“Can you stand?” he said roughly at her ear.
“Stand? At this time I believe I could fly.”
Chapter 14
BLINK. That dazzling whiteness around the horizon.—Falconer’s Dictionary of the Marine
Given the considerable size of the house, it seemed a rather quick trip to the master suite. But—lingering between sublime gratification and shimmering anticipation as Ben drew her swiftly and silently along dark passageways—Tavy could not entirely trust her judgment.
Within his bedchamber, she hadn’t time to take in the details of the fire-lit space before he set to removing her soaked garments with remarkably deft fingers. She helped, focusing on the task. She did not care what his bedchamber looked like as long as she was in it. And she would not need any of her clothing for the time being. He had kissed her passionately, intimately. She had nothing left to hide from him.
Still, when finally she stood naked before him, she quailed.
“Don’t,” he said, grasping her hands as she tried to cover herself. He stretched her arms wide. “You are beautiful. So beautiful.”
Beyond beautiful. Exquisite. And she was his now. Finally. For the night at least.
Ben drew in a long, unsteady breath. In his thirty years, he had done nothing to deserve this moment. But he would take it without question.
“I feel like Parvati, standing here naked with my arms wide. Except of course that I only have the two.” She grinned. Then her cheeks flushed, her warm eyes twinkling.
Something deep and hot inside Ben turned over.
“What is it?” He could not look away from her lips despite the expanse of creamy skin and dusky pink temptation below.
“I was wondering what the Goddess of Love would do in a situation like this with her extra pair of arms.” She fluttered her fingers like fans. “And hands.”
Ben’s mouth went dry. He released her wrists, slipped an arm around her slender waist and threaded his fingers into her rain-darkened hair. She turned her face up to him.
“Any ideas?” she asked lightly, but her breaths were rapid, her breasts rising against his chest.
“Perhaps,” he murmured over her intoxicating lips. “But at this moment I require only the two. Put them around me.”
She did as she was bidden and the sweetest smile curved her lips. He swallowed roughly and lowered his mouth to trace her pure beauty with the tip of his tongue, to taste her as he had tasted her womanhood. He’d needed to know that he had not dreamt her flavor, honey and musky, beguiling Octavia, as he needed to assure himself now that her mouth shaped to his as though made for his kisses. He spread his hand upon her soft, round behind, and she made a mewling sound of pleasure in her throat. Ben felt the sound everywhere, beneath his skin, in his chest, and through his aching cock. Her lips were sweet, the curve of her throat a delicate slope of perfection, the swell of her breasts tipped with lush peaks, all of her body his now, again, after too long.
He bent and circled a dusky aureole with his tongue. She sighed and he lingered, his erection straining at the fastenings of his trousers. Her fingers slid into his hair, her other palm flat on his shoulder. With his mouth he memorized her hot, soft feminine beauty. Such beauty, precious to him. She shifted her hips and a low groan escaped her.
“Ben.” Her voice was scant. She arched into him with a little whimper, but her hand pressed hard against his shoulder. “Please stop.”
He lifted his head, his chest abruptly tight.
She gripped his neck and pulled his mouth to hers, lips opening, kissing him with undiluted urgency like he fully intended to kiss every inch of her. She broke the kiss, her breaths fast and sharp.
“I want—” She pushed him away and stumbled back. Pink stained her cheeks and the stiff tips of her perfect breasts. “I think it is vastly unfair,” she said, clearly struggling, “that I am standing here like Parvati while you are fully clothed.”
For an instant Ben felt peculiarly light-headed.
He unwound his soggy cravat. His collar went next, waistcoat, and suspenders in short order.
She lifted her hand to stay him. “May I undress you?”
He barely breathed. “I wish you would.”
Slender and agile, her fingers worked at the buttons at his shirt, pushing aside damp fabric and coming to rest upon him.
She drew in a deep breath. “Oh my.”
Impatience lapped at Ben, the feathery burn of her fingertips driving heat everywhere. He pulled the shirttail free of his trousers and dragged the garment over his head.
Octavia’s eyes went wider than he had ever seen them. Ben’s muscles contracted, every single one of them. With effort he managed to loosen his grip on the shirt enough to drop it. She stared at his body, her gaze traveling from his shoulders to his waist then back. He hadn’t ever known such torment.
“Octavia.” His voice came forth far from steady.
“I never imagined,” she whispered in a tone of utter awe, and her hand darted out then halted. Tentatively, as though reaching into fire, she placed her palm upon his chest. Ben sucked in air, her touch tightening him. She must be able to feel the hard thud of his heart. She leaned into his shoulder and inhaled, her uneven breaths soft upon his skin. He willed his arms to remain at his sides.
“You know,” she said in that same tone, heady and thin, “Lal used to visit your house every day. The kitchen, I think. When he came home he always smelled of delicious things, spices and what have you.”
“Please tell me you have not just now compared me to a monkey.”
She laughed. “You always smelled so good, from the moment we met.” She laid her lips beside her hand. “Like a man,” she sighed against his skin.
“I should hope so.” He spoke in a vain attempt to still the trembling within him at the velvet caress of her open mouth. Her hand curved around his arm and she sighed, smoothing across his ribs to his back. Her feet followed, the tips of her breasts brushing his arm as she circled him. Only the barest intake of breath, then its release against his shoulder blade, revealed her reaction to the scars upon his back. Fully behind him, her palms slid to his waist, then she came around to face him again. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she slipped her hand over his buttock. Her eyes shone.
He forced words through his lips. “Enjoy your tour?”
“Very much.”
“Care to continue your previous occupation?”
“Yes, indeed.”
The release of each trouser button seemed to Ben an eternity of redoubled torture. He gripped his fists at his sides.
“You must relax.” Her voice hinted at her own high tension. “The veins in your arms are distressed.” Her hand paused upon his trousers, then wrapped about his wrist. She bent and ran her damp tongue along the inside of his forearm. Ben choked on a surge of desire, her mouth so close now.
He grasped her shoulders, pulled her up against his chest and kissed her hard.
“Remove my blasted trousers now, or I will.”
Her head bobbed but she said, “Perhaps you should. I— My hands are somewhat unsteady.”
He released a taut breath. “Octavia, I beg your pardon—”
“Oh, don’t.” She drew him down again and pressed her lips to his. “Only be quick about it.” Slender fingers grazed the waistband of his trousers, shaking slightly as they paused above the bulge of his erection. “I am very curious.”
Curious, quivering, but eager and as impatient as he. She stared fixedly as he unfastened the remaining buttons, her color high. Ben hadn’t any idea what to make of her. But he had never known a woman like Octavia Pierce in any other way. Why should she be like other women in this?