to the point that the pleasure was almost painful, he just lost it. His mouth never leaving her breast, he stood, easing her to stand as well. G.G. then gripped the back waistband of her pants in one hand, and the front in the other, and pulled. He hummed with triumph around her breast when he heard the satisfying ripping sound of success as he tore the seams wide open.
G.G. was so far gone that he didn’t even notice at first that Ildaria was helping to tear the leather away. When he did, he merely grunted and worked harder to unwrap her from the material keeping her skin from him. In the end, she had to finish the job. The pants disappeared into her high boots, and she had to yank the cloth out and rip it away herself. Leaving her to it, G.G. turned his hands to his jeans. His zipper and button were still in the front, yet the task of undoing them was harder than it should have been. His hands were shaking and uncoordinated, and he thought the delay was going to kill him, but he finally got the job done.
The minute he finished unzipping, Ildaria’s hands were there, pushing his aside and reaching in to find him. G.G. finally let her breast slip from his mouth and straightened abruptly, his breath hissing between his teeth as her fingers touched him, and then he looked at her and could have wept. She hadn’t just removed the shredded pants, the bustier was now gone too. She stood before him with only her long hair and high-heeled boots for covering, and the sight was enough to make a grown man weep.
Grasping her by the waist, he lifted her to sit on the island, stepped between her open legs and buried his face briefly between her breasts, nuzzling the skin there as his hands ran over her exposed flesh. They slid from her waist, down her hips and then her outer legs, before riding back up those same curves and farther to claim her breasts.
She was smooth as silk and warm to the touch, her skin as hot as if she’d been lying out in the sun. He wanted that heat wrapped around him like a blanket. Now. But his mind was telling him that a good lover gave his woman foreplay and Ildaria deserved a good lover. This was their first time, at least in real life. That made him hesitate.
G.G. stood frozen, his whole body trembling with his need, his hands clutching her now as he struggled desperately against the urge to sink himself into her. He wanted to please her, knew he should. But the seeming hours of foreplay from the shared dreams was an impossibility when faced with this onslaught of sensation and overwhelming need.
Ildaria suddenly grasped his face with both hands and lifted his head. Eyes on fire with glowing gold, she gasped, “I need you inside me,” and G.G. lost the battle with himself. Claiming her mouth with his, he took himself in hand, and they both sucked in a breath as he touched his own sensitive skin, then he stroked her once with the tip of his erection, found her entrance and released himself to grasp her hips as he thrust in.
G.G. felt her pain mix with their pleasure, and froze briefly, but when she clutched his behind and dug her nails in in demand, he began to move. It was nothing like the shared dreams. That had been pedestrian mortal sex, feeling only his own pleasure. Now he was experiencing it all, his, hers, theirs, waves of it pounding at his body and mind as that first burst of pain faded away. Neither of them could take it long. There would be no holding off on taking his own pleasure until she found hers. That was impossible.
G.G. didn’t count the strokes, but it couldn’t have been more than a handful before his release hit. It was a freight train off the rails, smashing through barriers, crushing brain cells, and blocking out the light. He thought he heard Ildaria cry out with him, her higher voice a counterpoint to his, and then he was falling into the darkness dropping over him.
Ildaria woke up lying on top of G.G. on the kitchen floor. Her mind was slow to understand why she was there, and then her memories flew back to her. They’d had sex. Right. And her first time . . . at