She bucked underneath him. “I wondered if you imagined it.”
“You did, hm?” He plucked at her mysterious nipple piercing. “You look prim on the outside, but you are very naughty inside your head, Catriona.”
Her indignant gasp wasn’t convincing, the flush on her cheeks said she felt quite caught out.
He slid his hand under her neck and ran his thumb over her throat. “What do you want,” he asked.
She moved against him. The heat of her lap seeped into his skin, quickly unspooling his self-control.
“Tell me,” he murmured. “There are many nice things we can do.”
“I want you inside me,” she whispered.
“I want that, too, but I think it might be too soon.” They had done it three times since yesterday, surely too much for a novice.
She arched up a little, luring him with her hips.
“I think it’s fine,” she said in a soft voice, her blue eyes brilliant beneath drooping lashes, and it nearly made him slide right into her, precautions be damned.
He lowered his body over hers and kissed her on the mouth.
Her slender hands stroked down his back, then more tentatively over his behind. It drew a low, throaty grunt from him.
“She’s fine,” she said, sounding serious. “Really.”
“Let me see,” he said.
She was moving restlessly at first, choking back tiny noises when his mouth brushed her breast, her belly, the charming little dip of her navel. He kissed lower, and she went silent.
He kept her thighs apart with the breadth of his shoulders.
“She looks beautiful,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” came the faint reply.
He trailed a finger through the fine protective curls, and her thighs clenched against his biceps.
“Just making certain,” he murmured, already intoxicated.
He ran his thumb up and down the delicate seam, parting it slightly. At her hesitant sigh, he pushed inside her, then spread the wetness with the pad of his finger. She said his name, and it sounded anxious, seeking . . . He lowered his head and did it with his tongue. He indulged himself, taking long licks, his fingers digging into the softness of her hips. He was lost, so hard he could feel his pulse in his cock, and so he didn’t immediately register her response. It dawned on him that he wasn’t hearing or feeling affirmations of her pleasure.
He raised his head and searched her eyes across the tense plane of her stomach. She was looking up at the ceiling.
“Is it good for you?” he asked.
She lifted her head. Her face looked red and anxious. “I think so.”
“I like it,” he said, in case she doubted it. “Very much.”
She nodded. “Go on, then.”
When he lowered his head, he felt her thighs stiffen. She was bracing herself.
He paused. “You don’t enjoy it,” he said slowly, “do you?”
She put a hand over her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “I’m familiar with the practice, I have read about it, women are supposed to find it wonderful.”
He sat up, and so she raised herself up on her elbows.
“I don’t care what your forbidden book says,” he said. “If you dislike it, we don’t do it.”
“I don’t dislike it,” she said. “It’s just . . . it’s so . . .”
She drew up her feet and tried to close her knees. He shifted back to let her, resisting the urge to grab her thighs and keep her wide open to him. He clasped her ankle instead, just holding it.
“It’s what,” he nudged.
“It’s wet,” she said at last.
He ran his hand over his chin. “It is, yes.”
She grimaced.
Difficult to think without much blood in his head. “You don’t like it because it’s wet? It’s mostly you, by the way.”
“I know, but the sensation distracts me. It doesn’t really hurt, though, we can certainly do it if it pleases you. Goodness, I’ve made it terribly awkward now.”
An unexpected surge of tenderness tampered his lust. A few of his observations about her, parceled away at the back of his mind, began to form a picture.
“You’re very sensitive,” he said. “I noticed. Your skin ripples when I barely touch you. You don’t suffer noise well, either.”
“I’m sorry.” She made to tug the sheet over her breasts.
“Ah, ah.” He gripped the sheet in his fist.
He brushed his lips over her knee, and a lustful sigh was the response.
He rested his chin on the spot he had kissed and watched her confused face. “There,” he said. “You can’t even help it.”
He slowly ran his hand down her shin, and inch by inch, the tension seeped from her limbs. He raised her foot and pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the lovely arch. She held her breath. He dipped his tongue between her toes. Her body bowed up with delight.
“Habibit albi,” he said. “It’s a gift, your sensitivity. It’s a pleasure to pleasure you. Allow me to try.”
He leaned over the edge of the bed and snatched her chemise off the floor. The garment was light as cobwebs in his hand. He spread the fabric over her thighs, and she held still, just watched him with attentive eyes. He put his mouth back on her, but now there was a thin layer of cotton between his tongue and her tender nub. His next lick created friction. She rewarded him with a breathy moan. When he tried a gentle suck, her fingers curled in his hair, tightening instinctively to hold him in place.
“Yes,” he murmured, a glowing sensation spreading in his chest. “Show me what feels good for you.”
After, she lay boneless in the sheets and a glow seemed to emanate off her skin. At last, she gave a languorous stretch and smiled up at him so widely, his heart gave a curious twinge.
“I think every woman ought to have a birder for a lover,” she said. “You observe everything so closely. You seem to miss nothing.”
He could have told her that every man who truly cared about a woman would observe her closely, but her ears might not be open to it.
He stretched himself out alongside her, deciding to take care of himself in a moment.
“Have you had many lovers?” she asked.
His face heated. “I don’t like this conversation, my heart,” he said. “It lowers us.”
She brushed her hand over the blanket, embarrassed. “I’m not jealous,” she said. “Just curious.”
With a sigh, he rolled onto his back. “One,” he said. “In Lyon.”
She sat up and looked down at him. “One?”
Her puzzled face amused him. She looked so surprised at things he considered banal but wouldn’t blink at something outlandish or complicated. “Have you heard of the free love movement?”
She squinted. “I don’t think so.”
“I thought you might have, since you’re an activist.”
“Our activism puts us under such scrutiny that we are a little less free in some respects.”
“It’s an idea from America, but I think the French bohemians practiced it already and the Americans just gave it a slogan.”
“Well, they are an economical bunch.” Said with a small smile.