Part 31 (2/2)

He shrugged from his jacket and waistcoat. ”Anything to oblige.” His s.h.i.+rt met the same swift end.

When at last he stepped from his trousers, Arabella's mouth had gone dry. He possessed not only the face of a G.o.d, but the form of one. The candle-light threw his body into stark, golden relief. He was all muscle and shadow, all heat and sinew and man.

As if to lend credence to that very fact, his staff quickened before her eyes, boldly erect between the corded strength of his thighs.

Her breath caught high in her throat. That she could do this to him - that he wanted her so - was still a source of utter amazement.

Seeing where her eyes resided, Justin smiled lazily. ”My dear Arabella, it's most disconcerting to be standing here naked” - his smile widened - ”when you are not.”

Arabella felt her cheeks heat. So he, too, was thinking of their wedding night*

She pursed her mouth prettily. ”Then perhaps you will lend your a.s.sistance.” She turned, giving him access to the myriad b.u.t.tons at the back of her gown.

”But of course.” He stepped near her. Before she knew it, her clothing was puddled around her feet. His fingers were in her hair, pulling the pins from the knot at her crown and sending it spilling around his hands.

A steely arm caught her close, dragging her back against him. The rigid stiffness of his staff prodded between the soft flesh of her b.u.t.tocks. Sweeping aside her hair, he pressed his mouth against her nape.

”G.o.d, you taste so good,” he muttered. ”So d.a.m.n good.”

With a cry Arabella turned in his arms, lifting her mouth to his. Their lips met again and again; they were both ravenous, as if starved for each other.

”Touch me, sweet,” he said against her lips. ”Touch me here.” His voice went low and guttural. ”Touch me now.”

Strong fingers clamped around her wrist, dragging her hand down*down. Her knuckles skimmed that taut plane of his belly. The tip of his rod, like a brand of fire, seemed to jump into her palm.

His sudden movement wrung a gasp from her, but there was no more hesitation. To pleasure him was her only desire, her only care. Without thought, her fingertips tripped along the length of his shaft, circling the root of his swollen flesh, scaling the shape of him, clear to the arching tip and back again. His size made her heart clamor madly. He was hotter than fire. And hard, so very hard, like marble, yet beneath the ridges of his skin she could feel him pulsing, a throb that echoed the rhythm of her heart.

”Like this?” she whispered.

She could hear the jagged intake of his breath. Emboldened by the fiery hold of his eyes, filled with a heady sense of power, her cool fingers daintily stretched to encircle him. Guided by instinct, by the flex of approval in his jaw, she stroked with first one hand, then the other.

His gaze seared hotly into hers, his eyelids half-lowered. He smoldered, both inside and out. ”Like that*” The words were hoa.r.s.e, thready with need. ”Just like that*”

He s.h.i.+fted his position, catlike, sliding even more of himself inside her grasp. With her thumb, she explored the very helm of his member, sheathed as if in silk, so utterly smooth.

His sharp inhalation was her reward. ”Arabella.” Her name was half-laugh, half-groan. ”Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Her pulse thundered wildly in her ears. She did, she thought hazily. She could feel a glistening, satiny pearl drop rise from the center of his shaft; molten pa.s.sion, she decided vaguely. For indeed, he looked as if he were steaming. Unbidden, she glanced down at all her hands encompa.s.sed. Mesmerized by the sight, she couldn't look away. The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her lips.

”Sweet Jesus, don't do that!”

He jerked away. The next thing she knew, strong arms clamped around her waist. She felt herself crushed against him, borne high aloft, and then the softness of the mattress beneath her back.

His body followed her down. But he did not kiss her lips, nor toy with the bounty of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as she expected. Instead, his mouth brushed the span of her belly. ”I think you deserve a little torment of your own, don't you, sweet witch?”

With the sleek width of his shoulders, he spread wide her thighs. With his tongue he traced a taunting, scorching pattern from the inside of her knee. Up*ever upward.

Arabella's mind teetered. As she gleaned his intention, her hands fell back alongside her head where it rested on the pillow. Every time he made love to her, it brought new wonders. She'd been convinced he'd taught her much about pa.s.sion in the past two weeks. Clearly, she decided hazily, she had much more to learn.

”Justin.” She could scarcely breathe, let alone talk. Antic.i.p.ation raked along every nerve in her body, but especially there, where his breath warmed her skin. ”The night we wed*when you said there was a great deal more to kissing, is this what you meant?”

She took his low growl to be a reply in the affirmative.

The sight of his dark head poised there, in stark contrast with her white pale flesh, sent a hundred s.h.i.+vers racing along her spine.

”Oh, my,” she said faintly. ”And does what you're doing*come under the nature of lascivious?”

With his thumbs he parted red-gold fleece, baring damp, pink flesh. His head began to lower. ”What do you think?” he muttered.

But he allowed no time for either thought or speech, no time for anything at all. His mouth was shockingly, brazenly intimate, his tongue a divinely erotic torment, a torrid, evocative rhythm that lashed and swirled and licked, until she thought she could bear no more.

Slowly he raised his head to look at her, his eyes fever-bright and burning. ”Tell me, sweetheart. Do you like this?”

Her fists were clutched in his hair, but not to push him away. ”Yes,” she gasped. ”Oh, yes.”

And when he touched her again, blistering flames licked through her. She was writhing. Hurtling toward the edge of bliss. When it came, dimly she heard herself cry out, again and again.

His breath left his lungs in a rush, for Justin could bear no more. He levered himself above her, his features tense and strained, rigid with need. He locked his fingers with hers. His mouth took hers with almost frantic urgency.

”Arabella.” Her name was a hoa.r.s.e, rasping sound. ”Oh, Christ.” His belly skimmed hers. He lunged deep and hard, pumping and churning, unable to stop himself, perilously close to the edge. Her body clamped tight around hot, engorged flesh, seeking his in a frenzy that matched his own. He gritted his teeth against his climax, determined to hold back, to pleasure her again. But, G.o.d help him, it had never been so good. So right. She was melting him, from the inside out, melting his heart, his soul.

He caught her hips in his hands. Each driving thrust brought him closer to bliss. Her whimper of pleasure obliterated all hope of control. Casting his head back, he groaned aloud. His release erupted, scalding and hot and honeyed.

They collapsed together, a wanton tangle of limbs. Long moments pa.s.sed before either of them was able to move. Satiated, utterly drained, Justin rolled to his side and cradled her against him.

She was smiling, he saw. He traced her lips with his fingertips.

”What is this for?” he murmured.

”I was just thinking of Aunt Grace,” she murmured.

”Aunt Grace again. How flattering.”

”We've been invited to dinner the Wednesday after next, by the way. Is that all right?”

He nuzzled the wispy hairs on her temple. ”My love, my only wish is to please you.”

Arabella rested her head against the hollow in his shoulder, gazing up at him.

A dark brow climbed high. ”Aunt Grace again?” he guessed.

Arabella nodded. ”Yes,” she confided a trifle breathlessly. ”Justin, my aunt loves

nothing more than planning parties and such. So I must warn you, so you aren't surprised at anything she might chance to say*”

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