Page 41 of Irish Rebel
“This,” he murmured, nibbling at her lips till they parted for him.
She opened, willing, wanting to be touched and tasted and taken. Even as he sensed her eagerness he led her slowly, patiently, thoroughly through the layers of sensations.
He caressed, his fingertips, palms, light as the air, then lingering at some secret place that had her breath catching on little jolts of pleasure. His mouth cruised lazily over her skin, sliding her into warmth, then it would come back to hers again, with a hungry bite that shot her into the heat.
Instinctively, avidly, she arched against him.
He was murmuring to her, lovely, stirring words in the old tongue, each like a tender kiss on the soul. Her heart fluttered, wings spreading wide for flight.
There were no nerves, no doubts as she raised herself to him, wrapped herself around him. When he slipped off her shirt, the breeze and his fingertips whispered over her. She felt beautiful.
Her skin was white silk, her hair rich flame. Every tremble was a gift, every sigh a treasure. In his life he’d never held anything as lovely as Keeley discovering herself.
She never shied when he undressed her, but embraced each new moment, welcomed each fresh sensation. Her curious hands moved over him, undressing him in turn. He’d never known how arousing it could be to be someone’s first.
Her heart hammered under his mouth, and the scent she’d dabbed on that fragile flesh swirled into his senses until they were as clouded as hers. He took more, just a little more, and she began to move under him in mindless invitation.
So much. There was so much, was all she could think. Her body was flooded with sensations, her flesh quivering from them. She could hear her own moans, her own ragged breaths but could do nothing to control them. The very loss of control was thrilling.
Everything inside her was tangled and straining. And desperate. Her nails bit into his back, her teeth found his shoulder. Then his hand closed over her.
She cried out from the shock of it, all that pulsing, pumping pleasure, the sheer heat of it that washed in one huge wave that crashed over her, inside her, and left her shuddering. She reared up, eyes blind, her fingers diving into his hair.
Then his mouth was on hers again, hotter now, hungrier, giving her no chance to catch her breath or her sanity.
“Give yourself to me,” he whispered, the blood pounding in his head as her eyes, heavy, stunned, looked into his. “Take me in.”
With her eyes on his, she opened and arched, and gave.
It was like rising into the air, each stroke another beat of wings. Pleasure climbed higher and higher still, lifting through her body, sweeping through her mind. All she could see were his eyes, dark and green and focused on her, even as his body was focused on hers. Mated and matched and moving with her.
Staggered by the beauty of it, she lifted a hand to his cheek, murmured his name.
And he was lost. Love and passion, dreams and desire stabbed through his heart. Helpless, he buried his face in her hair and let himself go.
With her eyes closed she absorbed the delights of being a well-loved woman. Her body felt gloriously heavy, her mind wonderfully muffled. There was no need to wonder or worry if she had given Brian the same pleasure. She had seen it in his face, and felt it as he lay over her with his heart still thundering.
There was a change inside her, she thought. Awareness, understanding. And a soaring kind of triumph.
Smiling to herself, she traced a finger down his back. “How are the ribs?”
“What?”
And didn’t it feel grand to hear that sleepy slur in his voice? “Your ribs. That’s still a nasty bruise you have there.”
“I can’t feel anything.” His head was still spinning. “What’s this scent you’ve put on? It’s devious.”
“Just one of my many secrets.”
He lifted his head, started to grin at her, then it swamped him again. The look of her, the love of her. Lowering his head he brought his lips to hers in a long, dreamy kiss that came out of his soul and stirred hers.
Her hand slid limply to the mattress. “Brian.”
“I’m crushing you.” He said it briskly. He’d terrified himself.
He shifted away and shattered the moment. “There’s not really very much of you.” Suddenly aware that the breeze fluttering in the windows he left open was cold, he tugged at the bedspread until he could wrap it around her. “Are you all right then?”
“I’m fabulous, thank you.” Laughing, she sat up, without a shrug for modesty as the spread slid to her waist. She caught his face in her hands and gave him a quick, affectionate kiss. “Are you all right then?” she said, mimicking his brogue.
