Page 50 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

‘Like what?’

Her own voice was unrecognisable. Husky and breathless. Full of a longing she couldn’t hide.

Slowly he walked towards her, stopping so close behind her she felt his body and more too, a tickle of sensation from her shoulders, down her back, buttocks and legs, as if he exuded a force field of energy. Except that tickle of awareness curled further, around her breasts to her peaking nipples and across her hips then arrowing down inside her pelvis.

Her snatched breath was sharp in the thrumming silence. Despite the way they’d parted her senses sang, being close to him.

‘Like you want me.’ He paused and it almost killed her that he stood so near yet didn’t touch her. ‘Doyou want me, Ilsa?’

She opened her mouth to deny it but couldn’t.

Because it was true. She longed for him, despite all the reasons she shouldn’t.

Long fingers skimmed her arms from her bare shoulders to her fingertips. It was like fire igniting and racing along a line of spilled fuel. Where he touched sensation leapt and heat burst.

Ilsa closed her eyes as delight coursed through her. How she’d craved his touch!

When their eyes again locked in the mirror, fear scudded through her.

This was wrong. There was no way forward for them together. It was better if she kept her distance.

She spun around, intending to tell him to move away. Instead her breasts rose on a gasp as she met the full force of Noah’s stare. It spoke of desire, hot and enticing, and Ilsa melted.

His fingertips brushed back up her arms, the touch sure yet tender.

The locked-tight cast of his features eased into something softer. Even so...

‘Noah. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right.’

Because she’d left him, and she feared being with him again would undo her completely.

‘You think this doesn’t feel right?’ His voice was all gravel and whisky and enticement.

That fingertip touch dragged across her lace and silk camisole. Ilsa’s breath snatched in and her breast lifted to his hand. Her mouth turned arid with anticipation as he skimmed her fullness then circled her aching nipple.

‘Noah!’ His name ripped from her lips and she didn’t have enough pride to worry what that revealed. She arched, pressing closer, but still he refused to cup her fully.

‘Say it, Ilsa.’ His other hand skated around her other breast and she fought to remember why this wasn’t a good idea.

She shook her head and grabbed his hand, telling herself she’d pull it away from her and end this torture.

Instead Noah leaned in, his lips against her ear in a delicious caress. ‘You want me to touch you properly, Ilsa?’

His caress turned from feather-light to deliberate and strong. He pushed up, taking her weight in his palm, capturing her nipple through her clothes and pinching gently till a fuse lit between it and her womb and everything ignited in a flash of conflagration.

Ilsa shuddered, the feeling so good she wondered for a second if she’d actually orgasmed just from his words and his hand on her breast.

But the hungry throb deep in her pelvis disproved that.

Holding her gaze, he circled her other nipple with his index finger and sparks swirled through her bloodstream. Any second now she’d combust.

‘You want me, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she gasped, goaded into abandoning her good intentions. ‘Yes,please, Noah.’

He grinned then, dropped his hands and stepped back.

For a horrible, heart-stopping moment Ilsa thought he was leaving. That this was some sort of taunt, getting his own back on her for leaving.

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