Page 115 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
He didn’t seem to have the same problem. “I wondered how long you’d be.” His eyes held hers, golden fire smoldering in the amber. Then he raised his hand and gently beckoned. “Come here.”
Not an order, a suggestion.
One she followed.
Instinct took over; she could almost see the threads of what linked them glimmering in the air between him and her.
She reached the bed, raised her skirts, and set one knee on the edge of the mattress. She extended an arm, placed her hand in his, and let him grasp and pull her up. On her knees, she shuffled closer, still upright. Still gripping his hand, still lost in his eyes, held by them and the promise—the future—she saw burning brightly in their depths.
Thiswas what she wanted, what she needed.
Him. All of him.
She let go of all restraint and let him lead her on—let the power that held them swell, coalesce, and take control.
Leaning down, curling her fingers in his and using his grip for balance, she framed his face with her free hand and kissed him.
Opened her mouth and, when he responded, drew him in.
Their fingers eased; they drew their hands apart only to place them on each other. To relearn the curves, the hollows. To reacquaint their senses with the delight each brought the other; to taste and breathe each other in—until their hearts beat in time and the familiar urgency rose within them.
Passion shivered around them, all but tangible as—together, piece by slow piece—they shed her clothes. As, together, to an unhurried and deliberate beat, they knowingly and willingly surrendered and slid deeper into love’s embrace.
Even if he wouldn’t yet acknowledge the affliction, he had already admitted openly to having every symptom.
And that, she acknowledged, as she rose up and—her skin afire, her nerves thrumming with desire—sank down and took him in, sheathed him in her body, held him deep, and pleasured them both, was enough. Enough from someone who had been so very afraid of loving at all.
The lamplight played over his skin and hers, allowing neither of them any shadows in which to hide any part of what they now were, of what together they could be.
And together they reached for that, strove for that moment of elemental joining.
They touched the glory and came apart, shattering, then shuddering as ecstasy claimed them.
Gasping, barely able to breathe, they sank into each other, and with nothing any longer held back, with every last barrier breached and cindered, with their fingers locked, their hearts in rhythm, and their souls entwined, together they reached…and let incandescent love, honored and accepted, fill them, fuse them, and forge them, finally, into one.
* * *
Thomas eventually stirred. He wanted nothing more than to lie exactly where he was forever, but the lamps were still burning.
On a long, almost silent sigh, he gently eased her from him.
Immediately, her fingers clutched, sinking into his sides, and she raised her tousled head.
“Sssh. I’m only going to turn down the lamps.”
Huge green eyes, still utterly dazed with spent passion, blinked at him, twice, then she eased her grip and let him slide from the bed, but shifting onto her back, she continued to watch him as he circled the bed, turning down the wicks.
He’d left her windows uncurtained; faint moonlight guided him back to her.
Back to the soft arms that were waiting to wrap around him once more.
He lay down and, for an instant, closed his eyes—unable to imagine how he had ever thought to walk away from this.
From this indescribable wonder.
If he’d known that this was what true surrender felt like, he wouldn’t have fought it—not for an instant.
She settled half across him, her silky red head in the hollow of his shoulder, one hand splayed over his heart. Gently, he closed his arms around her, holding her there.
