She gave him a kittenish smile. “Oh, I did change. I put these on for you.”
Lust streaked through him, nearly cleaving him in half. Neither of them were even naked yet, and he was already primed to spill.
“God, I love you.” It wasn’t the eloquent confession she deserved. But something in him had to erupt, and words seemed the safest quantity.
She laughed and kissed him. As their tongues danced, he sent his fingers to undo the tiny buttons queued down the front of her shift. There were hundreds, it seemed.
At last he’d loosened enough of those buttons to draw the edges apart and slide his hand inside.
Sweet heaven.
He was a smith. He worked with hard, solid, unforgiving materials all day long. But this . . . Ah, this was softness.
Nothing could compare to the sensation of her breast filling his hand. Nothing. He stroked, lifted, kneaded, teased. He couldn’t get enough of touching her.
He dropped his head, trailing kisses down her neck and breastbone, wrenching the edges of her shift aside until the rest of the buttons popped free. He paused just long enough to register the color of her nipple—a pale, tawny pink—before taking it in his mouth.
She gasped and sighed. Her fingers wove tight in his hair.
With one hand, he raised the hem of her shift, taking time to savor the glide of silk before seeking the delicate folds of her sex. She parted her thighs with an eager innocence, but from there progress slowed.
She was so small, so tight. Just working a single finger into her sheath took ages. And as men went, Aaron knew he was on the larger side. His past lovers had been glad of it. But in this situation . . .
Gathering all of his patience, he stroked that single finger in and out, all the while suckling her br**sts and rubbing the heel of his palm against her pearl. Her erotic, breathy moans encouraged him, as did the increasing heat.
But when he tried to add a second finger, she tensed all over.
He withdrew his touch at once, cursing his rough workman’s hands. He drew her shift down, covering her to the knees.
“I don’t want you to fear this. And I can’t bear to cause you any pain.” The words were hell to get out, but he knew he must. “Perhaps we should wait.”
Her blue eyes glistened with emotion. Her kiss-swollen lips parted, spilling the most un-Diana-Highwood words he’d ever heard her speak.
“Like the devil we should.”
Diana savored his blank look of surprise.
He wasn’t accustomed to such language from her. She wasn’t accustomed to using such language. But on this point, propriety could go hang. She wouldn’t leave any room for ambiguity.
This needed to happen. Tonight.
She struggled up on her elbow, turning onto her side so that they faced one another on the bed. “Aaron, I was attracted to you from our first acquaintance. Infatuated with you not long after. But I fell in love with you because you put the reins in my hands. You trusted me to know my own mind, and you gave me the courage to follow my heart. That’s the reason I’m here tonight.”
He stroked her arm. “If you tell me you’re certain . . .”
“I’m certain. All my life I’ve kept a safe distance from my own emotions. No longer. If fear is part of this, then I want to feel fear. Pain, as well. And joy and anxiousness and need and pleasure and . . . and everything, all at once. I want to experience all of it, and I want it with you.”
A finality settled on his features. “Then you’ll have it.”
Yes. Feeling triumphant, Diana relaxed back onto the bed, stretching her limbs in a sinuous plea for his touch.
He caressed her with his eyes first, sweeping a determined gaze over her body.
“Do you understand pleasure?” His hand eased between her thighs, cupping her sex through her shift. “This will go much easier if you reach climax first.”
He asked her the question so baldly. Even hopefully. She answered with the truth. “Yes.”
“Good.” His voice was a low, dark thrum. “Good.”
She arched her back, pushing into his touch.
“Yes,” he said. “Show me what pleases you.”
Her boldness faltered. There was admission, and then there was demonstration. But she pressed her eyes closed, gathered her courage, and reached down to cover his hand with her own. She didn’t guide him under her shift but pressed his fingers to her flesh through the muslin, working the smooth, strong friction in just the right place.
Once he’d established a rhythm, she relaxed her grip and melted against the mattress. He kissed her br**sts, her ears, her neck. His skillful touch and talented mouth were arousing sensations different from any she’d ever experienced. This wasn’t a moment’s gratification in the bathing tub. This was an ocean. A vast sea of pleasure, swirling around her, lifting and tossing her in ways she couldn’t control.