And though she still trembled, the need to look away had gone. More exposed than she’d ever been—yet no longer wanting to hide. She only wanted him.
She found her courage again. “Are you going to touch me, Thom?”
“I am. After this.”
He dragged her down for a sweet, hot kiss. Her bare br**sts flattened against his hair-roughened chest, and it was such a perfect, wonderful sensation, skin against skin.
And steel against skin. His hands slid down her sides. Her breathing ragged, Georgiana sat up again, then bit her bottom lip to keep from whimpering and rocking when his palms cupped her br**sts. Utterly still, she watched him touch her, his eyes burning and his face rapt as he looked.
Maybe not just looking. “Can you feel what you touch?”
He slowly nodded, his gaze never leaving her br**sts. “Yes. Not everything. But some. Like soft and hard.”
His thumbs swept across her taut ni**les. Unexpected, sharp pleasure seared like fire through sensitive flesh. Georgiana gasped and arched into his palms. “Thom. Oh, Thom.”
Expression stark with need, he slid his hands down. “The difference between cloth and skin.”
His fingertips skimmed over the chemise bunched at her hips, down the tops of her thighs, stopping at her hem. His gaze lifted to hers. Trembling, Georgiana didn’t look away from his eyes as the fingers of his right hand ventured up the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. Higher. Tension tightened her legs against his sides, pushing her away from his touch. His left hand caught her hip. Between her thighs, his fingers neared her center, slipping over skin left slick by her arousal.
“I feel heat.” His voice had deepened near to a growl. “And wet.”
Oh, sweet God. “Thom—”
A soft touch of steel. Georgiana froze, her hands braced against his chest and her gaze locked on Thom’s, but her entire being focused on the sensation of his fingers slowly stroking her most intimate flesh, slippery with need.
Except for his fingers, Thom’s body had stiffened to solid stone, his heavy muscles corded with strain. “All right, Georgie?”
Unable to speak, unable to breathe, she only nodded.
A low groan rumbled through his chest. Parting her, he delved deeper through her folds, his thumb sliding up to rub at the apex of her sex. Shock and sudden, needy pleasure jolted her hips forward. Georgiana cried out, her fingers curling against his skin.
Desperately, she rocked against his hand. “More. Again.”
Her plea was met with a tortured groan. Thom reared up, catching her lips in a searing kiss. His thumb circled her slick bud, and she gave a strangled cry into his mouth.
As if propelled by that sound, Thom turned and bore her back to the bed—lips still fused to hers, his fingers still stroking through her wet heat. Overwhelmed by need, Georgiana clung to his shoulders, widening her thighs, but he didn’t settle between them. He stretched out alongside her, instead, his erect length heavy against her hip. Oh, God. She needed him inside, where she was aching and empty. Hands diving into his hair, she tried to pull him on top of her. He didn’t move.
Frustrated, frantic for him, she whipped her head aside, breaking the kiss. “I need you inside me, Thom. Don’t leave me like this.”
“I won’t leave you.” As rough as gravel, his reply was followed by the tight circling of his thumb. Helplessly, her hips lifted against his hand, urging a stronger touch. “But I won’t risk hurting you. Let me please you like this, instead.”
His mouth opened over hers again, stopping her response. Steel warmed by her skin, his big hand delved deeper between her legs, the tip of his middle finger stroking through her folds to find her entrance. With a moan of realization, Georgiana stilled. Her body shook, anticipation and need and uncertainty building into a furious storm. Thom groaned, stroking through her wetness again. His long finger began a steady penetration.
Not the same. Not as big. But still tight and full and wonderful, sliding back and forth inside her, and all of her body moving like liquid with him.
He pushed another finger alongside the first, a deep and slow invasion. She cried his name, but nothing else inside her was coherent, just a spiraling ache and tension fed by more pleasure than she’d ever known. Her head fell back. Uncontrollable moans escaped her throat. Writhing against his hand, she found his lips again, Thom, her Thom, his mouth so hot and his need as deep as hers, his tongue thrusting with the same slow rhythm as his fingers. Kissing him endlessly, though the ache became unbearable and her body didn’t feel liquid anymore, but sharp and hard, until Thom groaned brokenly into her mouth, his slippery thumb rolling over that sensitive bud.
She splintered apart. Nothing that was Georgiana, just pieces of her. Her fingers, clenching hard in Thom’s hair. Her mouth open under his, but no longer kissing, just open and soundless and not even taking in air, because her lungs had stiffened into iron. Her spine bowed, and her toes curled, her knees bent and locked into place, as if they’d been jerked up toward the center of her, which hadn’t locked or stiffened but was clamping around Thom’s fingers in tight pulls, drawing him deeper.
Refusing to let him go.
Then it was gone, and she could breathe again, her heart pounding harder than when she’d dragged him up her steps from the beach. With his back to the portholes, Thom was all in shadow, but she found his mouth again easily—and felt his smile against hers.
Still inside her, his fingers suddenly pumped deeper. Georgiana gasped as a shudder wracked her body, her inner muscles clamping around him again.
“I felt that, too,” he said.
“Thom!” she cried, then laughed, though she had to hide her face against his shoulder.