The kisses stopped, and all Amaia felt was the air against her stomach, chilling the wetness that Michael’s mouth had left. She opened her eyes, wanting to know what had changed. Michael knelt and was in the act of removing his shirt. He was pulling it over his head, his face obscured by the fabric. His abdomen was firm, muscles rippling as he tossed his shirt aside. There wasn’t any bulk to him, not like when he was a blacksmith. This time he was slender, with long, lean muscle.
When Michael’s shirt was discarded, he focused back on her with a self-deprecating smile. “What do you think? You have a lot to compare to. I hope you don’t find me lacking.”
“Michael, I have never seen a man who looked so beautiful.”
“I know I change every time. I hope my appearance always pleases you.”
“I can’t imagine how it wouldn’t. And not everything changes. Your eyes have always been the same.”
“I know. I’m grateful. Sometimes, I think they are the only part of me that’s real. They’ve helped me maintain my sanity when I thought I was going crazy.”
Amaia found it ironic that his eyes had played such a different role in her own life.
Michael leaned down until the soft hair of his chest grazed her. It tickled for the split second before his skin rested against hers. Never before had her body responded this way to a man’s. Every cell woke up, vibrating, seeking Michael out, craving contact. The skin of her legs, arms, back, everywhere that wasn’t touching Michael, was jealous. She wanted contact with all of him. She wanted the rest of his clothing gone, but she had a feeling Michael wouldn’t comply quickly. There was no way he would take this as a quick fuck. He would savor her. She needed to relax and do the same.
Michael kissed her again. Amaia’s hands moved without her even thinking about it and wrapped around him. With her breasts now pressed against him, Michael took the opportunity to cup one in his hand. He didn’t squeeze or maul the way other men were prone to do. His hand just rested there, as if that was where it was meant to be, as if Amaia belonged to him and it pleased him to cup her breast at this particular moment.
When the kiss ended, Michael pulled away and looked at the breast he held. Admiration shone clearly in his eyes. Amaia had always known her breasts weren’t a good size, not compared to other women. That knowledge had been a source of discomfort for her entire life and led to her religious use of corsets. She needed all the help she could get.
“I know they’re small.”
“Nonsense. More than a handful is a waste anyway.” He lowered himself onto her again, covering her nipple with his mouth. A groan escaped the back of his throat as he played with the nipple, rolling it back and forth and then sucking.
Oh the sucking. Amaia arched her back. It felt as if there were a thousand nerve endings in that nipple, and each one danced with Michael’s tongue. His stubble scratched her skin, contrasting with the smoother touch of his hand. It was impossible to feel this way. He was cheating. It was beyond distracting. She couldn’t focus on anything, least of all the feeling in her breast. It was too much. What was she supposed to do? Her hands went to Michael’s head and pushed. He released the breast and looked into her eyes, confusion apparent. She had always loved it when Michelle played with her breasts.
“It’s too much. For heaven’s sake, Michael, I think you’re going to kill me.”
He grinned wider than she thought she had ever seen him in any life. “No, I wouldn’t want that. I’ll give the other one some attention.” He turned to her other breast and sucked it into his mouth with a little plopping sound. It was spectacular and fantastic, and she didn’t know how she would ever recover from the feeling. Was it possible for her to die? She thought she was immortal, but Michael made her feel distinctly mortal. Vulnerable—exposed in a way she never had been before. She didn’t know how she would ever come back down to Earth.
How could she possibly survive the feel of him sliding into her? There was no way her body could withstand it. And if, by some chance, her body could, then certainly not her nerves. It wasn’t fair that he seemed so unaffected by her. He seemed so calm and sure while she was anything but.
He released her nipple, and thoughts flooded back into her brain. A part of her was grateful for the end to the delicious torment. Another wanted him to start again. It was an insane dance. He trailed down her stomach, planting kisses in his wake, igniting her nerve endings in new ways. Meg had been right. It really was different with someone she cared about, someone with whom she had a connection. Amaia wasn’t sure how. There was no logical explanation, but there it was. She had thought the sex with Michelle had been so different—so intense—because she was a woman. She had been wrong.