Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,55
position, with him laid out beneath her like a banquet, her knees pressed to his hips, left her feeling naughty and bold.
“The satyrs likely expired from an excess of pleasure. Come here, Sophie, and kiss me.”
With the shift in position, Vim had changed the game. Sophie perceived this at the level of instinct, but it took gazing down at him for a moment before she understood the nature of the change.
“You want me to make love to you.” She trailed her hand over his chest. “When I was on my back, you were making love to me.”
His hand closed over hers on his chest, and he brought her fingers to his lips. “We make love to each other, Sophie.” No teasing, no flirting, but rather a quiet gravity infused his voice. “I am here for the sole purpose of giving you pleasure, and that will give me pleasure long after this night has passed.”
She folded down onto his chest, abruptly needing to hide her face against his throat. His arms closed around her, and the game changed yet again.
It was no longer a game at all. He’d leave in the morning, and Sophie would let him go. That was how matters would conclude, no matter what joy or pleasure they wrung from the night.
She spent a long, sweet moment curled against him, his hands making slow patterns on her back. Against her belly, she felt the length of his erection—firm, warm, and undeniable, but passive.
“I will miss you, Vim Charpentier.”
“This comforts me a little, Sophie, though I’d never want to cause you upset. I will miss you too.”
They’d said the same words just a few hours ago, but here in the dark, nothing between them at all, the sentiments took on a different, more poignant weight. Sophie pushed his hair off his forehead, and with her hand on his crown, set her lips to his.
She put as much longing and wishing into her kiss as she knew how, but as he tasted her in return, she felt Vim shift the kiss to something deeper, closer. His hand moved slowly on her bare back, mapping bone, muscle, and sinew.
Sophie had the sense he was memorizing the feel of her even as his tongue traced the shape of her lips.
“Go easy, Sophie.” He murmured the words against her neck. Sophie felt his nose grazing her ear, then he was levering her up so she hung over him. That same nose nuzzled at her breast.
“Vim… I want…”
“Yes.” He closed his mouth over her nipple, drawing in a slow, wicked rhythm that ignited all manner of need deep in Sophie’s body.
In her womb. She cradled the back of his head in her palm, holding him to her as she tried to adjust to what cascaded through her.
Tenderness certainly, unbearable tenderness for the man giving her such pleasure, but also desire. Hot, needy, unfamiliar, and for the first time, welcome.
“Move on me, Sophie. Pleasure yourself.”
He arched up, snugging the length of his erection right against her sex.
Move on me, Sophie.
She wanted to move; she wanted to grind herself down on him, to consume him bodily, to have him—to have him—deep inside her body.
“Like this.” Vim’s hands settled on her hips, and he guided her along his length, a slow, wet sweep and return that had Sophie groaning softly.
It wasn’t tidy, but it was… God in heaven… It was beyond words.
When she’d found a rhythm, his hands glided away, one to her breast, one to wrap around her lower back. He guided her, and yet he exerted no demands at all.
“Take your time.” The words were just above a whisper, sinking into Sophie’s brain through a haze of pleasure and growing bewilderment. “Take all night if you need to.”
This was not copulation. Sophie had been raised with five brothers, she’d spent plenty of time in the barns and stables and mews at her family’s various holdings. This was not copulation.
She could not think beyond that, for her body was beginning to throb with a low, hot want that connected Vim’s fingers on her nipples with his mouth on hers and with the hard length of his arousal tight against her sex.
She desperately tried to keep the sensations separate, to be catalogued and savored one body part and memory at a time, but her boundaries were collapsing.
“Vim, I can’t… I’m not…” She couldn’t think, couldn’t seize words from the maelstrom Vim’s male body was brewing in hers.