Cheryl Holt (20 page)

James was lying on the center of the mattress, relaxed and comfortable with the pillows braced behind his head. His long, luscious locks curled nearly to his shoulders. He’d been perusing his portfolio of indecent pictures, although she couldn’t see upon which one he tarried, and he tossed the stack aside.

Wearing only a pair of trousers, he appeared too handsome, wicked, dangerous. The pants were stretched tight, the fabric hugging each delectable curve and valley, so she was treated to the sight of much more
man
than she’d counted on viewing.

His broad chest was covered with a thick pile of dark hair. It thinned to a line that ran down the middle of his stomach and dipped under his waistband. He’d loosened the placard, and she could see much farther than she ought as it descended to unknown, tantalizing regions.

Her eyes lingered there, where the dim light and cloth outlined the bulge between his legs. With a thrill of delight, she realized he was aroused, and to her surprise, his member incurred additional swelling just from the heat of her gaze. Exhilarated at successfully exercising her feminine wiles, she moved on, to his muscled thighs, his exposed calves and feet.

He lounged on the bed, in no hurry, letting her look her fill. She visually traveled his length, loitering another good long time on his groin, which caused him to shift uncomfortably, and she couldn’t help wondering if this might be the day that she would truly ascertain his nude secrets. How she craved the opportunity to behold him in his altogether!

“Take off your jacket,” he repeated.

“I have only my chemise under it,” she explained, her cheeks blushing bright red with the admission.

“I know.”

“But I’m not certain if I’m ready. . . .”

“I am.”

“But I believe I’d like to—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I insist on observing your breasts while we talk.”

She wanted to shed her clothing. She really, really did, but disrobing was so difficult to contemplate when he was sitting there like a huge cat prepared to pounce. Still, this extra intimacy was what she’d longed for from the moment they’d met, so she latched on to his potent command and used it to bolster her lagging resolve. Trembling, she hastily released the first button, then the second.

“Slower,” he ordered. “And watch me while you’re undressing.”

Deliberately, she lifted her eyes. His hand rested on his chest, and he rubbed it in lazy circles; then, making sure she was paying attention, he lowered it to the placard of his trousers and began leisurely stroking his rigid phallus. “I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but this for days,” he admitted. “I’ve been so hard for you.”

Her breath caught; her knees weakened. Her bones had dissolved. Nervously, she advised, “I’m not sure I can proceed.”

“You can, and you will,” he contended. He nodded to her jacket. “Another button, if you please.”

She toyed with the third, then the fourth, and he tensed with anticipation as each additional button slid through its hole. Languidly, she fussed with the final one, stalling in working it free.

Finally, the jacket was hanging open, her chemise visible. Refusing to allow herself any chance for reflection, she reached for the cuffs and tugged at the sleeves. They came off quickly. Her arms and shoulders were suddenly bare, and though the temperature was pleasantly warm, her skin prickled with goose bumps, and her nipples puckered into little buds that pressed frantically against the silk that shielded them. She stared down, and every detail of her breasts was delineated. Nothing was left to his imagination, and she might already have been naked to the waist.

As casually as possible, she strolled to a nearby chair and draped her jacket over the back.

“Put your foot on the chair,” he said, “and remove your slipper.”

She did as she was told, haphazardly dropping it, and it landed with a soft thud.

“Now the other.”

She complied, then turned to face him, her toes feeling strange and exposed, and she curled them into the rug.

“Your skirt.”

Her skirt couldn’t be discarded in a hurried fashion. The tiny, decorative buttons that her seamstress had painstakingly stitched were dastardly, and as she carefully undid them, she worried about her moderate speed until she dared a glance at James and decided the inconvenience was worth it. He was enamored by each flick of her wrist, so she delayed her pace even more.

Of its own accord, the skirt slid down her hips, swishing as it whisked past her drawers. Though she desperately wished to grab for it to keep it in place, she restrained herself, permitting it to fall to her ankles.

His fierce regard focused on the top of her head, then proceeded languidly, to her face, neck, breasts. Her abdomen, her crotch. To her thighs, knees, and feet. He patted the empty spot next to him on the bed. “Come closer.”

She walked to the edge of the mattress. Her throat was dry, her skin hot but cold, and she was shaking, scared, but so excited she could hardly stand.

“Let your hair down,” he dictated, and she dislodged the combs and pins. It tumbled across her back in a blond wave, the ends rustling across her hips, and he added, “Run your fingers through it.”

She complied. Each time she raised her arms, her breasts lifted and pressed, shifting and reshaping themselves under her chemise, the nipples abrading irritatingly.

“Very nice,” he murmured, assessing her to the point of rudeness. Then he decreed, “Your chemise. . . .”

She inhaled sharply. “I would like to . . . I truly would, but—”

“I can see your nipples,” he interrupted. His voice was raspy and low. “They’re stimulated.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like me to kiss you there again?”

“You know I would.” Heat flared between her legs and moved up her torso, to her bosom, her throat, her cheeks, and she felt on fire, as though she just might ignite.

“Then remove your chemise.”

Time seemed to have stopped. The room had grown so silent that she couldn’t help speculating if, perhaps, the planet had stilled on its axis. The only sounds were James’s ragged breathing and the furious pounding of her pulse in her ears.

Imperceptibly, she reached for the waist of her drawers and drew free the hem of the chemise. Sequentially, she manipulated it upward, baring her stomach, the bottoms of her breasts, the tips, until she dragged it over her shoulders and threw it to the floor.

He didn’t speak; his sizzling attention was centered on her chest. His searing scrutiny was so blatant that it produced a savage response in her nipples, causing them to throb with each beat of her heart.

“You have the most fabulous breasts,” he said irreverently. “They’re simply made for a man like me to appreciate.”

He held out his hand, and she grabbed for it like a lifeline and climbed to the mattress. On her knees, she was off balance, and with his swift jerk, she was plunging forward and sprawled across his chest.

Her exposed nipples encountered his torrid skin, and she couldn’t do anything but lie stationary while she contemplated the treacherous turmoil the contact instilled. The sensation was too intense, and she buried herself in the crook of his neck, while he idly massaged her back.

“Do you realize the effect you have on me? Feel this,” he instructed, and he took her hand and laid it on the front of his trousers.
“This
is what you do to me.” His palm was over hers, forcing her to caress him in a sexual rhythm, and he groaned with unrelieved misery. “I’ve been dying to have you touch me again.”

“You’re so big . . . so hard. . . .”

“Just for you,” he vowed. “Look at me as I dally with you,” he urged. “Your pleasure will be so much greater that way.” His thumb and finger clasped one of her nipples, gently at first, then with heightened pressure, and she thrashed with uncomfortable expectation.

“James. . . .” She moaned his name.

“This is what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes. . . .

“Then . . . look at me.”

He taunted her nipple, pinching and tugging with varying degrees of tension until her own fingers became curious and answered in kind. Tentatively, she twirled through the hair on his chest. It was soft and springy, and she explored until she became courageous enough to inspect the small brown pebble of his nipple.

“Are they sensitive like mine?”

“Very.”

“Would you enjoy it if I sucked against them?”

“Always.”

Uncertainly, she bent forward and closed her lips around the tiny nub, and the tautness of his body was elevated to a frightening level. He granted her just a few scant seconds of examination before he called a halt.

“Don’t do that just now,” he warned. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, as though willing a terrible suffering to recede. “I can’t tolerate any more.”

“Why?”

“ ’Tis extremely painful for a man to be so cocked for such a lengthy period. Your tender ministrations increase my agony a thousand percent.”

“But I’m not ready to stop.”

“Maybe another day. . . .” He shuddered with harnessed passion. “I must hold myself in check. If I become too unsettled, I’ll have to leave, lest I end up doing something I’ll regret.” Much too businesslike for her peace of mind, he stated, “Let’s chat, shall we?”

“Chat? I don’t want to chat!”

“Well, we’re going to, my little wildcat.” He chuckled.
“You shall have to restrain yourself for a bit while I calm down.”

“I’ve done nothing
but
restrain myself for the past four days!”

“You poor child,” he teased, and he flashed her a smile so deadly that she was glad she was reclining when it landed on her. “Just relax and get used to having your skin bared and pressed to mine.”

She stretched and shifted over his body, crossing her arms on his chest and balancing her chin on her doubled fists. “Would you at least kiss me?”

He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, but made no effort to narrow the distance between them. Ultimately, he said, “I’ve been pondering our relationship, and I’ve decided that our kissing isn’t a good idea.”

“What?” She bolted upright, no longer caring that her breasts were on display. His comment was the most idiotic she’d ever heard a man utter. Now that she knew what kissing him was like,
kissing
him was all she lived for, all she dreamed about.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he soothed hastily when he saw the murderous gleam in her eye. “I delight in kissing you, but it makes all this so much more . . . more . . .”

“If you say
personal
, I swear I’ll strangle you,” she barked nastily. “I’m lying here without my clothes, so things could hardly become more
personal
than this.”

“All right, I won’t say
personal
. It’s just that . . . that . . .” He studied her intently, his gaze steady and true until he finally acknowledged, “When I kiss you, I don’t want to ever quit.”

“Oh, James,” she sighed, “how sweet.”

“And when I’m kissing you”—as he attempted to explain his silly decision, he was actually fidgeting, his cheeks flushing red—“I start to think—”

“James?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t think.”

She leaned forward and initiated a gentle kiss of her own
and, as she’d hoped, he didn’t hesitate to kiss her back. His mouth fit hers perfectly, and he lingered until they were both breathless.

“Perhaps I was wrong in my calculations.” He gave her a contrite smile. “I’ll keep on.”

“You’d better.”

His sapphire eyes were glowing with a disturbing intensity, and the depth of his estimation alarmed her. If he was beginning to entertain an attachment, if his emotions were becoming engaged, how would she ever hide her own? Their association had to remain cheerful and gay, or her delicate, untried heart would never survive.

“I intend”—she struggled for levity—“that you should kiss me whenever you are so inclined.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, eager for more, yet he did nothing but laugh and swat her on the bottom.

“You, madam, are a natural at this.” He rolled her off his torso so that she was stretched out along his side. “Have I mentioned that you’ll probably be the death of me before we’re through?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, I mean it.”

She batted her lashes, pretending to be a daring coquette. “I’ll try to go easy on you.”

“Not bloody likely,” he muttered. He searched the mattress and found his satchel.

“I don’t want to look at pictures,” she complained.

“I do.” He took her hand and placed it, palm down, on the center of his chest where his aggravated pulse was racing much too fast for a man who was absolutely relaxed. “I need to pace myself. You’re not helping.”

“I’m hardly going to worry if you’re disturbed; I haven’t been comfortable in days, and I’ve longed to kill you.”

“I was hoping you were hot and bothered.”

“I was, you cad!”

He tapped a playful finger against the tip of her nose, then sobered and pulled her close. “I’m serious, Abby. ’Tis difficult to explain, but a man can arrive at a point of stimulation
from which he can’t back away, and if I’m overly excited, I’ll have to depart long before either of us is ready for me to go.”

His admonition was earnest, his concern for her welfare clearly apparent, and she could only agree to be more amenable. “I’ll behave myself.”

“That’s my girl. . . .”

“But I don’t have to like it.”

“No, love, you don’t.”

Distractedly, he flipped through the pile of drawings, past the nude renderings of himself and Lily in their various sexual poses. When he paused, she inspected the parchment he’d selected and wondered what she was seeing. It appeared to be some type of exotic flower. There was a pink center and what seemed to be petals. “What is it?”

“ ’Tis the spot between a woman’s legs. Her privates.” Her breasts swelled; her nipples grew rigid. She stared, then stared some more at the strange depiction. Finally, she traced across it. “This is Lily?”

“Yes, but it could be most any woman.” His hand locked on hers, and he guided her path. “These are the lips that protect the opening. This is the cleft where a man inserts his cock. A woman’s maidenhead is hidden past the folds. Here”—he used the tip of her index finger to touch a small nub of darker skin at the top—“this is the clit. Or clitoris. ’Tis the feminine pleasure center. When a man fondles it or licks against it in just the appropriate fashion, she reaches her peak—”