Page 17 of The Moonstone Pirate
“This is where you are wrong, Imogen. I cannot walk away from you even though I know I should. And I will never stop thinking about kissing you. That’s the problem with a curiosity left unfulfilled. It becomes an obsession if not satisfied.”
“Mere curiosity, is it?” She squared her shoulders and met his potent gaze. “You do realize there is a simple solution to your problem.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “Are you suggesting I kiss you?”
“Yes, to appease your curiosity…and mine, frankly. I have always dreamed of kissing a pirate.”
“Imogen, I am not a pirate.” But he gave her no chance to disagree before gathering her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers in a slow, grinding motion that felt languid and unrushed, and yet shot sparks through her.
The kiss started out gentle, his lips barely grazing hers. But he steadily increased the pressure, as though easing her into the kiss…much like wading into the water. A toe first. Then an ankle. But the heat she felt rippling through her body was no gentle swim. He seemed to read her response and sense her growing urgency. She felt his smile against her lips as he suddenly plunged deeper, moving his velvet mouth against her lips with greater insistence, the kiss increasingly deep, slow. Molten.
Dear heaven.
She clutched his shoulders.
He felt so good.
Hot and muscled and good.
Her body tingled and then turned to liquid fire, little sparks erupting in shocking places, making her senses tumble out of control. But this was her—she always felt too much. Her blood was now a molten river of heat, but her heart… Oh, her heart was a blaze of fireworks. She pressed against him, melted against his vibrant heat, and suddenly, nothing seemed to matter but the two of them spinning in a reckless whirl.
The kiss was no longer tame.
He lured her and teased her, scorched her with the delicious crush of his lips and the iron strength of his arms that cradled her so tenderly.
“Blessed saints, my sweet butterfly,” he murmured, groaning as he started to draw away. Then, to her surprise, he lowered his head to hers again and kissed her with the same devouring fire that made her lose herself to him in the first instance.
She tried to mimic his actions, hoping to make him feel this same fiery fervor.
Was she doing it right?
Perhaps she was, for every inch of her was pasted to the length of him, and it still was not enough for either of them.
She felt everything in his kiss… She felt too much. His passion and his hunger. His ache to possess her, and his ache to protect her.
He held her with such tenderness, such heat.
This pirate certainly knew how to kiss.
He drew away suddenly and simply stared down at her, his expression one of confusion, and perhaps there was more than a little horror mingled with it. Had their kiss been too awkward for him? Truly, he had the oddest look on his face.
She was still reeling from the heaven of his kiss and did not know what to say as the silence stretched between them.
Fortunately, he spoke first. “Imogen, did I hurt you? I know you have never been kissed before, and I meant to be gentle.”
She nodded.
Yes, he was gentle.
Flames-of-a-volcano hot, and yet still gentle.
What had he just asked her?
“I am such a fool,” he said with an ache to his voice. “I owe you an apology. Sincerely. You have the sweetest mouth. So lush and soft. I should have realized how delicate you were and been more careful. Of course, you are a little butterfly. How can you be anything but beautiful and fragile?”
She put a hand over his heart, feeling its strong, steady beat while hers was in a rampant and erratic roil. “It was a perfect kiss, my lord. Not too soft and not too hard, but exactly as it should have been. You did not hurt me. There, we ought to be pleased. I got my pirate’s kiss, and you now have your curiosity appeased. It is done. And it was nice.”
“Merely nice?”
