Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(58)

His thick lashes lowered. “God help me, Tasia. If you leave, you'll take my heart with you.”

Tasia wanted to reply, but he kissed her until the words went skittering far out of reach. Hazily she focused on the sight of his hand closed around the wineglass once more, tilting it to let the contents spill over the brim. She couldn't think why he would be pouring wine on her, but he told her not to move, and she lay still in dreamy bewilderment as there were more cool trickles, splashes of golden liquid flowing over her body and between her thighs. She couldn't help squirming at the odd sensation, and then she felt his mouth skimming along the wet trail down her middle, scooping up tiny puddles with his tongue. She giggled and trembled as he found the wine-filled hollow of her navel. Gently he absorbed every drop, nuzzling across her skin with his parted lips, pausing to make hot swirls with his tongue.

Tasia fell silent, transfixed by the peculiar game he was playing, and by the prickling pleasure that seemed to cover every inch of her body. He pushed her thighs apart with his hand, and she opened compliantly, her will replaced by submissiveness. Everything centered on the movement of his mouth, the tantalizing pressure that traveled lower, brushing over crisp wine-soaked curls. Lightly his fingers combed through the soft thatch, making way for the sliding touch of his tongue. An acute throbbing began in the place he kissed, and she felt her body twitch in reaction. His tongue arrowed to the most sensitive place of all and lingered, until she gave a plaintive sigh and lifted upward into the tickling stimulation, whispering feverishly, “Yes please yes right there…” and the pleasure came in an ever-rising tide, a force barely contained in flesh. With a high-pitched cry she reached down to his dark head, pulling him closer. The exquisite convulsions drew out and lengthened, gradually fading to warm ripples.

Drugged with the aftermath of pleasure, Tasia stretched contentedly as his body moved over hers. She wrapped herself around his muscled body and reached down to touch him, her fingers curving around his hard length. He groaned and pushed upward, sliding gently into her swollen depths, and she closed around him in welcome. Tasia whimpered and locked her arms around his hard back, wanting to bear more of him, trying to bring his body heavy and smothering over her.

He resisted, keeping his weight poised above her. “I don't want to crush you,” he murmured. “You're so small and light…as if your bones were hollow like a bird's.” Tenderly his fingers traced the lines of her ribs, and he kissed her br**sts and the ivory smoothness between them. “But when I feel the passion in you…the way you fight to pull me nearer…I come close to losing control, and it's all I can do to keep from hurting you.”

“Don't hold back,” she urged breathlessly, arching upward into each long thrust. “I won't break.”

But nothing would alter his restraint, not the demanding clasp of her hands on his back and bu**ocks, not even the clench of her teeth on his shoulder. The sweet rush of forgetfulness came over them both, driving away coherent thought, making them one for a moment of rapture.

They spent the next few hours in a huge oak bed with massive carved bedposts and acres of blue curtains. Their exertions made Tasia hungry, and Luke obligingly joined her in a raid on the pantry. After they indulged in fruit, cheese, and cake, they crawled back into bed once more, Tasia hooked her toes at the edge of the mattress and stretched as long as possible, still coming a few feet short of reaching the other side. “It's too big,” she complained, rolling over on the white linen sheets to smile at Luke. “I keep getting lost.”

He laughed and scooped her into his arms. “I'll keep finding you.”

Curving her arms around his neck, Tasia sat up in his lap, bringing their faces close together. “I like being decadent,” she said artlessly. “No wonder so many women choose to be mistresses.”

“Is that what you are now?” he asked, kissing the side of her throat.

Disconcerted, she looked at his dark face and blushed. “I-I wasn't presuming to take Lady Harcourt's place.”

“Iris and I aren't involved any longer. That's why I went to London yesterday, to break things off between us.”

Tasia's brows quirked in wary surprise. “Why?”

“Iris wanted more than I could give her, and I was selfish enough to keep her much longer than I should have. Now she's free to marry any one of several suitors who have been after her for years. I don't think it will take her long.”

“And what about you?” Tasia began to crawl from his lap. “Will you want a new mistress to replace her?”

Luke locked his arm around her waist, keeping her still. “I don't like to sleep alone,” he admitted frankly. “I suppose I could find another Iris and fall back into my usual fornicating ways.”

The thought caused a stab of jealousy. Tasia frowned and kept silent, knowing she had no right to make objections.

Luke grinned, reading her thoughts. “But then,” he said softly, “there's the question of what to do about you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But would you be willing to take care of someone else as well? And let them care for you in turn?”

Tasia shook her head, while her heart began to hammer. “I don't know what you mean.”

“It's time for us to talk.” His dark blue eyes were riveted on hers. He took a deep breath. “Tasia…I want you to be a part of my life, and Emma's. I want you to stay with me. But if you do, it can't be any other way than as my wife.”