Page 43 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
How much she had to discover. How much he had to show her. “There’s no need to be shy. You’re glorious.”
Despite her pink cheeks, she tilted her chin and subjected his body to a thorough inspection. Heat sizzled through him, and his balls tightened in anticipation.
“I want to please you.”
“You do.” He ran his hand down her arm, delighting in her silky skin, and laced his fingers with hers. “You will.”
Her fingers twined around his with a swift trust that made his heart somersault. Pascal leaned in and placed his lips on hers, leashing his ravenous passion.
She responded with the sweetness so essential to her nature. Under his gentle exploration, she sighed, and the tension gradually seeped from her body. Taking exquisite care, he began to touch her, finding the places that made her tremble. His hands learned the line of her back, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the lushness of her buttocks. Deliberately he avoided her breasts and sex. His control balanced on a knife edge.
He nudged her toward the bed and broke her fall when she tumbled back onto the sheets. She was panting with excitement.
He pulled away to strip off his breeches, until he, too, was naked. When she stared at him with what looked like wonder, he blushed for the first time in twenty years.
“I’m a lucky girl.”
He gave a broken laugh. “Not as lucky as I am.”
“We’ll argue about that later.”
“Much later.” He had difficulty summoning coherent speech. The endless beat of desire was too powerful. He came down over her, sliding his hips between her spread thighs. The friction of skin on skin was delicious.
“Yes.” Readily she curved her hands over his shoulders and raised her knees, cradling him closer to where he longed to be. Her musky arousal mingled with the scent of the flowers. For the rest of his life, he’d think of this as the perfume of paradise.
When he bent to take her nipple between his lips, she jerked and cried out, digging her fingers into his back. He reached down to stroke her cleft, dipping his fingers into the hot female honey.
When she was writhing in demand against the sheets, he lifted his head to see her face. Her eyes were half shut, and a flush colored her cheeks.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured, sliding one hand up to caress his jaw. “I love what you’re doing.”
Ruthlessness tinged this kiss, then he took her other nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it again and again until she quivered and moaned. Between her legs, his hand moved more purposefully. His thumb brushed the center of her pleasure, and she released a sharp little cry.
Carefully he slid a finger into her. She tightened in swift welcome, and he gritted his teeth against spiraling arousal. How he longed to taste her there. To bring her to climax with histongue. But his primitive, irresistible need to claim her made further delay unthinkable.
He caught her thighs and held them apart. On a powerful surge, he rose and thrust forward. As he pushed into her body, she hissed with satisfaction and dug her nails into his back. The sharp sting heightened the avalanche of sensations overwhelming him.
Tight, hot and wet, she clenched around him. How could a man survive such bliss?
She arched up and kissed his neck. “Gervaise.”
Just his name. No more. But it was enough. He heard every ounce of her pleasure in the single word.
With heavy strokes, Pascal moved, staking his possession with every plunge. The soft music of her moans, the grip of her body, the flutter of her hands against the bare skin of his back and arms, all fed his fierce arousal. His thrusts intensified, pushing her into the mattress. Still she rose to meet him, lifting her hips to take him deeper.
Her breath escaped in erratic gusts. Pascal was so close, but through his approaching crisis, he held back. He needed her to go first, to find what she’d never known before. She jerked her hips higher, but still didn’t cross over into release.
He shifted to lean on one elbow so he could touch her and take her over. For a fraught moment, she tautened into quaking stillness. He rose on his arms to slide into her again, and she cried out in astonished discovery. The storm finally broke and made her shake and sob under the onslaught of pleasure. The eyes that met his shone liquid gold.
Through her shuddering peak, he poised over her, battling to hold still. The moment stretched into rapturous agony.
At last, with a guttural growl, he wrenched free to spill his seed on the soft curve of her stomach.
In blind, primal release, he pumped his passion onto her skin. Then he slumped beside her, burying his face in the pillows.
Pascal felt elated, exhausted, free. While some wicked, hungry part of him regretted that he hadn’t flooded her womb with sweet heat.
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