Page 68 of A Night of Forever
Her silky, sensuous tone almost snapped his control. He stepped back and began to remove his clothes. He loved watching Isobel as he revealed himself to her. Her wide eyes. Her blushing cheeks. The way she bit her lip and looked away, then back. Her little hands clutching the sheet.
Was he the first unclothed man she’d seen? His primitive possessiveness hoped he was.
By the time he was naked, he was barely breathing. He slid into the bed next to her, wrapped his arms around her, and drew her close. She shivered against him, whether from nerves or cold he could not tell.
He wanted to warm her to her soul. Perhaps then his soul would warm too. It had been cold for so long.
He began to stroke her, caressing her hair, her shoulders, the soft skin over her collarbone, trailing his fingers over the luscious curves of her hip and bottom. She was built for sin, and he grew even harder.
After a few minutes the heat between them was blistering, the cold forgotten. She pushed slightly out of his hold and began stroking him in return. Over his chest, down his stomach, and—as she grew bolder—over his groin. Her confidence grew. Soon her hand wrapped round his straining erection.
She pressed a kiss to his chest. “I don’t really know what to do now,” she whispered.
Keeping his attention riveted on her soft, rosy lips, and running his tongue lightly across them, he placed his hand over hers and showed her how to pleasure him.
She was a fast learner. It wasn’t long before he could hold back no longer. A groan escaped him, and he took her mouth, pouring all his longing into the kiss. At the same time he filled his palms with her breasts, kneading gently.
This time it was Isobel who groaned, arching against him, her hips almost touching where her hand still worked him.
All too soon, and breathing like a racehorse, he had to stop her.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked, wide-eyed and anxious.
He shook his head. “No. But I want you so badly that if we do not slow down I won’t last long enough to see to your pleasure.”
He rolled over onto his back and tried to rein in his raging desire.
—
Isobel pulled her own emotions together. Her body, unused to such intimacy, was almost overcome with sensations. She only had to look at Arend clothed to want him. But to see him unclothed? He was, quite simply, breathtaking.
His chiseled body was perfection, a Roman god come to life. She’d seen statues of nude men, but Arend’s flesh and blood surpassed her wildest dreams. Pure muscle. Raw power. No wonder he seemed at ease in his nakedness.
His shoulders were broad, his chest and stomach a field of rippling muscle, his erection—
Isobel’s body grew damp, then wet and pliant at the sight of his manhood rising from the nest of curling black hair at his groin. A wicked thrill slid down her spine at the bold evidence of his arousal, followed quickly by trepidation. Like the rest of him, his arousal was large and somewhat intimidating. She had no idea how it would fit.
Only one way to conquer fear,she told herself. Rising up, she began pressing kisses over his face, down his neck, and over his hard, hard chest. Slowly she moved lower, not really sure what she was doing. But he had pleasured her once with his mouth. Surely she could do the same.
His skin felt heated even in the cold room. Warm, musk-scented velvet over muscle and bone. It was strange. Intoxicating. Wonderful.
When she reached his groin he didn’t try to stop her. Unsure, she slid him a look from under her lashes. His face was a mask of need and want, and her cheeks warmed under his deliberate stare. Did he know how wicked her thoughts were? Arend made her want to do naughty things, and if that made her a wanton, well, she did not care.
On impulse she ran her tongue down the length of him. His hips flexed at her touch and a drop of milky liquid appeared in the slit at the top of his pulsing member. She bent lower, slipped her mouth over the head, and suckled him. He felt like satin-covered steel. He tasted salty and somehow very, very male.
Isobel had no idea what she was doing, but she mimicked what she had done with her hand. She drew him deep into her mouth and then released him, her head bobbing.
When she looked at his face he had the devil in his eyes and his jaw was taut. When she used her hand and her tongue, his eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned, his hips jerking to thrust deeper into her mouth.
The power was dizzying. She had this formidable man at her mercy. As his passions rose, so did hers. She was hot, and only he could relieve the burning need inside her, assuage the ache between her thighs, satisfy the longing to be taken by him and him alone.
Soon his groans filled the room and his fingers wound in her hair, holding her tight. Unused to this motion, her eyes watered and her cheeks ached. But she would not stop for the world. With her own arousal heating her from the inside out, Isobel watched Arend’s unfettered hunger blaze.
Just when she felt his control begin to slip, he cursed and pulled her up his body.
Giddy with power, she let him roll her under him and pepper kisses over her face and breasts.
When he said, his voice thick with passion, “Now it’s my turn to worship you. I’ve been dying for another taste,” she laughed with joy.
