A Taste of Desire(104)
Then she was up in his arms and in her chamber. The heel of his boot kicked the door shut. Amelia tightened her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers, sealing his in a kiss. The firm, sensuous feel of his lips on hers drew a whimper from her throat. The clash came as tongue and teeth met. A stab of desire so sharp she wanted to wail, beaded her nipples into tight buds, blistering a path down to her center.
The mattress gave way under their combined weight as Thomas laid her in a luxuriant spread in the center of the bed. His tongue continued to plunder her mouth, seeking out every nook and crevice in avaricious demand. Amelia angled her head to obtain deeper, more thorough penetration—if such a thing was possible. Sliding her hand from around his neck, she wedged her hands between their torsos to tear at the buttons of his shirt. The need to feel his flesh, warm and hard, beneath her fingertips, drove her.
The loss of his touch was momentary as he sat up and joined in helping her divest him of his clothes with ruthless efficiency.
He wanted her. If his impassioned kisses hadn’t made it obvious enough, his erection certainly did. It was stiff and thick, thrusting out from a thatch of dark blond hair. Amelia clamped her thighs together, as if that would prevent the flow of moisture pooling her sex. Then he was straddling her, his erection rubbing against her lower stomach as he made quick work of the buttons of her gown. Staggering pleasure washed over her in inundating waves, making her every breath a pant followed by a gasp.
Her stays, petticoats, chemise, and drawers surrendered to his deft fingers. The feel of him, hard and scorching hot, dragging against her lower belly started a riot within her. She throbbed and pulsed where she wanted him to touch her the most.
“Heaven help me, you’re beautiful,” he groaned on a labored breath. His eyes feasted on the soft thrust of her breasts. Cupping both in his hands, he flicked at the tips until she didn’t think she could take any more. But she could if she had to. She arched her back to push her breasts firmly into his hand, her body urging him to take ever more liberties. She wanted his mouth there. She craved the feel of his mouth at her breast, licking and sucking on her nipple.
He watched her, his lids heavy with passion and lust. Her hand clasped the nape of his neck and pulled his head down. Thomas needed no further urging, his lips finding the berry tip with unerring accuracy.
“Thomas,” she gasped, the band of pleasure tightening within her as she parted her legs to make a space for him there.
He raised his head and the loss of his mouth had her twisting beneath him, searching, wanting, yearning, and then demanding. “Tell me what you want.” His voice was a deep rumble, his features contorted by constrained lust.
Amelia responded by thrusting her hips up, sending the tip of his erection to nestle into the patch of hair covering her privates. His groan rent the air. With his mouth still toying, nibbling, then suckling her nipple, his hand scored the smooth indent of her belly down to the notch of her thighs, his fingers urgent and tender as they parted the vulnerable lips of her sex.
She was wet, embarrassingly so. A ragged breath fluttered from her parted lips. Her breaths then just came in short pants. There was no way to fight the pleasure spurring her hips to lift and undulate in this helpless, needy fashion.
Thomas gave her nipple one last lingering lick, twirling his tongue around the berry tip before he made the journey across the flushed quivering skin of her belly, to follow his fingers to the place beckoning him to further delights.
He worked his finger into her small opening and was rewarded with the moisture of her passion. He jerked and rubbed his erection against her thigh as if her wetness further excited him. “God, you’re tight. So tight. I hope I can make it,” he groaned before his mouth was on her.
He had pleasured her like this the last time, the rasp of his tongue firm and tender and so wildly arousing against her slickened flesh, Amelia wanted to weep with the undiluted pleasure of it. Widening her thighs, she tipped her hips to give him better access to the moist folds. She knew she must look a complete wanton, but the need clawing inside her was enough to overcome years of sexual repression—most of it self-inflicted. With his other hand, he spread her open for her delectation. His tongue found the nub hooded by soft pink flesh, and she was lost. She soared, quivered, and convulsed in the kind of pleasure she had never known existed until Thomas.
Amelia floated back to earth dazed, her body spent. Then Thomas was on his knees, a limp thigh in each hand held wide to receive him. He entered in a single jolting thrust. The fit was snug. He filled her seemingly beyond capacity and had her sex humming back to life. Every push and pull had her body clamoring for more of the same, deeper, harder. He went from slow and excruciatingly long thrusts, her walls contracting and quivering in helpless pleasure, until he was pounding into her.