The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,93
kiss.
Passion exploded to life, sparkling like the Kent earth right after a lightning strike, and Emma found herself as immobilized as if one of those bolts had streaked down from the heavens and caught her where she stood.
She came alive all at once. Smote by desire, and reborn in passion. Gripping his shirtfront, she leveraged herself closer, coming up on tiptoe to better meet his mouth, and she kissed him in return.
He growled, a low, raw, primal sound born of desire that thrummed against her lips, and she reveled in this newfound power that came of being a woman.
Emma turned her head a fraction so she could better avail herself of his mouth.
Removing the combs from her hair, Charles let those strands free so that they cascaded like a waterfall about them. All the while, he licked at the seam of her lips, tasting that flesh with the tip of his tongue, and a wet, hot heat settled between her legs.
Hungry for more of him, for all of him, Emma parted her lips and let him inside, and in he swept, all silk and warmth, with a tantalizing allure which contained a promise of the more she desperately craved. She lashed her tongue against his, set free by the eddy of desire he’d awakened within her.
Charles swirled his tongue about hers in a teasing manner that turned the kiss into a passionate game where she sought, and he withheld, part of himself.
Gripping him hard by the nape, she held him in place, ultimately taking what she needed, making all of his mouth hers.
He groaned, the sound of his desire reverberating in their kiss, and that light thrumming sent a deeper throbbing to her core.
“Charles,” she panted.
And at last, it was as though he surrendered himself completely to Emma.
His hands were on her everywhere, making quick work of her cloak, shoving it free of her body; then, cupping her at the waist, he steered the both of them until he perched himself on the edge of the mattress and pulled her between his legs once more.
With a deftness that should have infuriated for the skill it evidenced, Charles had the buttons of her gown free and her dress down as it fell in a shimmery, shuddery heap of noisy satin.
Emma stepped out of it, kicking it aside. There would be time for reality later. Now, she just wanted this.
All of this.
Charles closed his mouth around the tip of her right breast, and she gasped.
Her fingers came up reflexively as she clenched and unclenched the dark-blond strands, holding him close as he worshipped her, laving that tip, suckling the bud until her hips moved wildly, undulating.
He drew away so abruptly she cried out from the loss.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, diverting his masterful attentions elsewhere, pressing a path of hot, wet kisses along her neck.
“Mmm.” Incapable of the speech needed to encourage his attentions there, she dropped her head back to let her body show him what she needed.
She’d gone through her life believing the lie society had told her—that she wasn’t beautiful. Her features were too sharp. Her teeth more than slightly crooked. Her hips and breasts not lush . . . but when he spoke so and laid worship to her body as he did, she had her eyes opened at last to the lie as she was awakened instead to the truth of her femininity and beauty.
Her breath caught on a gasp as he filled his hands with her buttocks.
Emma reflexively tightened her limbs; the drag of the fabric of his trousers against the coarse hair of her womanhood pulled another moan from her, and she rubbed herself against him.
Charles squeezed her buttocks, molding that flesh in his hands, and that illicit touch, paired with wicked words, forbidden ones he whispered against her ear, encouraged each rise and fall of her hips.
Pressure built between her thighs, sharp and keen, and with each thrust of her body against his in a bid to assuage the ache there, the more desperate this yearning to find the same fulfillment he’d brought her to became. Her speech dissolved to wordless little grunts as she ground herself against him, the enormous length of his shaft rigid as steel, and she hungered to feel that flesh at last.
Then he moved a hand between their bodies, and slipped his fingers into her drenched center.
Emma cursed, bucking her hips harder, and Charles laughed quietly, that low rumble which shook his chest reverberating with male triumph.