Adele Ashworth (31 page)

Jonathan hesitated. He was so certain she was willing, brimming with desire for all he could give. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers. “I want you to be a part of me, Natalie. I want our feelings for each other to be real—something experienced and shared—not just vaguely sensed.”

She shook her head again as tears streamed down her cheeks and onto his thumbs. “It’s not supposed to be this way,” she whispered.

He touched his lips to her forehead and brow, the bridge of her nose, her wet, salty lashes. And with comprehension of his own acceptance, he whispered against her temple, “It was always supposed to be this way.”

She calmed from his words, so gently shattering and full of meaning. And finally, as his mouth moved down the side of her face to brush hers once again, she relented in a delicate breath of anguish. “I can’t resist you anymore. . . .”

The world opened for him, and with a surge of sublime satisfaction, he kissed the tears from her cheeks tenderly, pushed his fingers through her hair to grasp her head more fully, then took her mouth with his to begin the act that would change the course of their lives.

Natalie surrendered to him as honesty conquered her at last. She could fight the power no more as she willingly gave in to the consummation of something started nearly five years ago in a flower garden. She knew then only of innocent longings and romantic dreams. Now she understood hot, raging desire between a man and woman that could never be satiated by denial or good intentions, just as she knew that same desire was soon to carry her someplace new and thrilling, to an exotic and gratifying place of discovery.

He started slowly with her, kissing her lips delicately, standing inches away, touching her only with his hands in her hair. She allowed herself to respond, to enjoy the moment for everything it was, attempting to shove the consequences of their forthcoming actions from her mind. She placed her palms on his shirt—not to keep him at a distance, but because she suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to touch him.

He sighed heavily with that, deepening the kiss as his mouth began to move in a slight, pressured rhythm with hers. She was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, of the dim lamplight shining upon them and the rich fragrance of flowers drifting through the open windows, of the people downstairs and the world outside. Her life was here in this room; their time was now. Everything faded but Jonathan.

With a dissolving anxiety she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself into him, tasting him, kissing him back with a delightfully building tension. Through no intention of her own, her senses came alive, reacting as they did the day they’d kissed on the Mediterranean shore—seemingly ages ago, yet remembered like yesterday.

He responded by embracing her fully, lowering his strong arms to encircle her waist, pulling her against his chest as the kiss grew ever more demanding. He teased her lips open, gliding his tongue across them until they parted enough for him to probe her mouth deeply. She gave him access, enjoying the sensation with an ever increasing abandon, flicking her own tongue against his as he was teaching her to do.

A husky moan escaped his throat, just barely heard, and it gave her encouragement. He was experienced at this, she wasn’t, and somewhere inside she feared disappointing him. She wasn’t at all certain what to do next.

As if reading her thoughts, keeping his mouth on hers, he began caressing her back, up and down with the palm of one hand, while reaching forward with the other to stroke her face, to massage her neck and shoulder lightly.

She relaxed her body into his, relishing the feel of his large, muscular form against her smaller one. She loved the hardness of him, the smell of his skin and hair, the strength he possessed both inside and out.

He pursued, his mouth demanding now as his breathing grew shallow. Natalie knew with satisfaction that she affected him without even attempting to. As he did her. She had never been so forward with a man, had never come so close to giving all, but suddenly she was desperate for everything—for touching, taking, pleasing. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him even tighter against her, taking the initiative at last by sliding her tongue into his mouth, timidly at first, then with wonder as he groaned and came alive with fire.

Quickly he broke free of the kiss, moving back at last to look down at her face.

Time stopped as they stood together, breath raspy between them, eyes fusing with a newfound understanding of wants and needs and feelings. His expression shone vividly of longing and promise, and she knew she was giving him a view of the same. Then he dropped his hand to her breast and softly began kneading it over her blouse.

She drew a sharp breath from the initial contact but couldn’t move as once again she succumbed to a burning within. He watched her closely for reaction, grazing her nipple back and forth with his thumbnail, causing it to harden to a fine point of exquisite sensation, entrancing her, weakening her. Then he brought his other hand forward for more of the same, staring into her eyes, caressing both breasts and nipples, making her gasp, forcing her to cling to his shirt.

“Jonathan. . . .”

It was an arduous pleading from deep in her throat, and he understood it. He dropped his head to her neck, running his mouth over her flesh, attempting to distract her with his tongue as he reached behind her again to unfasten the buttons of her blouse.

And he distracted her perfectly. She placed her arms around his neck once more, fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, kissing his face, feeling his lips against her ear, his chest rubbing her breasts to a marvelous tingle. Only vaguely was she aware that he’d untucked her blouse and had moved to the buttons of her skirt. She stayed absorbed in him, in his kisses, in his total awareness of her.

Then at last he leaned back just enough to pull her blouse over her head. But before comprehension of his actions had a chance to permeate her mind, he found her lips once more, capturing them with his own, searing them with charged heat he could barely contain. In seconds her skirts slid down her legs to the floor as well, and she stood before him in only a thin linen chemise.

His tongue invaded her, searching for hers, not gently this time but with a thrust of expectation, removing all final thoughts of indecency with hot, sweeping need. He placed a hand in her hair, holding her head to him, and with the other he grasped her breast, the contact becoming urgent as he rubbed her nipple back and forth and in small circles as it rose to a peak against his palm and fingers.

She wore almost nothing now, had never been so exposed to a man, and yet she no longer cared—couldn’t think of her world beyond this room, this man, this feeling of being vibrantly brought to life. All that remained of uncertainty evaporated with an indescribable impatience to experience the unknown pleasures he promised with his mouth and hands. She clutched his shoulders with tight fingers, feeling the scalding heat of his body beneath his shirt, only dimly aware that he pushed her back to the edge of the bed.

Quickly he pulled his mouth from hers, and she raised her lashes to look at his face. He stared down at her, lids heavy over glazed eyes, his hair mussed and hanging loosely over his forehead, his breathing just as rapid and uneven as hers. A spellbinding fever of aching passion radiated from deep within him to envelop her almost violently—a magnificent desire she knew he possessed for her alone. And it absorbed her.

With renewed immediacy, and an instinct she didn’t clearly understand, she raised trembling hands to his shirt and began to work swiftly through each button, top to bottom, staring starkly into the vivid gray-blue depths of raging physical hunger in his eyes.

He started helping her, from the bottom, until their hands met in the center of his chest. He seized her fingers, lifted them momentarily to his lips before releasing them, then pulled the shirt from his body. Eyes still locked with hers, he placed his palms on her shoulders and pushed her until she eased down on top of the quilt. Then, standing over her, watching her, he furiously began working through the buttons on his pants.

Natalie closed her eyes from a trace of renewed embarrassment when she realized what he was doing, her mind beginning to race with the details of what was so soon to transpire in this room, on this bed. In Jonathan’s embrace. Seconds later she heard the rustle of clothes, then felt him lie beside her, not quite touching, although she could feel the heat of his body penetrate hers from ankle to shoulder and she knew he now wore nothing at all.

His hand raked through her hair, his lips touched her temple in wispy movements, and her heart beat relentlessly in her chest from knowing she was about to give herself immorally to a man who was not her husband, from nervousness, but more than anything from yearning and a desperation to feel and be touched.

“Look at me, Natalie,” he urged in a voice marked with rich tenderness.

She shivered from the intimacy between them and raised her lashes once more, refusing to glance down but feeling the curls on his bare chest as he leaned against her shoulder.

He peered into her eyes, moving his fingertips up and down her arm in a fine trace of her skin. “Do you understand what’s about to happen?”

She nodded, wanting to cringe from sudden shame. But he must have anticipated this reaction, for he drew the tips of his fingers up to her collarbone, then over her chemise once more, lowering them to her breast, her nipple, expertly building the fire again in the center of her.

“Someone’s told you?” he asked more directly, concentrating.

She clutched the quilt beneath her with both palms. “Yes,” she managed through a staggered breath.

That seemed to relieve him. His features softened, and then he lowered his lips to her neck, kissing her briefly before nuzzling her ear, taking the lobe in his mouth, sucking it. She closed her eyes to the feel of his lips and tongue and hands creating their magic. He ran his palm over her breasts in growing demand and she was instantly ready for more, the need in her mounting with each bold caress.

She reached for him again, her fingers in his hair, pulling him into her, now longing for a uniting of bodies and feelings and souls. He moved his head to place tiny kisses on her neck and chest, running the tip of his tongue across her shoulder, stroking the top of her arm with his mouth. And at last, as if in answer to a silent promise, he very slowly drove his hands between her legs, over the only remaining barrier to the place of his desire.

A piercing pleasure shot through her. She gasped from passion revealed, from the undercurrent of crisp, erotic tension as it erupted at the surface. He massaged her there, over thin linen, two times, three times, just as intimately as he did that beautiful day at the beach. She succumbed, her body begging for more as she pushed her hips into his hand. And at long last, taking the cue, he withdrew it, sat up a little, and pulled the chemise from her bare flesh in one quick, experienced movement.

He sucked in a jagged breath. She squeezed her eyes shut to his feverish gaze, afraid to look at him—touch him—knowing he was staring at her from above. For an endless moment he scrutinized her naked form, very slowly running the tips of his fingers along her leg from her ankle to her hip. Finally he lowered himself to her level again and began to caress her bare arms, neck, and breasts once more, his palms lightly stroking, causing gooseflesh to appear where he played with the peaks and valleys within his reach. He brushed her nipple with his fingertips, his lips on her neck and cheek and jawline, kissing her tenderly, then resting his mouth at her temple.

“You’re perfect to me,” he whispered against her.

She melted into the moment. He was making it perfect for her, teaching her, loving her with his body. Then he lowered his head and took her breast into his mouth.

She arched her back and nearly cried out as he began to lick and suck and kiss her nipple, teasing it with his lips, his tongue, grazing it with his teeth. He placed his hand over the other and kneaded the bare flesh, rotating his fingertips across smooth skin, lightly squeezing the nipple to a hard point, and Natalie thought she would die. She put her hands on his head, her fingers through his hair, lifting her body into it, panting and whimpering as he licked and sucked and excited her so expertly.

He groaned, coming alive from the eagerness she expressed, raising his head just enough to lay a trail of fine kisses from her breast to her neck, sliding his tongue along the crevice of her throat to her chin. He leaned closer to her, the matted curls on his muscled chest teasing her nipples, and for the first time Natalie felt the part of him he intended to put inside of her rubbing against her hip—hard and hot and shocking her to reality.

As if realizing suddenly where she placed her thoughts, he reacted by taking her mouth with his in a deep, penetrating kiss, his tongue darting past her lips in a desperate search for hers, grasping it and sucking it urgently when he found it. She moaned, rubbing her legs back and forth along the quilt, her palms on flushed skin as they moved down his neck to his shoulders, her mind emptied of everything but Jonathan caressing her body with expert fingers, Jonathan kissing her to reckless heights, Jonathan ready to make her a part of him. He was everything to her at that moment. He was her past and future and the depth of her heart.

Then she felt him move his palm from her breast to her waist in a wispy touch that sent a quiver through her body. He grazed the skin of her hip, then her belly, brushing it in slow circles, kissing her mouth with growing need and staggered breath until at last he boldly placed his hand on the soft curls between her legs.

She gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t release her lips. He continued with the kiss, positioning his free hand on her forehead, his thumb on her brow, holding her steady. Then without pause, he pushed his fingers down between her thighs.

She clutched his shoulders with rigid hands. Her throat ached; her body craved a release from the torment. He waited only seconds before he began to stroke her sensually, moving his fingers gingerly at first, then more and more intimately until she felt the slick heat mounting and a glorious tension gather strength in the center of her belly.