Page 54 of The Marriage Wager

His shaft prodded gently against her abdomen. Constance caught her lower lip in her teeth, amazed at each new pleasure his fingers brought. Then, startling her even more, he slipped one hand between her legs. She gasped even as she unconsciously widened her stance, opening herself to him. His fingers teased at her tender flesh, gently stroking and separating the sensitive folds.

Constance brought her hands up to his arms, her fingers digging into his skin at the new, intense pleasure that was coursing through her. She swallowed, surprise in her eyes as she gazed up at him. He continued to look into her eyes as his fingers worked their magic on her flesh, taking in the subtle changes in her as each new sensation blossomed within her.

She had never felt anything like the feeling that he was evoking in her, had never dreamed that such heat or such intense pleasure could consume her this way. He had not even kissed her yet, and she was trembling with an almost overwhelming need, a delight so intense that she thought she might shatter under its pressure.

And then she did shatter, a small cry escaping her lips as passion rocked her. It burst at the center of her being, washing out in waves. She moved against him, her body so taut she shook all over.

She melted. There was no other word for it, she thought. She simply melted inside and out, her body sagging, knees giving way, so that she was kept upright only by the arm Dominic looped around her waist. She leaned her head against his chest, her arms going around him. His heart hammered; his skin was hot and moist beneath hers; she could hear the harsh rasp of his breath.

“Dominic…” She lifted wondering eyes to him. “That was…more than I…It was wonderful. But what about—I mean, you…” She stumbled to a halt, blushing.

He grinned down at her, his eyes gleaming as he picked up the blanket from the chair and shook it out, settling it onto the floor. “Don’t worry, darling,” he said, picking her up and lowering her to the blanket, then lying down beside her. “We are only getting started.”

And, at last, he leaned in and kissed her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE KISSED HER AS IF HE had all the time in the world, his mouth soft and slow, seeking out every pleasure. There was no hint of haste, no hurry to satisfy his own need, only a quiet, lingering exploration. Constance, stunned and replete, returned his kisses with a languid pleasure, content, she felt, to lie here with him forever doing nothing more.

She slid her hands lazily up his arms, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath her palms, tracing the curve of muscle that lay beneath the skin. The tension that did not show in his kisses lay in his body, she realized. His forearms, supporting him, were as taut as stretched wire, and his skin, where she touched it, quivered. And she knew that desire raged in him, that his slow, tender lovemaking was the result of his iron control.

It pleased her to realize the intensity of his passion, to know that he wanted her so much. She stroked her hand down the center of his chest, and the shudder that shook him in response awakened a new heat in her.

She would not have thought that she could be aroused again so soon after the cataclysm she had already experienced, and the fire that licked down through her startled her. She must have made some movement in her surprise, for Dominic raised his head and looked down at her.

His eyes were heavy with desire, his lips dark and swollen from their kisses. He saw the surprise in her eyes, and he smiled in a way that made the warm ache between her legs grow.

“Did you think that was all you would have?” he murmured, and when Constance nodded, he bent and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “There’s more.” He kissed the opposite corner. “Much more.” He trailed the tip of his tongue along the line between her lips. “I promise you.”

He kissed her cheeks, her chin, her brows, the petal-soft lids of her eyes, then settled at last on the lobe of her ear, kissing, then tonguing it, then taking it gently between his teeth and worrying it. Bright shivers of sensation darted through her, gathering hotly deep in her abdomen. Constance moved restlessly beneath him, unable to keep still under his teasing ministrations. The rough wool of the blanket was scratchy under her back, and its roughness seemed to accentuate even more the pleasure of the sensations his mouth aroused in her.

Constance let out a shuddering breath and skimmed her hands down his side and up his back. She found the textures of him exciting—the smoothness of skin and the firm muscle beneath, the hard lines of his rib cage, the bony points of his shoulders and collarbone, the wiry curl of the hairs upon his chest.

His tongue stole into her ear, and she jerked, desire slamming down into her loins and spreading out. Her breath rasped in her throat. He rolled on top of her, his legs between hers, spreading hers apart. He took much of his weight on his forearms, but his flesh was pressed against the length of her torso, and she could feel him against that most tender, intimate part of her, hard and heavy, pulsing.

He kissed his way down her neck, nibbling on the tight cord, pressing a kiss as soft as butterfly wings on the hollow of her throat. He curved his hand around her breast as his lips trailed over her chest and touched upon the gentle swell of the rounded orb. He kissed the soft flesh, moving with infinite patience over the arc of her breast, coming at last to the pebbled flesh of her nipple. His tongue traced the outer rim of the areola, slowly circling again and again, moving fractionally closer, until at last he touched the hardened tip at the center. He stroked it, teasing it so that it lengthened and hardened.

Constance wanted him to take the fleshy nub into his mouth; she remembered the pull of him, hot and wet, around it, each tug of his mouth tweaking a cord that ran straight down through her into her abdomen. With each little lick of his tongue, she wanted his mouth more. She yearned for it, ached for it, unconsciously digging in her heels and rising up.

She raked her nails lightly down his back and dug her fingers into the flesh of his buttocks. He let out a groan, giving in at last and taking her nipple into his mouth. He suckled as she kneaded his flesh. Her breath was almost sobbing in her throat, and the heat was building in her loins again, so pleasurable, so intense that it was almost a pain.

Constance whispered his name, turning her head to press her lips to his arm, propped beside her on the blanket. She kissed him, nipping at his skin as the pleasure turned ever more intense.

When she thought that she could bear it no more, that she would explode from the build-up of pleasure, he released her nipple. He hung his head for a moment, his breath harsh, his muscles clenched. After a moment he pressed a kiss between her breasts and then fastened his mouth around her other nipple.

Constance groaned, arching up against him. Desire throbbed between her legs, turning her wet and aching. His hand came down, slipping into the slick folds. She had thought that her yearning could grow no more intense, but now it did, burgeoning under the matched strokes of mouth and finger. She moved her hips against him and heard the ragged groan from his throat that signaled his last tenuous grasp on his control.

He moved, lowering himself, moving her legs farther apart. She felt the probing tip of him against her center, the pressure, the fullness. Constance moaned, parting her legs farther and lifting up to take him in. There was a startling flash of pain, and she let out a stifled cry. He paused, his body rigid and trembling with the effort. But she did not care about the pain, could not bear the waiting, and she stroked her hands down his sides and onto his hips, urging him on.

Dominic thrust inside her, and she gasped, amazed and delighted. He filled her, stretching her to her limits, and it was wonderful, as if some emptiness inside her had at last been filled. Yet at the same time, she wanted more. She wanted to take him deeper inside her, to possess him and be possessed by him.

He began to move within her, and this, she realized, was exactly what she wanted. He pulled back slowly, and she almost protested at his leaving her, but he did not; instead he thrust back into her, harder and deeper. She let out a little hiccup of sound, part moan, part laughter, at the sheer pleasure of his movements. He stroked within her, moving in a steady rhythm, growing harder, faster….

And she moved with him, matching her movements to his, feeling the pleasure build and build within her, a huge hot ball of pleasure, with each stroke turning tighter and more intense. She dug her fingers into the blanket beneath her, gripping the cloth as though to keep from flying away.

This time the feeling ratcheting up in her was familiar, and knowing how the passion would burst inside her only made her want it more. Except that now the building pleasure was even stronger, even wilder, filled as she was with him, joined to him in this long, driving dance of hunger.

Then, at last, it came…the pleasure ripping through her, white-hot at the center and exploding outward to every inch of her body. She cried out, arching against him as he thrust deeply into her, his own hoarse cry joining hers.