wish for.”
“Be grateful you don’t have to live with it,” he advised, pulling her onto his lap so she was facing him.
Seeming to enjoy her blushing discomfiture, West opened the almond oil, shook a few drops into one of her hands, and set the flask on the floor beside the chair. “Will you?” he asked softly.
“You . . . wish me to apply it?” she asked, thoroughly flustered to find herself sitting naked on a man’s thighs in such an outlandish posture.
“Please.”
Tentatively she rubbed the oil between her hands and reached for his face.
West caught her slim wrists, his blue eyes laughing at her. “Not there, sweetheart.” Slowly he drew her hands down to the thick shaft straining between them.
“Oh.” Mortified and amused, Phoebe stroked the length of him, covering the satiny, ruddy skin with a thin sheen of oil. His male part was large and well shaped, the rigid flesh alive with pulses and deep-secreted quivers. His breath became unsteady as she caressed him from base to tip and let her fingers slide back down to the heavy sack below.
“You’re handsome even here,” Phoebe murmured, gently grasping him with both hands.
“Thank you. I’m rather partial to it. However, I don’t agree. Women’s bodies are works of grace and form. Men’s bodies are strictly for function.”
“Women’s bodies serve some rather important functions as well.”
“Yes, but they’re always beautiful.” His fingertips went to her stomach, tracing the delicate crescent of a stretch mark gleaming silver in the daylight. “What was it like?” he asked quietly.
“Giving birth?” Phoebe glanced down ruefully at the faint lines low on her belly. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I was grateful to have the benefit of modern medicine.” Her lips quirked as she watched his fingertips move from one mark to another. “They’re not pretty, are they?”
His gaze met hers with surprise. “Everything about you is pretty. These are marks of a life well lived, and risks taken, and miracles you brought into the world. They’re signs of having loved and been loved.” He brought her closer, lifting her to her knees so he could kiss her throat and the upper curves of her breasts. “I’m sorry to say,” he continued, his voice muffled in her cleavage, “my respect for the institution of motherhood doesn’t affect in