He tossed the balled-up clothing aside and spread his hands, as if to say: Go ahead; look your fill.
Her gaze flirted with his shoulders and abdomen, but quickly dropped to his most vital parts. Her cheeks turned an entirely new, rather alarming, shade of pink. He didn’t even know how to name that shade of pink. It might not have existed in nature until tonight.
“I don’t know what I was expecting.” She hooked one finger on her teeth, pensive. “You’re a large man. Everywhere. It stands to reason that you’d be . . . large . . . there, too.”
He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to laugh. He wasn’t freakishly big. Just on the larger side. But her unintentional compliments—and that fierce blush creeping up to her hairline—were only making matters worse. He was rapidly growing even larger.
She stretched a hand forward, tentative. “May I . . . ?”
As if he’d say no.
He moved closer to the bed, his cock jutting out before him like the prow of a ship. He was certain he’d never been harder in his life.
She touched him with one fingertip—one single fingertip, skimming him from shaft to tip—and his whole body went up in flames.
She tilted her head. “Are you very sure that this will—”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“In time.” He joined her on the bed, coaxing her to lie back on the mattress. “We’ll take it as slow as you like. If you want me to stop, you’ve only to say the word.”
He stretched out next to her, drawing her body close to his chest and enfolding her in his arms. Giving her his heat. He had plenty to spare.
“Warmer?”
She nodded.
As he bent to kiss her pulse, her head rolled to one side, stretching her neck into a pale, graceful curve.
An invitation.
And this was one invitation he would never refuse.
He began at her ear and kissed down her neck, all the way to her collarbone. His hand had drifted to her breast of its own accord. While kneading one, he kissed the other, nuzzling close to her violet-scented skin.
Even if they lived and made love for fifty years—and he fervently hoped they did—Rafe didn’t think it would ever cease to astonish him, that she wanted this. His big, roughened body rubbing against her soft perfection.
He laid her on her back and kissed his way down her belly, pausing halfway down to prop his chin on her navel and gaze up into her face.
“I’m going to make this good for you,” he promised. “Beyond good. I want . . . I want cake sounds. No, scratch that. I want Rafe sounds.”
She laughed a little. But as he slid a hand up her naked thigh, her laugh became a sigh of pleasure.
“There’s my girl. That’s a start.”
He finished kissing his way down her belly, then dipped his head lower. She startled. He held her hips tight.
“It’s all right. If you trust me.”
“I trust you.”
He didn’t take that gift lightly. He stroked her first with his fingers, parting her folds with the pad of his thumb, and pushing just an inch inside. When she gasped and moaned, he took the encouragement.
He nudged her legs apart, wide enough to accommodate his shoulders. And then he sank between her thighs, laying his tongue to the very heart of her. She bucked in surprise at the first contact, but he wouldn’t be deterred. He teased her with slow, lapping strokes of his tongue. He loved the taste of her. She was so sweet, with just the right amount of tart.
“Rafe.” She touched his shoulder. “Rafe, are you sure—”
“It’s all right.” He spread her wide with his thumbs. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
She cried out in pleasure. Her thighs clamped together, catching his head like two sides of a vise. He wasn’t going anywhere now. So he settled into his task, teasing and tasting. Learning her every contour, her every response. Within moments, she was panting for him.
“Yes,” she moaned.