Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(33)

“Slower, it is.” He ran his hand into her hair and pins clattered against the plank floor.

Light-headed, she almost giggled. “That is not slower.”

“How am I to give you a hundred nights in one if I do not ravish you immediately?” he asked with perfect logic, spreading her waist-length hair across her shoulders. “By all that’s holy, this glory should be woven into gossamer fabric. Men pay fortunes to dress their women in black silk. You need only wear your hair down.”

The cascade of hair over her bare breasts stimulated a flush of desire, and Emilia knew she was turning pink. “Hair is a nuisance that takes too much work. I shall cut it off and ask a weaver to make a shirt of it for you to pet.” Since he was unfastening her bodice, she was not at all certain what she was saying. Her breasts felt tight and swollen, eager for his caress.

“It is not your hair I wish to make love to,” he murmured, nipping at her throat, pressing soothing kisses to her skin as he pushed her bodice to her waist. “Your mane is magnificent, but these. . .” He released her breasts from her corset and pushed them up so cool air blew over the heated crests. “These are triumphs of beauty.”

“That is ridiculous,” she tried to say, but she wasn’t entirely certain her tangled tongue released the words. The erotic sensation of a man’s hands holding her breasts deprived her of all thought.

Dare loomed over her in all his glorious muscular masculinity, and she needed to touch. She tried to tug his shirt free, but his trousers were too tight.

“A dying man is allowed to say whatever he wishes,” he insisted, before lifting her so he could suckle at her breast.

Emilia smothered a shriek and grabbed his shoulders for support. Her spine turned to water and her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, seeking solace for the ache between them. “Specious argument,” she protested breathlessly. “You are obviously not dying yet.”

“I am dying of lust,” he asserted, holding her with one arm while unfastening his trouser buttons with his other hand.

“Plants in a weakened condition often produce more seeds than usual to ensure propagation of a new generation,” she rattled mindlessly. He dropped her on the bed to wrestle off his shirt and to gaze lasciviously on her wanton state of undress. He cocked a wry eyebrow at her inane utterance.

The day was still light enough that she could admire the contours of his lean muscled chest when he flung the shirt at the floor. A stream of gold-tipped hair ran between his flat male nipples, tapering to a rivulet above his unfastened trousers. Once her gaze fell to his hips, she could not raise it. Intellectually, she knew men were made differently. But he might as well have imprisoned a live python in there.

“Propagation is exactly what I have in mind,” he assured her, dropping down beside her to untangle the ties of her skirt that she had been too stunned stupid to undo. “I had no notion that propagation would add such zest to the pollination process.”

She almost laughed outright. Except he was exactly right. Just the thought of the miracle they might create tonight terrified and excited her beyond all the boring staid experiences of her boring staid life.

She lifted her hips so he might yank off her skirt and petticoat and did not protest as they landed in a heap with his shirt. Her corset, under-chemise, and stockings were her only cover. She waited for modesty to make her flush, but she could only watch in fascination as her husband peeled off his trousers. The python pressed demandingly at his drawers.

“Damn, you smell good,” he murmured, leaning over to brand searing kisses from her ear to the top of her breasts.

All the hard temptation of his chest loomed over her, and she could scarcely register anything else.

“I want to smell you, lick you, and frig you all at the same time,” he murmured, tasting her nipple again.

She thought to protest his crudity, but she made the mistake of laying her palm flat against his bare chest first. The jolt of electricity nearly left her paralyzed.

She absorbed the prickles, the heat, and the rush of his blood and his breath and the pain in his center all in one blow. The sensations mixed with those of her own intense desire, as if they were all one creature. The ache between her legs became a tension so exquisite, she didn’t know how to handle herself.

Fortunately, Dare did. He slid his fingers into the nest of her lower hair, and she almost rose off the bed.

“Yes,” he hissed in satisfaction. “Your blood boils as mine does.”

Without further warning, he stripped off her corset and chemise and swooped down to suckle her breasts while his fingers played their magic between her thighs. There was no chance of forming any healing connection while he cast her into the throes of lust.

“Dare,” she whispered urgently, feeling as if she might come apart from the pressure and the dangerous mix of sensations. “Please. I cannot bear—”

He used his thumb to press while his fingers spread her. The tension reached new pinnacles, her inner muscles clenched, and Emilia arched into his hand, biting back screams. He took full advantage to delve deeper. The quakes, when they came, cast her into another realm, one of nothing but sheer physical pleasure, shaking her very existence. How could just a touch cause such immense revelations? And all these years, she’d feared touching?

Limply, she was barely aware when Dare tugged off his drawers.

“Propagation, my sweet,” he murmured in laughter as he covered her helpless body with his powerful one. “Think gurgling adorable infants.”