To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,88

him so badly.

“Max,” she whispered as he caressed her, making her arch into his body. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

A rumble of laughter vibrated through him. “I rather like it this way. I like you naked like this while I am dressed. I think it should be this way as often as possible.”

Phoebe huffed.

“That is unfair,” she grumbled, though in truth, there was something delicious about being naked when he was fully clothed. Nonetheless, she wanted her hands on his skin, wanted to feel the heat of his body against hers. “Max,” she protested, tugging at his shirt.

“Whatever you want, love,” he said, sitting back and stripping off his coat and waistcoat.

Phoebe watched with avid interest as he tugged his cravat aside and then pulled his shirt over his head. Her breath caught, and she found herself delighted with the play of muscle beneath his skin, and with the dark trail of hair that led beneath the waistband of his trousers.

“Enough?” he queried, all innocence.

Phoebe scowled at him and he chuckled, shaking his head. “And you said I was wicked.”

Max swung his legs to the side of the bed and stripped off shoes and stockings before getting to his feet. He shucked everything else in one smooth movement, giving her a wonderful view of a taut backside and powerful thighs, and then he turned to face her.

Whatever it was he saw in her face as she looked at him—hungry to touch everything she saw—galvanised him into action and a moment later he was pushing her down again, his mouth on hers, hungry and demanding. Whatever had held him back before, whatever had made him cautious, it was gone now.

Phoebe sighed, overwhelmed by the feel of his body against hers, hot and hard and heavy. The weight of his arousal burned against her intimate skin and she pressed closer, sliding her own aching flesh against his, encouraging him not to wait any longer. He made a low sound of pleasure as his large hands kneaded the softness of her behind, tilting her hips just so. She gasped as the blunt head of his erection pressed against her and he stilled.

“No! No, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleaded.

There was a muffled laugh.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he managed, pressing against her again.

Phoebe shifted beneath him, helping him and her breath snagged in her throat as he slid inside her. She made a soft sound, surprise more than pain as he filled her, the sensation foreign and a little uncomfortable.

“Phoebe.”

Max’s voice was strained, his body taut as he held himself still.

“It’s all right,” she said, knowing he was giving her time, allowing her to accept the intimate invasion. “I’m all right.”

He moved again, deeper and then deeper still in one firm thrust and she held her breath at the slight pinch of discomfort, there and gone as Max took her attention. He bent and kissed her, slow and lingering, and then he was moving again. Phoebe ran her hands over his shoulders, down his back, revelling in the shift of muscle beneath her fingers, the silk of his skin. It was all new, all astonishing, the tenderness and the comfort of his embrace, the trust and the knowledge that she was loved so deeply. Even though they had been intimate before, it had not been like this, this sense of completion, connection. The sounds he made, of effort, of carnal delight, made her own body react with heat and desire, wanting more of him. She slid her hands to his buttocks, enjoying the powerful thrust of his body beneath her palms and clutched at his backside, squeezing, urging him deeper, harder. He made a sound that rumbled low in his chest, that made pleasure ripple through her.

Phoebe stared up at him, the strong line of his throat, his handsome face, eyes closed as he gave himself over to this, to loving her.

“I love you,” she said, and his eyes opened, dark and warm and filled with adoration as he gazed down at her.

“And I….” he began, the words lost as pleasure overtook him.

He reached between them, his fingers seeking the place that would hurry her to join him, caressing her as Phoebe moaned under his touch. He watched, his breathing erratic, the sinuous slide of his body into hers becoming fractured and urgent.

“Phoebe,” he said, before closing his eyes, turning his face into her hair. “Oh, love….”

Phoebe held tightly to him as his big body shuddered, her own desire peaking as she watched