Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,77
swell of her breast.
And the intimacy felt not threatening but glorious.
His eyes were ablaze as he gazed down at her. His every muscle taut, he stretched out beside her, his own breathing rough. It was only then that she realized how powerfully this simple act of touching her affected him. He wanted her. Wanted to do more than kiss her and touch her—but he was holding himself in check. Denying his own need, his own pleasure.
For her.
She closed her eyes again, not wanting him to see the tears that welled there, not wanting him to misunderstand. His generosity, his tenderness, surprised her utterly... and touched her deeply.
A second later he rendered all rational thought impossible as his mouth followed the path his fingers had blazed. His tongue found the sensitive pearl he had coaxed forth, darting out to tease it again and again. When the peak was wet, tight, his lips hovered over her and he blew softly, dragging a low cry from her throat. She arched beneath him, shivering. Wanting. Every part of her ached, both where he kissed and lower.
And then his arm slid behind her back and he drew her up against him, drew her in tight as his mouth closed over her in the most shocking kiss. He took her deeply into the warm, liquid velvet of his mouth and the feeling was like... hot rain.
Some hidden, secret part of her, at the very center of her being, trembled and tightened in response as he lavished attention on her, kissing and teasing, gentle and fierce by turns. She felt as if she were soaring, swept upward to a dizzying height she had never experienced before. The sensation was so new, so intense, so unbearably good.
She gave herself over to it, lost in the sensations, her senses so scattered that she barely felt it as he lowered her back to the ground, didn’t realize he had moved his hand.
Until she felt the heat of his fingers on her thigh.
Her breath broke. She trembled beneath him, sensing that she had barely begun to taste the intimacy he meant to share with her. His palm slid downward in a slow caress, seeking the hem of her skirt. Finding it.
And then the sound of silk in his grasp, sliding upward, baring her calf, her knee, her thigh, seemed louder than the crackle of the fire.
“Samantha?” he whispered, his voice odd, rough.
She opened her eyes, not understanding his question, until she realized that she had her legs pressed tightly together.
“Do you want me to continue?”
She couldn’t answer for a moment, struck by the tension in him—the knotted muscles of his arm around her back, the sheen of sweat on his bare chest, the strain etched in every line of his body, his face.
“Yes.” Unable to resist, she lifted her hand to stroke his bearded cheek, her heart thundering. “Oh, yes.”
He trembled, actually trembled, at the light contact of her fingertips. “Samantha, please.” He choked out an oath. “Don’t.”
“You don’t want me to touch you?”
“No, that’s not—” As she moved her fingers lower, along the corded muscles of his neck, he groaned. “Oh, God.”
“I like touching you.”
“But this time is just for you, angel.” He grabbed for her hand and lightly pressed her arm back to the ground beside her head. “You can...” His breathing was so harsh in his throat, it sounded as if he were in pain. “You can touch me later.”
He didn’t give her a chance to argue, stealing her words and her breath with another deep kiss. Then she felt his hand on her hip, sliding her skirt out of the way.
She felt no fear, no resistance, no hesitation. As easily as his fingers had parted the silk and lace of her gown, his tenderness had parted the defenses around her heart. She trusted him. She was safe with him.
Safe.
In that moment she realized she had been a fool to think that safety would ever lie in being alone, in living apart from the world. This was what she needed. To share, to trust, to hold and be held. This feeling of being cherished and sheltered... in this man’s arms.
She parted her lips and deepened the kiss, welcoming the slow, languid penetration of his tongue. Liquid heat poured through her, flowing into her heart, her body. She felt as if she were made entirely of sun-heated water, of melting honey. His fingers traced along her thigh in slow circles as he waited for her, patient, letting her decide.