A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,45

again at what she felt, the size of him, the strength, and it was her turn to be awed.

Awed, and grateful too, because she knew she could not have been so bold and he had given her licence.

He shrugged off his shirt as she tested his length in her fingers. He was so big. Long. Thick. She felt a growing dampness between her thighs. Inner muscles clenched and unclenched in anticipation.

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she confessed, a germ of fear that he would be too large for her no contest for her willingness to try. She licked her lips, hungry at the prospect, already sliding down his zip to slip her hand inside. She squeezed them gently through his silk underwear, so sheer the fabric hid nothing of him, before gliding the back of her nails up his length. ‘Yes, please.’

He groaned and grabbed her wrist in a hand made of steel. ‘Then you will have me,’ he said, his voice thick around the edges, ‘but not like this. When I come, I want to be inside you.’

He wasn’t slow after that. He wasted no time lifting her from the circle of her fallen dress and spinning her onto the cloud-soft bed, laying her down almost reverentially upon the coverlet. His trousers lasted no longer than a second after that. His underwear but a blink.

She caught her breath. Before her stood a god, broad-shouldered and hard chested and sculpted from flesh that had been fired in the kiln of burning need. A flame still flickered in his dark eyes, while his thick erection swayed proudly before him. Hungry. Seeking.

Magnificent.

No mere boy like that other one whose name had suddenly vanished from her mind, but a man, fully—no—perfectly formed.

And she knew what he was seeking and her mouth went dry as he knelt with one knee on the bed and every drop of moisture in her body headed south.

He leaned over her, smoothing the tangle of her hair. ‘Suddenly I’m not the one who’s overdressed,’ he murmured and remedied that inequality with a smooth sweep of his hands that bared her totally to him. She revelled at his swift intake of air, before his mouth fell upon hers, his tongue plundering her mouth while his hands plundered her body, seeking treasure, giving pleasure. Spreading heat.

Every touch, every kiss, every stroke of skin against skin building the heat, so that she thought she would self-combust.

‘Alesander,’ she gasped when his fingers circled that tightly wound bud that seemed right now to be the centre of her existence.

‘I know,’ he said, lifting his mouth from her nipple, simultaneously soothing her with his words, only to build on her distress with his clever fingers and heated mouth.

But he didn’t know. He couldn’t, or surely he would do something. ‘Please!’ she begged, breathless and burning up in a firestorm that threatened to overwhelm her.

And he left her for a moment, a moment where air rushed in against her heated skin and she could catch her breath. A moment before he was back, his body poised over hers.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he said, stroking her sex more purposefully now, the tips of his fingers venturing inside, teasing her, driving her inner muscles wild.

Oh God, she thought, as momentarily relief evaporated in another heated surge. ‘I want you.’

He smiled. ‘Then you shall have me.’ He dipped his mouth to hers as their bodies touched in the most intimate of connections.

He was big. She had known that from her first touch. When his tip nudged her entrance and lingered there, she feared he was too big. She was determined he wouldn’t be. She was determined …

‘Open your eyes,’ he ordered, withdrawing from the kiss, ‘and look at me.’

She blinked her eyes open, confused. ‘Relax,’ he said, dipping his head to kiss her lightly on the mouth. ‘Relax and breathe.’

‘You’re so big. I don’t know if I can—’

‘Of course you can,’ he whispered on another light-as-air kiss to one hard nipple this time, as his fingers joined the gentle assault, working their magic again around that tiny bud of nerves.

She moaned at the sudden spike of pleasure and felt the pressure shift and deepen and closed her eyes, rolling her head back on the pillow.

‘No,’ he commanded. ‘Keep your eyes open.’

‘I can’t.’ Her protest was little more than a breath, the fever inside her mounting, the feeling of fullness inside her building as he edged inside her another delicious fraction. She gasped.

‘Open them! I want to see