Love, Come to Me(117)

“Every day, and every night. Say it again . . . please.”

He repeated the words behind her ear, and against her throat, and in the tender hollows of her body as he bent his head and began to unwrap the clinging towel.

“Ouch!” Lucy’s hand flew to her head as her hair was pulled sharply. Immediately Heath shifted her and cursed, turning his attention back to the remaining strands of hair tangled in the wrought-iron fireguard. Despite her own frustrated passion and Heath’s hungry impatience, Lucy began to snicker. “If you don’t hurry, I’m going to have a bald spot.”

“I’m in no mood for laughing.”

His scowl only aggravated her giggling. “I can’t h-help it . . . for so long we’ve wanted to . . . and now that everything is fine, we have to wait . . . so you can—”

He smothered her words with his lips, kissing her as he had wanted to for weeks, until her laughter had dissolved in a flood of wanting. She made a slight noise, soft and imploring, and he increased the seeking pressure of his mouth. His fingers worked busily at her hair until it came free, and a purr of satisfaction vibrated low in his throat. Staggering to his feet with Lucy in his arms, Heath kissed her as he carried her to the bed, miraculously managing to keep from stumbling or dropping her.

Lucy pulled him down to her as soon as her back touched the mattress, her slender arms clasped around his broad shoulders, her slim body arching up to his. Desperately she pulled at the tenacious buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel the strong, na**d slide of his body over hers. Together they tore at his clothing, both of them intent on stripping away the layers of cloth that separated them. Suddenly Heath gave a ragged laugh at her impatience and anchored her head to the pillow with his hands, interrupting her progress with his shirt in order to kiss her roughly. Their tongues mated in hot, smooth strokes, lips sealed more tightly together, bodies entwined in a snug embrace.

“I’ll never take this for granted,” Lucy whispered, turning her head away and refocusing her attention on his clothes. “Being close to you . . . being able to love you . . .”

His mouth traveled down her neck in a moist, wanton caress. “This was never making love before . . . not before you. I knew how different it was going to be with you the first time we kissed.”

“You knew that . . . just from a kiss?”

“I’ll have to remind you about that kiss.”

Somehow Heath shed the rest of his clothes, and he gathered her to him, whispering words that caused her to flush all over. And then, unexpectedly, their movements became slower, languid, reverent. With the knowledge that there would never again be walls between them, all cause for desperation was gone. Trembling, Lucy wound her fingers in his gleaming golden hair as his head moved over her br**sts. His mouth captured a soft rose peak and aroused it with a gentle pull. The sleek texture of his tongue soothed her awakening flesh and readied it for another excruciatingly tender tug of his mouth. Her body was filled with a sweet, heavy ache—slumberous and yet aware of every light touch of his hands, every brush of his hair-roughened legs against hers, every short, burning puff of his breath on her skin.

She wanted to tell him how good it was, but words fluttered beyond her reach, eluding the pursuit of her lips and tongue. Instead, she drew her fingertips down his back in a light, scraping touch, causing him to shiver and catch his breath. And then she saw the bright flash of his smile before his mouth wandered to the fragile skin below her breast, the fragrant undercurve where she felt the teasing flicker of his tongue. Her knees were urged apart by the weight of his body, and she opened to him willingly, tensed and eager to feel him inside her.

“Not yet . . . not yet,” he said softly, slipping his hands underneath her. Smoothly he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. Lucy found herself straddling his thigh, her pliant curves flattened on top of his hard-muscled frame. As she read the invitation in his glowing turquoise eyes, she clambered gamely over him, inching upwards until their mouths were even and the tips of their noses were touching. Her hair flowed over him in a shining deluge, and he smoothed it away from her face. He held her hair back until their lips met, and then he let it drop to form a silken curtain around his face as their kiss deepened. Lucy writhed on top of him, against the masculine hardness of him pressing between her legs, until his hands clamped over her bu**ocks to keep her still.

“Don’t move,” he said hoarsely, his fingers flexing gently into the sleek roundness of her flesh. “After all the waiting you put me through, I’m going to be the one that decides how, when, and where.”

She smiled and offered her mouth to his with sweet generosity. “Then all you have to do is tell me,” she breathed against his lips. Her eyes danced with an impish light. “Don’t be shy.” She pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “How?” Another kiss, on the firm line of his jaw. “When?” A last, soft kiss on the side of his neck. “And where?”

Deftly he flipped her onto her back, his mouth taking a fleeting taste of hers before he lifted himself away from her, and she was bereft of his touch. “Heath?” she asked, suddenly bewildered, and her eyes flew open to find him. She could only see the dark silhouette of him against the bright firelight. “Heath—”

“Shhh. I’ll answer all your questions at once.”

She felt the warm palms of his hands curve over her bent knees, prying them open and spreading them wide, sliding over her inner thighs until she fell back against the pillow helplessly, her mind reeling at the burning touch of his fingertips. His head settled between her thighs, his hands suppressed the sudden flinch of her body, and then his mouth was opening over the softest, most private part of her. Her legs flexed involuntarily as she instinctively sought to protect herself from this utter vulnerability, but her ankles were pinned underneath him. His tongue stole out to stroke her trembling flesh, and his hand slid over her hip bones in a slow, circular massage. Subsiding back against the pillows, she said his name weakly, her voice a shadow of sound. She sensed the depths of the pleasure it gave him to hold her helpless and trusting in his hands, knowing her as no other man ever would. Her blood surged with startling force, so that all she could hear was its pounding in her ears, and then ecstasy convulsed her with a violent caress.