Whispering Rock (Virgin River #3)(68)

With one deft movement, the bra disappeared and he pulled her against him, her br**sts on his chest. Flesh to flesh. Her arms encircled him and held him close. The feeling of her small hands running up and down his back stirred his blood just as the sensation of her ni**les against his chest bored through him with heat. One of his hands found and cupped a full breast, his thumb running over that erect nipple, stimulating it. Then he lowered his lips to gently draw on it, and she moaned softly, sweetly, whispering his name.

Mike was aching for her. He brought his mouth back to hers, and while kissing her, he backed her slowly and carefully to the bed until the backs of her legs were against it. Then his hands went to the snap of her jeans. “Okay?” he asked against her lips. “Do you need a little more time?”

She shook her head. “I’m ready,” she whispered.

He undid them carefully, slowly. Then, sliding his hands gently along her hips, moved them down. He sat her down on the bed and knelt to take off her shoes, pull off her jeans. When he stood and put his hands on the buckle of his belt, he hesitated, waiting for her to tell him if it was too much, too fast. But she brushed them away and replaced his hands with her own. She undid the buckle, the snap and zipper, and tugged the pants down. Freed, he leaped out at her and her eyes widened briefly. She glanced up at him, then, her eyes closing, she leaned toward him. But he stopped her by putting his hands on her shoulders. “Another time, mi amor. Tonight is about you.” He gently pushed her back onto the bed while he freed himself from his boots and trousers so he could get in beside her.

Both of them naked, he took her into his arms. She was so small and compact against him. He closed his eyes and in his mind he could see them against the white sheets, her ivory body against his tan, his dark hand on her hip and her small pale hand on his. He filled his hands with her satiny flesh, covering her body with long, smooth, calming strokes from her shoulders to her knees while he kissed her deeply. He caressed her gently for several minutes, giving her time to get used to the sensation of their na**d bodies together, entwined. She slipped a leg over his and her hands on him became bolder as she moved down his back and grabbed his butt, pulling him closer, harder against her. He slipped his hand between their bodies and moved it lower, inching his fingers down over her flat belly and farther, finding, with some surprise, that she parted her legs for him. He found the prominent little knot he was looking for and gave it a little attention, rubbing her gently, bringing a deep, lusty moan from her. Then he moved lower still, gently dipping a finger into her to find she was ready—this was a passionate woman who had been too long without a man to love her. But he wasn’t going to rush her; he was going to bring this to her sweetly, slowly. The last touch she’d felt had been brutal. He would erase that with gentleness and love so that she would never again fear it.

He rolled her gently onto her back and rose above her. “Let me look at you, Brie,” he whispered. He ran a slow hand down her body from her neck to her pubis and over, letting his fingers slip into her damp softness for just a second, causing her to writhe against him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything this beautiful,” he whispered. He put his hands on her h*ps and gently squeezed. She was soft and lush. He began a line of gentle kisses from her neck to her shoulder, her chest, her breast, her belly. Then he rose to kiss her neck again and with his lips against her ear, he whispered, “Trust yourself, Brie.” Then he resumed his kisses, less gentle as he lowered his mouth until he was at the center of her body. He parted her legs and put his mouth on her, delicately at first, and then with more pressure. She moved her h*ps against his mouth; he heard her groan and cry out, then felt her hands on his shoulders, gripping him fiercely, and he pulled on her carefully with his lips, massaging with his tongue until he could feel her tremble, open up, clench, vibrate against him. It was glorious, the way she let it go, let him take her to that pinnacle and beyond. This pleased and surprised him; he had prepared himself to have to coax her into pleasure, into orgasm, but she was quick and hot, consuming him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. As she relaxed, he drew away, rising slowly, kissing her belly, her breast, her neck, her mouth. “Brie, you are wonderful. Delicious. You honor me.”

She had trouble catching a breath. She said, “Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have trouble feeling….”

“God,” she whispered, weak and spent in his arms.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he whispered, gently pecking at her lips.

“I want more of you,” she said.

“Are you sure?” he asked her.

“I’m sure,” she whispered.

But he took his time again, allowing her to recover, slowly arousing her with slow hands, sweet lips. There was a fierce ache in him that wanted to dive into her and experience her quickly, bring his own release, but he ignored it. He concentrated on her responses, sure that she was rising to that ultimate pleasure again. And then, because he was honor bound, he whispered against her ear, “Brie…I have a condom.”

She froze. “No,” she said emphatically, shaking her head. “Please, no.”

“Very well, my love.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“It’s all right, Brie. We’ll do without….”

He gave her a little time to forget about that, spreading his kisses over her once more, lingering at her br**sts, her neck, her lips. Then finally he rose over her and with a knee placed carefully between her legs, he gently moved them apart again. He looked at her face; her eyes were closed and her head turned away from him. She held her bottom lip between her teeth, tensely. With a hand on her chin, he turned her back to face him and kissed her tenderly, lightly. Then harder, opening her lips with his. Her hands went to his hips, whether to hold him back or draw him in, he wasn’t sure. He lowered himself to her and the moment he touched her where he might enter her, she flinched. Stiffened. “Brie,” he commanded softly. “Look at my face. Look at me, baby. It’s me. Say my name, mi amor.”