more deeply in sensation and yearning. When he had introduced her to the wonder of a man’s mouth skillfully applied to a lady’s breasts—even when she yet wore her chemise—she rallied her wits to return fire.
She started where he had, tracing his facial features, and she spent extra time brushing her thumbs across his brow. That damned eye patch had to be a nuisance, for he went still under her hand, then sighed.
Ann graduated to the planes and sinews of Orion’s back, making so bold as to learn the contours of his muscular bum and to put her own mouth to his flat, male nipple. That foray earned her a soft groan. All the while, she was aware that her lover was in a state of splendid readiness for the act itself.
Orion, however, did not seem aware. He seemed content to let her pet and taste him until spring.
“Up,” Ann said, giving his bottom a pat. “Please.”
He eased up and sat back, his weight grazing Ann’s thighs.
“The chemise has to go,” Ann said, pulling the hem free from the covers and half raising herself on her elbows. “Get this damned thing off of me.”
“Hold still.” He complied without so much as a tug to Ann’s braid and pitched the offending linen over his shoulder. “The look of you now will stay with me until I’m a tired old man, past all mischief, save what I’ve stored in memory.”
“Enough looking,” Ann said, wrapping him in her arms and urging him down over her. “More loving.”
He exhibited more of his infernal patience. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Orion, I am sure.” About the larger picture—the situation with Jules, Aunt Melisande’s backhanded support, the dreaded prospect of becoming Aunt Meli’s companion—Ann was in a welter of bewilderment. But in this bed, in Orion Goddard’s arms, she knew exactly who and what she wanted.
“So be it,” he said, kissing her forehead with an odd solemnity. “But you tell me if I’m blundering, Annie. You pinch my arse, pull my hair, bite my ear. I can get carried away.”
“Your version of lovemaking sounds like a brawl.” A glorious brawl. Ann would have elaborated on that point, except that Orion hitched closer.
“Hold me,” he whispered, tucking an arm under Ann’s neck. He murmured something in French—she caught the verb rêver, to dream—and the moment did take on the quality of a reverie. She closed her eyes the better to savor the sensation of Orion easing his way into her body. He stole forward by minute increments, then slipped away, then gently pressed forward again.
“You are driving me mad, Orion.”
“Good.”
Ann came to appreciate his delicacy, for her body had an adjustment to make. He seemed to sense even that, going still, hilted inside her, while he treated her to wicked, heated kisses. His tongue had skills other than the ability to taste, and so, Ann discovered, did hers.
She was exploring that skill when he resumed a slight rocking of his hips, and something about the angle he’d taken was different. More maddening.
“Move with me, Annie. Take what you need.”
She never took. Never demanded, never insisted, but her self-restraint deserted her when Orion levered up on his arms and began thrusting in earnest.
“This is the part where you get carried away?” Ann managed.
“This is the part where we get carried away.”
He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly how to ply Ann’s body so desire rose to a galloping need, then beyond that, to a transcendent pleasure. She arched up at the same moment he tucked close, and she battered him with the cataclysm storming through her.
He might have laughed softly, the wretch, while Ann pressed her cheek to the rough warmth of his chest and shuddered under an intensity of sensation. She had glimpsed these feelings before, fleetingly, glancingly, but with Orion, she became another creature entirely, luminous with bodily joy.
The magnificence faded like summer thunder, and Orion gathered her close. She needed his embrace to keep her from flying into a million iridescent pieces, and she needed his arms around her because tears threatened.
“Catch your breath,” he said, stroking her hair. “I certainly need to catch mine.”
How gracious he was, particularly for a man who’d denied himself satisfaction, the better to please his lover.
Ann burrowed closer, a greater act of surrender than even what had passed before. “I am all in a muddle.” Scattered to the four winds and keenly dreading what a reassembling of wits and dignity would entail. I need this. I need this man.
But she