Ravenwood(66)
“You surprised me this morning.” His words were quiet. So quiet, she would not have heard them had he not been as close as he was.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“I did not say it was unwelcome. Only surprising. I had not thought… or hoped that…”
Her eyes followed his lips as they moved closer to her face, until she was sure she must be cross-eyed and only then did she close them so she could focus on feeling as his lips touched hers.
Caleb’s lips were hot - hotter than she remembered from this morning. Hotter than she thought they could be. Her upper lip slotted between both of his and she exhaled a stuttering breath through her nose. She let go of her housecoat and reached out, finding his shoulders. They were hard under her palms and she loved the feel of them, the heat of them. Elinore swayed her body forward, wanting to press it up against his and when she did, he gasped. A thrill rushed through her at the sound. She’d done that. She’d made his breath catch. His one hand gripped the back of her neck, holding her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. She needed him so much closer. His other hand was around her waist, at the dip of the small of her back, pushing her body toward him. She felt his tongue lick at the seam of her lips and she immediately opened her mouth, wanting to do the same to him. His tongue swept inside her mouth, hot and slick. It was the most amazing, most sinful thing she’d ever felt. Without warning, he hefted her up against his body, closer, her feet lifting off the ground as he crushed her to him and she thought the world was spinning, but it was her. Caleb was spinning her, away from the shelves, moving them. She didn’t know where. She didn’t care. He felt strong and powerful under her hands. She licked into his mouth, mimicking what he’d done to her and the way he groaned when she did it made her feel strong and powerful in turn. She gasped for breath and licked into his mouth again and his hand slid down her flank and underneath her thigh, canting it up, hitching the fabric of her nightgown with it. It seemed like the easiest thing in the world to wrap her legs around his waist.
God, the heat and strength of him, between her thighs was intoxicating. He carried her as though she weighed nothing. She squeezed her legs together, using the leverage to hitch herself up higher, pressing her belly close to his and was rewarded with another delectable sound from him. She was able to pull her head back slightly and look down at him - the way she was hitched on his waist giving her a height advantage she’d never had before. In the sliver of moonlight coming into the library he looked like a Grecian statue - fine edges with delicate eyelashes framing his eyes. His lips were wet - wet from her mouth and his. He blinked up at her and Elinore had the most stunning feeling in her belly and lower, in her sex. Why on earth were there not more books written of this? She would have read them all, she would have read every word, learning foreign languages, if necessary, as long as they’d described this luscious tingling, hot, almost dangerous feeling. Elinore used the strength of her legs to force a rocking motion in her upper body, pressing herself against Caleb and leaning her head down to kiss him again.
Suddenly, without warning, she heard something fall - papers, books, she didn’t know exactly what and she didn’t care. It was only when Caleb pressed her down on the desk, laying her on her back, that she realized she must have heard his ledger hitting the floor. She giggled at the thought of him sweeping it aside. All his careful work, all his numbers in neat little columns. He pulled away from her, smiling at her.
“What are you laughing at?” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corner. He pushed her hair back, off her face.
“You’ll lose your place in your accounting.”
“I don’t give fuck about the accounting.”
His harsh language thrilled her, sending a deep wave down her body. It found its home somewhere deep inside her and when he pressed back against her, pushing her into the desk, she pulled at him, her arms firmly around his neck. She could feel his erection hot and hard pressed up against her thigh - the fabric of his pants and thin cotton of her nightgown the only thing between them. The thought of him so close to being inside her made her writhe against him. She used her tongue to lick deep into his mouth, wondering how deep she could go. She wanted to devour him. She wanted to bite at him, to mark him and make him hers. He moved his lips away from her mouth and she wanted to cry at the loss until she felt them against her jaw and then her throat. She tipped her head back, baring her neck as much as she could, showing him the soft, tender skin there. He bit at her jugular and she jolted, canting and rocking her hips against him. One of his hands pressed hard into her hipbone and it hurt, but in the most delicious way. She felt his other hand sliding down her leg, to her knee and then it was under the fabric of her nightgown and against the bare skin of her thigh. His hand was so hot against her flesh and she hadn’t known, she hadn’t known. When she’d read books and they alluded to what happened in darkened bedchambers or the hero kissed the heroine and then the scene cut off and she was left wondering, she hadn’t known this was what happened. This was why wars were fought and stories were told. It was because the heat of Caleb’s fingers against her skin made her gasp, made her rock her hips harder against him, made her squeeze her thighs tighter around his waist, made her want to keep him there, between her legs, giving her this feeling forever. She could feel her sex grow hot, grow wet and it thrilled her.
His hand moved up her leg and ran over the skin of her hip bone where no one had touched her, neither with clothing on nor without, since she was a babe. He bit at the skin of her throat and she buried one of her hands in his hair and pulled at it, hard, not really knowing why, only knowing that her hands had to be doing something. Her other hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt, her nails digging into the threads, trying to wring something from him, she didn’t know what. She was growing hotter, wetter and his erection was still right there so intimately close to her, riding in the groove of her hip. He moved against her and she wondered what it would be like, if he shifted, so minutely, so slightly, enough to press the hot length of himself against the cloth of her nightgown, right over her, where she ached. A strangled sound worked its way out of her throat as she tipped her head forward and mouthed at the skin of his ear, breathing in deeply, inhaling his scent.