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“…too small…”
Ah, God, was that what this was about? Did she think her body displeased him? Could she not see how she affected him?
Tenderness sweeping through him, he placed a gentle hand over hers but made no move to uncover her again.
“Bronwyn, listen to me, and listen well,” he rasped. “Your breasts are not too small. To me you are perfect, in every way.”
Her kiss-swollen lips parted, a ragged sigh escaping from them even as her eyes widened, her uncertainty replaced with a passion-laced shock.
“Will you let me prove it to you, sweetheart?”
The next seconds were torture for him as she paused, considering. Funny, that, as he had been the one who had not wanted anything physical between them. But suddenly it was all he wanted, all he needed.
Finally she nodded. “Yes.”
That one word, spoken in that sweet huskiness, was like salvation. Gently easing her hand from her chest, he replaced it with his own, cupping the soft mound in his palm. He lowered his head and drew her nipple into his mouth, barely hearing her incoherent cry as the gloriousness of it sent jolts of pure lust through him. His free hand trailed over her body, tracing each slight dip and curve, reveling in the strength under his fingers. This was a woman who hiked over hills and valleys and rough terrain day in and day out. She was no squeamish society miss, his Bronwyn.
His Bronwyn. The words reverberated through him, and the satisfaction that realization brought him only stoked the fire of his need for her. He had hoped to find a woman who could provide a good life for his wards. He had not thought to find someone who drew him like a moth to a flame.
But mayhap these thoughts were dangerous. Wasn’t it possible, after all, that these emotions, along with their new physicality, could lead to feelings much stronger?
He very nearly reined himself in; no matter that he did not believe they could become enamored of one another, it was much too risky a chance to take. But she gasped then, pushing his dressing gown from his shoulders, her small hands roaming greedily over his back, and he forgot everything but the feel of her beneath him.
Quickly shrugging off the garment, he tossed it aside before, grasping the hem of her nightgown, he tugged it up her body and over her head. Now there was nothing between them. And there was nothing to stop him from exploring every sweet inch of her body. He trailed kisses lower, over her rib cage, across the soft expanse of her stomach, down across her hip. Each cry and moan and sigh that escaped her lips as she moved eagerly beneath him drove him on with increasing frenzy. He had to have her, and soon. But first…
Shifting, he pushed her thighs wide, settling his shoulders between them. He allowed himself a moment to look up her body and drink her in. She looked glorious, her head pressed back against the pillow, her short curls a halo about her head. Her breath came hard and fast, pushing her small breasts forward as she clutched at the sheets beneath her.
And the thatch of curls between her legs…
He let out a harsh breath at the beauty of her. It stirred those most private curls, and she gasped, her head jerking up and her passion-hazed eyes meeting his. But there was no fear, no shock, her uncertainty long gone. Only an eagerness remained that made his aching cock even harder.
He held her gaze, trailing his fingers over her sex, as light as a butterfly wing, wanting to see what his touch would do to her. Her eyelids fluttered, her mouth opening in a small oval, a low sound of need escaping her lips.
And he had not thought he could desire her more.
“I want to taste you, Bronwyn,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Will you let me taste you?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He did not waste a second more. Lowering his head, he closed his mouth around her, and the taste of her hit his tongue, fairly drugging him with her very essence. If this was heaven, he did not want to ever return to earth.
***
Bronwyn had seen illustrations of just such an act being performed, of course. But never in a million years could she have guessed what sensations it might awaken in her.
Ash’s mouth moved over her, drawing her in, his lips and tongue doing the most gloriously wicked things to her. She could not imagine anything on earth that felt better than this.
Until he pushed a finger into her.
She could not think, could not reason. Immediately abandoning any attempts to keep her approach to this at all scientific—not that she had been particularly good at that from the moment he’d touched her—she gave herself up to sensation. He moved his finger in and out of her, his mouth growing more insistent, and she felt as if she were shooting up, up, into the atmosphere. Surely she would come crashing back to earth soon. But no, the sensations bombarding her body, so much more potent and overwhelming than the pleasure she had given herself with her own fingers in the close darkness of her bedroom, continued to build. When he added a second finger, however, and he caressed her swollen womanhood with his tongue, she fell apart. Light burst behind her eyes, as brilliant as fireworks, the explosion that began at the center of her vibrating through her entire body, rippling over her skin.
Before those sensations were done pulsing through her, he was over her. His chest dragged across her sensitive nipples, and the desire she thought had been sated proved that it was not quite through with her yet. By the time the blunt tip of him pressed into her, she was eager for more.
“Bronwyn,” he groaned. He cradled her face in his hands and gazed down at her, his eyes burning with need, though he paused. “Sweetheart, are you ready for me?”
But Bronwyn was unable to speak. Instead, she planted her feet on the mattress and pressed up into him beseechingly.
He did not need further urging. Taking himself in hand, he guided himself into her with aching slowness, each inch stretching, burning. Yet nothing had ever felt so good. Finally he stopped, buried to the hilt. His arms trembled on either side of her, sweat dotting his brow, the muscles in his back flexing with the effort.
