Last Wish (Highland Magic #4)(40)
Something changed in Byron’s eyes. All at once he released me, dropping the Telekinesis that had been holding me in place. Before I fell to the ground, however, he grabbed me, wrapped his arms round and pulled me to him. His hand cupped my face and his thumb stroked my skin while he gazed into my eyes. ‘You’re alive,’ he said simply.
I opened my mouth to reply but he didn’t give me the chance. His lips descended, pressing into mine with hot urgency and a demanding possessiveness that was almost painful. We stumbled backwards until I was pressed against the wall. Byron ran his hands down my body. His legs pinned me in place while he explored every clothed part of me, as if double-checking that I really did exist. All the time, his mouth didn’t leave mine. The air was being pushed out of my lungs but, despite the violent embrace, I didn’t want him to stop. He couldn’t ever stop. Then, whether by accident or design, he bit my bottom lip.
I yanked my head away, my yell of pain loud and sharp. Now it wasn’t just Byron I could taste in my mouth. There was also the bitter tang of blood.
He drew back, panting, and giving us both the breathing space we needed. My tongue darted out to the tiny cut while Byron’s green eyes followed the movement. He closed his eyes briefly as if in agony, his fists curling and uncurling as he calmed himself. I reached out and touched his jaw and he relaxed.
Rather than apologise, he tilted his head and planted a soft kiss on the wound. He gently brushed my hair away from my face before starting to trail butterfly kisses from my temple down to my neck. On the way he pulled back – once, twice, three times. Every time, he stared hard at me, as if checking it was still me. Every time it just made the ache inside me grow. Neither of us spoke because neither of us needed to; we were saying all we needed to without a single word.
More carefully now, he helped me out of my jacket and tossed it to one side. He lifted my hand and stroked upwards towards my shoulder with the lightest of touches. I couldn’t stop myself from shivering. His fingers danced across my collarbone and then down my other arm before venturing to my waist where they twitched at the hem of my T-shirt. Together, we pulled it over my head. As soon as it was out of the way, his stroking began again, feather-light movements down my chest. I groaned. He brushed against the lace of my bra then swept further down over my belly. Then he crouched down and I felt his hot breath against my skin as, instead of his fingers, he used his tongue. When he reached my belly button, he circled it exquisitely slowly.
I unhooked my bra and he watched me take it off, his greedy eyes fixed on me. He stood up, his thumbs brushing against my painfully erect nipples then he used his tongue to circle them slowly while I clumsily tried to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. As my fingers grazed his skin, he gave a guttural growl and pulled away, taking it off himself. As soon as it was discarded, he moved onto his trousers, kicking them away. And enjoyable as it was letting my eyes travel across the tight bulge in his perfect white underpants, he wasted no time in divesting himself of those too. He stretched out his arms, inviting my gaze to take in every inch of him. Despite the obvious fatigue lining his face and the visible weight loss, he still possessed a taut washboard stomach. The sight of him standing in front of me like some kind of sacrifice made my heart skip a beat.
He gestured at my jeans, his meaning clear. I smirked and shook my head, pointing down at his feet. He frowned then, realising I wanted him to take off his socks, did just that. Only then did I unbutton my jeans and slide out of them. I hooked my fingers teasingly into the waistband of my panties, threatening to wriggle them down over my hips but not quite seeing it through. Byron’s eyes narrowed enough to make me quit playing the flirt. A moment later, the pants joined the pile of clothing on the floor. Forget Chardonnay – this was much more my kind of striptease.
He tugged at my hand, leading me over to an elegant chaise longue. I draped myself across it, the very image of lady of the manor – apart from the fact I was stark naked. He smiled slowly and lifted his foot, gently nudging my legs apart until he was satisfied I was completely exposed to his hot gaze.
He knelt down, turning his attention to my feet and using the same feathery light strokes to caress my skin. He swept upwards with his fingers before going back to the beginning and doing the same with his tongue, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre, gradually getting closer and closer to the top of my thighs. I shuddered and moaned with both the sensation of now and the expectation of soon.
Just as he reached my inner thigh and I could bear it no longer, he shifted and moved onto the chaise. He blew gently and I almost fainted. His head lowered, his tongue darting down my clitoris, mimicking the same circular motion he’d used everywhere else. I let out a ragged sob, my fingers clutching the crushed velvet of the chaise. At the sound, Byron stiffened and lifted his head. His eyes met mine with an odd note of regret that I didn’t understand at first. When I focused on the tension of his body and the flaring desire in those emerald depths, however, I realised what it was. He wanted this to be perfect. He wanted it to be slow and sensual and to last for hours. The trouble was that he couldn’t wait.
Recognising this because I felt the same, I smiled and pulled him upwards until the length of his body hovered over mine. I grabbed his hips, positioning myself. We shared one mutual glance of fire and desperate need before we met each other halfway and he plunged inside me, filling every inch of me.
He withdrew more slowly, teasing out the sensations, his eyes fixed on mine. I could feel his body trembling and I shook my head. Enough of slow ? I wanted fast and hard. I twisted, forcing him to move with me, flipping round until I was on top of him. I had to take charge or he’d feel guilty for losing control. His hands curved round my waist while I set the tempo, sliding up and down, almost purring as I built up to the inevitable crescendo. I’d never felt connected like this before, not just physically but on an almost telepathic level. I could feel him clinging on, still wanting to draw this out. No. I wanted it now. I increased the strokes and he rose to meet me every time, our bodies pounding together. Byron moaned, his eyes boring into mine one last time. Then I nodded, crying out as he thrust upwards in one final, fluid movement and we collapsed into each other, his heart hammering against mine as wave after wave of orgasm racked us both and the rest of the world fell away into meaningless ether.