gently upon one another.
He began a slow descent to a crouch, and she held their unbroken kiss as his head lowered. His open hands glided down her back and over her bottom cheeks, squeezing their roundness. She gasped in surprise at how quickly her body responded. Her nether regions came alive at his touch, igniting each of her feminine parts. Her hands gripped his biceps in protest, but she didn’t want to stop him. And when he straightened against her, his own passion was aroused.
In the gathering darkness, she gave her other senses free rein to explore. She slid her hands up to his shoulders, reveling in the dense muscle under her fingertips. It swelled and tightened, like the sinews of a running stallion, as his hands explored the rest of her. Behind his neck, her fingers threaded through the glossy waves of his thick hair. It felt soft and strong between her fingers, like rushing water. Everything about him reminded her of something wild and untamable, and the farther along she let herself get, the more dangerous she knew it would become.
A hand slid under her arm and spun her toward the wall. She braced herself against the ancient stones, the ivy leaves crunching between her fingers. The rose-colored poplin at her shoulder edged by the dark pink ribbon collapsed in his clawed fingers as he drew it down.
A hot tongue laved at the exposed flesh of her shoulder, sending ripples throughout her body. Her breath came out in raw gasps as a large hand cupped her right breast, still imprisoned in the fabric of her dress. Her nipple tightened, rising into the warmth of his open palm. Instinctively, her back arched, pushing her bottom into the rock-hard bulge in his trousers.
Both hands now squeezed her breasts, stoking her passion as well as his. Her hands flew to her breasts and flattened upon his own. She could feel the two hands now, one smooth and veined, the other scored and welted. But oh, what magic was in them that made her want to feel forever connected to him! His imperfections made him perfect for her.
He crouched low and she felt his fingers against her stockinged legs. The gentle pressure of his palm against the curve of her calf sparked a flame in her womanly parts that made her moan.
Higher his hand climbed. His callused flesh snagged at the fabric of her stockings as his hand brushed upward—across her knee, along the crest of her garter, and between her naked thighs.
The feeling of so rough a thing on her soft skin awakened a hunger long forgotten. Malcolm’s touch aroused more than her ardor—it also aroused her affection. The scars that were left upon her heart when her first and only lover cast her aside were changing, shifting … healing.
A gentle finger probed and pushed apart the folds of her whetted womanhood. A thousand pleasant things flashed through Serena’s fevered mind, but there was one warning voice loudly complaining. She had made the mistake of giving herself once to a man, and it had ended in disaster. Don’t do this again, not with this man. He’s too special to lose.
The shame of her secret was still fresh, as daily she hoped no one would find out that she had acted like a wanton. But now the man with the disfigured hand was inside her, and he was about to learn that she was scarred down there, too. Her virginity was gone, replaced by the smoothness that belonged only to she who was married.
His hand stilled, and her heart stopped. Facing away from him, she was relieved not to be able to see the expression on his face. She had expected to have this confrontation on her wedding night, and she would have an answer ready by then. But she hadn’t expected to need that answer tonight.
She tensed, bracing for an appalled pronouncement—or worse, a snide remark. But nothing came.
Instead she felt his fingers begin a slow back-and-forth motion. She expelled her breath, unaware she had been holding it. Had he even noticed she was no longer pure? It didn’t matter, she realized. Whether she had given herself to another man or just to Malcolm right now, she was no longer an innocent.
As the pleasurable sensation grew, she allowed herself the delicious oblivion of putting her shame out of her mind. Languorously, she rested her head back against his shoulder, allowing him greater ease in pleasuring her. The delirium grew as the