On his knees, he slowly pushed both splayed hands up over her belly, over her rib cage, to cradle her breasts. He used his lips and tongue and teeth to lavish attention on first one, then the other. Maggie was grateful for the wall, using it to brace herself when her legs threatened to give way. Especially when he began feathering kisses down her stomach, his target more than apparent.
Using just his fingertips, he traced the lace pattern on her panties. She couldn’t keep up with his mercurial changes. In one moment, he was impatient, rough and greedy, In the next it was as if he was trying to make up for an eternity of deprivation by touching and exploring her as much as physically possible. By the time he was finished tormenting her, her breasts felt full and achy, her sex was wet and throbbing and every muscle in her body quivered.
Looking up at her, smiling seductively, he slowly twisted his thumbs in the lace covering her hips and slowly—oh, dear Lord in Heaven!—so slowly dragged it down, down, down, off. Gideon sat back on his haunches and stared up at her, worshipful awe etched in every line of his face, his body posed as one at an altar.
Suddenly and unaccountably embarrassed at being displayed like this, Maggie made to cover herself. But he was having none of it. He captured her wrists with a chiding shake of his head and pulled them to the sides, pressing her hands flat against the wall, silently commanding her to leave them there.
Then he skimmed those sandpaper-rough fingertips along the sensitive skin where hip and thigh connected, making a rumbling sound deep in his throat that sounded suspiciously like the rumbling of a predatory big cat. Strong hands splayed at the tops of her thighs and firmly, purposefully smoothed down until they gripped her knees. With single-minded purpose, Gideon pushed her knees apart.
His breath left him in an audible whoosh, as if he’d been sucker punched. As if he’d just stumbled upon the greatest discovery of mankind. And when his hands began a feather light ascent up the ultrasensitive flesh of her inner thighs, he groaned aloud. His brows drew together as if he were being tortured.
The first stroke of his fingertips over her trembling, drenched flesh was soft, testing. Reverent. “Exquisite,” he whispered, again to himself.
Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes drifting closed on a tremulous sigh. With each successive stroke, her need for him grew by leaps and bounds. He grew bolder in his explorations, circling her, feathering over her, slicking through the wet silk of her cleft, but never quite penetrating her.
Moaning, Maggie lost track of her surroundings. Unmindful of the fact that they were in the hallway and that anyone could stumble upon them, she could only focus on Gideon and what his talented hands were doing to her. Her body shook, her hips following the rhythm of his dancing fingers. His strokes slowed, until one fingertip hesitated, poised at her entrance. Waiting.
Panting, desperate for him to ease the ache he’d so skillfully orchestrated, confused as to why he’d stopped, Maggie dragged her eyes open. He was staring up at her expectantly, watching her with acute focus, his expression a tormented mixture of pain and wonder, lust and reverence. She couldn’t tell which of them wanted this more.
He’d made the rest of his clothing disappear. The sight of him kneeling before her, completely naked, caused a fresh wave of liquid warmth to swirl through her womb. His golden hair was tousled from her hands. His lips were slightly swollen from her kisses. His broad shoulders bore tiny scratch marks from her nails, marks she hadn’t even realized she’d caused. The sight of those marks, her marks, upon his flesh sent an indelible shot of possessiveness streaking through her.
His muscular chest and ridged abdomen were free of body hair, but peppered with scars of various shapes and sizes. Both arms were covered with detailed tattoos, shoulders to wrists. A confusing mixture of images, foreign runes and blocks of scripture, pictures of holy relics and bloody carnage.
His hips were narrow, his powerful thighs spread wide. And from the thatch of springy golden hair between his legs jutted his erection, thick and proud, the girth alone enough to give her pause.
His fingers twitched, there at her entrance, and her gaze snapped back to his. Once she locked on his, as if he’d been waiting his entire existence for just that exact moment, he slowly slid his finger deep inside her. As he did so, his thumb brushed along the tiny bundle of nerves he’d already caressed to a frenzied awareness. Her mouth fell open on a gasp. Her eyes all but rolled back in her head as he slowly began to move, stroking her deep, first with one finger, then two.
Her body went absolutely still in expectation when she felt the hot brush of his breath over her quivering, damp flesh. And when his tongue flicked over her and his mouth settled upon her womanhood, her entire body jolted. She cried out.