Beauty and the Blacksmith(18)

“You like them?” she asked. “They’re my best.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t change when you decided to stay home.” He touched the edge of her ribbon garter, but he didn’t untie it.

She gave him a kittenish smile. “Oh, I did change. I put these on for you.”

Lust streaked through him, nearly cleaving him in half. Neither of them were even naked yet, and he was already primed to spill.

“God, I love you.” It wasn’t the eloquent confession she deserved. But something in him had to erupt, and words seemed the safest quantity.

She laughed and kissed him. As their tongues danced, he sent his fingers to undo the tiny buttons queued down the front of her shift. There were hundreds, it seemed.

At last he’d loosened enough of those buttons to draw the edges apart and slide his hand inside.

Sweet heaven.

He was a smith. He worked with hard, solid, unforgiving materials all day long. But this . . . Ah, this was softness.

Nothing could compare to the sensation of her breast filling his hand. Nothing. He stroked, lifted, kneaded, teased. He couldn’t get enough of touching her.

He dropped his head, trailing kisses down her neck and breastbone, wrenching the edges of her shift aside until the rest of the buttons popped free. He paused just long enough to register the color of her nipple—a pale, tawny pink—before taking it in his mouth.

She gasped and sighed. Her fingers wove tight in his hair.

With one hand, he raised the hem of her shift, taking time to savor the glide of silk before seeking the delicate folds of her sex. She parted her thighs with an eager innocence, but from there progress slowed.

She was so small, so tight. Just working a single finger into her sheath took ages. And as men went, Aaron knew he was on the larger side. His past lovers had been glad of it. But in this situation . . .

Gathering all of his patience, he stroked that single finger in and out, all the while suckling her breasts and rubbing the heel of his palm against her pearl. Her erotic, breathy moans encouraged him, as did the increasing heat.

But when he tried to add a second finger, she tensed all over.

He withdrew his touch at once, cursing his rough workman’s hands. He drew her shift down, covering her to the knees.

“I don’t want you to fear this. And I can’t bear to cause you any pain.” The words were hell to get out, but he knew he must. “Perhaps we should wait.”

Her blue eyes glistened with emotion. Her kiss-swollen lips parted, spilling the most un-Diana-Highwood words he’d ever heard her speak.

“Like the devil we should.”

Diana savored his blank look of surprise.

He wasn’t accustomed to such language from her. She wasn’t accustomed to using such language. But on this point, propriety could go hang. She wouldn’t leave any room for ambiguity.

This needed to happen. Tonight.

She struggled up on her elbow, turning onto her side so that they faced one another on the bed. “Aaron, I was attracted to you from our first acquaintance. Infatuated with you not long after. But I fell in love with you because you put the reins in my hands. You trusted me to know my own mind, and you gave me the courage to follow my heart. That’s the reason I’m here tonight.”

He stroked her arm. “If you tell me you’re certain . . .”

“I’m certain. All my life I’ve kept a safe distance from my own emotions. No longer. If fear is part of this, then I want to feel fear. Pain, as well. And joy and anxiousness and need and pleasure and . . . and everything, all at once. I want to experience all of it, and I want it with you.”

A finality settled on his features. “Then you’ll have it.”

Yes. Feeling triumphant, Diana relaxed back onto the bed, stretching her limbs in a sinuous plea for his touch.

He caressed her with his eyes first, sweeping a determined gaze over her body.

“Do you understand pleasure?” His hand eased between her thighs, cupping her sex through her shift. “This will go much easier if you reach climax first.”

He asked her the question so baldly. Even hopefully. She answered with the truth. “Yes.”

“Good.” His voice was a low, dark thrum. “Good.”

She arched her back, pushing into his touch.

“Yes,” he said. “Show me what pleases you.”

Her boldness faltered. There was admission, and then there was demonstration. But she pressed her eyes closed, gathered her courage, and reached down to cover his hand with her own. She didn’t guide him under her shift but pressed his fingers to her flesh through the muslin, working the smooth, strong friction in just the right place.

Once he’d established a rhythm, she relaxed her grip and melted against the mattress. He kissed her breasts, her ears, her neck. His skillful touch and talented mouth were arousing sensations different from any she’d ever experienced. This wasn’t a moment’s gratification in the bathing tub. This was an ocean. A vast sea of pleasure, swirling around her, lifting and tossing her in ways she couldn’t control.

The only course was surrender.

Her breath grew ragged, and she writhed, uneasy, on the bed. He fitted his mouth over her nipple and drew hard, teasing the tip with wicked lashings of his tongue. The joy was so acute. A delicious urgency bloomed and spread through her whole body. She dug her heel into the mattress, rolling her hips to meet his touch.

“Yes,” he whispered, abandoning one nipple just long enough to catch the other. “That’s it.”

He removed his hand from between her legs. She whimpered at the deprivation, until he moved to cover her with the full length of his body. He still wore his trousers, but the sheer heat and weight of him were sensual gifts. The hair on his chest teased her sensitized nipples. His hips nudged her thighs wide, and then the smooth, thick column of his trapped erection settled snug in her cleft.

Yes. This. The firm, perfect pressure was just what she’d needed. He moved against her in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, and she rode his motions.

“Aaron.” She clutched at his shoulders and neck, holding on for her life as the pleasure tugged her in ten different directions.

And then it all came together in one brilliant, shattering wave of joy.

No sooner had her climax ebbed than he was backing away, yanking at the buttons on his trousers and cursing his boots as he stripped to his skin. He pushed her shift to the waist, gazing boldly on her most intimate places. But before she could think to squirm or shy from him, he’d settled atop her again.

His thighs were hard against hers, and covered with hair, much like his chest. The smooth, broad crown of his manhood prodded at her core.

He groaned. “I . . . I don’t know that I can wait much longer.”

“I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

His hips flexed, and he pushed forward.

Inside her.

She buried her face in his neck, determined not to cry out.

He cursed. “It will be better next time. I promise.”

It hurt. It hurt fiercely—so much that only the tang of blood made her aware that she’d bitten her lip.

It will be better next time, she consoled herself as a series of slow, persistent thrusts took him deeper. Brought them closer. It will be better next time.

But once she’d reconciled herself to the promise of Next time. . .

This time started to feel rather good.

She wouldn’t climax again. That wasn’t even a question. But the sublime feeling of being needed, desired, loved with such vigor and passion . . . this was a new, intoxicating pleasure all its own. She held him tight, loving the feel of his flexing, straining muscles as he buried his length deep at the heart of her, then strove to go deeper still.

His motions quickened, grew less elegant and controlled. Her breathing was labored in a way that would have alarmed her in her youth.

Not anymore.

He kept his weight balanced on his elbows, and she curled her neck to kiss him on the chest, the neck . . . anywhere she could reach. She ran her tongue along his collarbone, feeling brazen and seductive.

With a strangled groan, he slid one hand to her backside, holding her tight for a final barrage of thrusts. His face twisted into a mask of torturous pleasure.

At last, he slumped atop her, growling and shuddering with the force of completion. Filling her deep.

He remained inside her, slowly softening as his labored breath caressed her neck.

He was quiet and still for a long, long time. Because they’d earned this, too—this refuge in each other. In all her life, she’d never felt so perfectly loved and safe.

“You can’t know,” he finally whispered into her hair. “You can’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

She turned her head, seeking his kiss. “I think I have some idea.”





CHAPTER 11


Diana slept late the next morning. She assumed everyone in the Queen’s Ruby would.