Page 112 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
Dinah wasn’t sure what she was asking—a plea for his hands, for his mouth—but she didn’t need to beg for him, because she’d hardly breathed the words before his lips found hers. He kissed her and kissed her—deep, drugging kisses that left her breathless and dazed. He teased his tongue over the seam of her lips again and again, soft groans tearing from his chest when she opened her mouth under his.
“Arms over your head, sweetheart.” He didn’t wait for her to obey but wrapped his fingers around her wrists and raised her arms over her head, then held them there as he scraped his teeth lightly over the curves of her neck. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “If I had you forever, I’d still never have enough of you.”
Dinah arched her neck, a silent plea for his kiss. His mouth was hot, his tongue curling around hers until she was gasping for breath, then he moved lower to bite gently at the hollow of her throat before closing his lips around her nipple.
“Oliver.” Dinah arched against him, breathing hard as he teased at the straining peak. She struggled under him as he nipped at her, trying to get closer as he tormented her, his eager mouth wetting the fabric.
“No,” he rumbled against her ear when she tried to lower her arms. He shifted to take both her wrists in one hand, then reached down to caress her other nipple with lazy strokes of his thumb. “I want you like this, spread out for me.”
Dinah shivered at the command in his voice, the sensual promise. She let her arms go lax over her head, and stretched her body under his, offering herself without reserve. Oliver sensed her surrender and let out a purely masculine growl of satisfaction. “Yes, love, just like that. I want to touch you everywhere, sweetheart.”
And he did.
He touched her lips, her neck, her breasts, and between her legs, stroking the tender, swollen flesh until she was incoherent with need, helpless whimpers and pleas vibrating in her throat. In those breathless, unguarded moments, where there was no place for fear, Dinah could no longer deny to herself Oliver was everything she’d ever wanted, and everything she hadn’t believed existed.
Not just the playful rogue who made her smile, but a gentleman, and a man of honor. A passionate man, and a demanding lover, but also a true friend who protected and cherished her. A man with such a deep well of love inside him a lifetime of sharing it could never bleed it dry, never diminish it.
And he wanted to share it withher.
A sound tore from her chest—a sob of passion, pain, gratitude and love. She might have wept forever, but Oliver was there in an instant, soothing the hurt she’d long ago buried in the deepest part of her heart, and kissing the cries from her lips. “You’re safe here, Dinah,” he whispered, “You’re safe with me. Let go for me, sweetheart.”
Oh, she wanted to, wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything, and he was helping her, easing her closer to faith and trust and joy. Every caress of his fingers, every stroke of his tongue, every whispered word nudged her toward the edge of a dream where there were no questions, and no regrets. No thought at all, onlyhim, his warm body wrapped around her, his tongue curling against hers until Dinah was gasping for breath, utterly lost to him.
But Oliver wasn’t lost. He knew just how to touch her, just how to coax the reaction he wanted from her quivering body. His lips and fingers seemed to be everywhere at once, petting and circling, drawing her body tighter and tighter until at last the knot inside her unfurled in waves of bliss so intense she was panting and moaning with it.
“Yes,” he whispered, his lips tracing her skin. “Take your pleasure, sweetheart.”
His blue eyes blazed as he gazed down at her, and she could feel him, his hard length pressed against her hip. He moved against her, but his thrusts were slow, lazy, as if her pleasure was enough for him, and he was content to simply hold her, and ride the fine edge between desire and satisfaction.
Dinah cradled his face in her hands and brought his mouth down to hers. He groaned when she slicked her tongue over his bottom lip and took it into her mouth to suck on it, but he didn’t raise her skirts, or make any other move to take her. He only placed a sweet kiss on the end of her nose, then began to draw away.
Dinah twined her arms around his neck, stilling him. “You didn’t…you’re still—”
Another helpless groan tore from Oliver’s lips when she arched against him, her legs parting slightly as her hips pressed into his, but he only pressed a quick, tender kiss to her lips, then shifted his body away from hers.
“No. Don’t go.” Dinah clutched at him, panic unlike any she’d ever felt before overwhelming her. She couldn’t let him leave her, couldn’t lose him—
“Shhh.” Oliver brushed his lips over her forehead. “I have to, sweetheart. I meant it when I said I don’t want you as my mistress, Dinah. I want you to be my wife. You’ll never be truly mine otherwise, and I’m not a man who takes what isn’t mine.”
There was no rancor in his tone, no accusation.
Nothing for her to say in reply.
She was afraid he’d leave her then, but he didn’t. He pulled the carriage rugs around them, then wrapped her in his arms and eased her head down to his chest with a gentle hand on her neck. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Sleep.”
CHAPTER10
ABBERTON, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 30TH
It had taken four days, but fate had finally caught up with her.
Dinah couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment it occurred or the specific event that provoked it, but somehow between casks of Scottish whiskey and black kittens, sapphires and music boxes, Viking ghosts and greenhouses and breathtaking blue eyes, the inevitable had happened.
Dinah had lost her wits.
Looking back, she was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. She’s been flirting with madness since they’d left London. Now, twenty miles from Cliff’s Edge, there could be no doubt she’d succumbed at last.
Madness was the only reasonable explanation for why she should be perched on the edge of the seat in Oliver’s coach, a sleeping puppy sprawled on his back across her knees and a pineapple clutched to her chest. The spiked ends were poking into her chin, but Dinah didn’t dare set it aside. Lord Horace, for all his rambling about proper soil composition, root rot and predatory insects had made one point perfectly plain.
