She opened her eyes at feel of him against her, knowing that she would find him watching her—wanting to see him watching her. Lightning flashed, untamed, in the sky behind him, casting them in a wicked white flash as Nick traced one finger across the straining skin of her breast, circling the tip once, twice, with reverence. She exhaled on a shaking breath, and he looked up, his blue eyes glittering.
“So beautiful,” he said, circling her nipple again and again, watching her response as they grew hard and aching. “So passionate, so eager.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “You are here, Isabel. As am I.”
She was not alone.
She saw the desire in his eyes then, and the recognition sent a wave of feminine pleasure through her. He wanted her. She did not know where the words came from when she spoke. “Touch me.”
She watched as his surprise flared in his gaze, quickly replaced by something darker, more intense. “With pleasure.” And he set his mouth to her breast, sucking gently, working the hardened tip with his mouth and tongue and teeth until she cried out and clasped his hair, holding on to the one stable thing in her existence.
She squirmed against him, unable to keep herself from pressing closer to him, and he lifted his head, staying her movements with one hand as he hissed his pleasure against her straining nipple. With a feminine knowledge that she did not know she possessed, she rocked against him again, deliberately, and he lifted his mouth from her to meet her gaze. Putting one hand to the back of her head, he whispered, “Wait …” and took her mouth in a searing kiss as he lifted her and moved her to straddle him, pulling her closer. “That’s better, don’t you think?”
She tested the position, rocking against him once more, this time with her skirts bunched between them. When he groaned at the movement, she said, “Oh, yes. Much better.”
He laughed at her words, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure to the core of her. “Shall we see what else is better in this position, my Voluptas?”
She smiled shyly. “Yes, please.”
“Well, since you asked so politely …” He settled his lips to one breast, and Isabel called his name, the sound echoing in the room. She moved in time to the lovely pull of his mouth on her, to the way his fingers played at the tip of her other breast, sending waves of pleasure pooling deep within.
He shifted, his hands were smoothing up her legs, pressing her against him, guiding her movements, sliding over her linen pantaloons and pulling at the tapes there to gain access to that place where she hadn’t known—but now knew without doubt—that she so desperately wanted him. With one hand, he cupped her gently, sending a dart of pleasure through her. She gasped at the feel of him, and he lifted his head, his smile a wicked promise in the room, their labored breathing and the rain pounding against the windows the only sounds in the room.
He took her mouth again, consuming her, making her forget everything but his hands, his lips, his body beneath her. She plunged her fingers into his heavy, soft hair and reveled in the deep, satisfied sound he made as he rocked the heel of his palm against her, giving her what she wanted but had not known to ask for. She pulled back with a little breath, unsure of the sensations he was rocking through her. “Nick …” His name came on a mix of passion and confusion.
“Yes, beautiful … I am here.” His mouth was at her ear now, his teeth playing over the lobe and scattering her thoughts. She sighed at the feel of his tongue against her sensitive skin. His hand stilled against her. She moved again, but he did not give her that for which she had asked. “Isabel.” Her name was a dark promise. “What do you want?”
She opened her eyes and turned her face to his, meeting his glittering blue gaze—those gorgeous eyes that threatened her sanity—“I want …” She shook her head. “I need …”
“Let me …” He slid one finger through the soft curls that shielded her, parting the folds there and pushing inside her heat. “Is this what you need?”
She closed her eyes at the soft caress and let out a low moan of pleasure.
“Mmm … I think it is precisely what you need …” He began to move against her, circling the secret folds of her, his words at her ear, a soft, sinful sound that sent heat coursing through her. “Do you ever touch yourself here, Isabel?”
She bit her lip. Shook her head.
“Oh, but you should … so soft … so wet … so wanting …” He stroked against her pulsing flesh, giving her precisely what she wanted, one finger delving deep into the core of her as his thumb worked a tight circle at the center of her pleasure. She cried out at the feel of him there, and his voice grew darker, roughened with his own desire. “You are made to come apart here. Do you feel it, love? ”
She nodded, eyes tightly shut as he pushed her further and further toward the thing she so desperately wanted, but could not name. The movements of his thumb came faster and firmer, and she pressed against him, forgetting everything but the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand on the most secret part of her. “Take it, Isabel. Take your passion. I am with you.”
She tensed as it came rushing toward her, and he took her lips in a rich, soul-stealing kiss. A second finger joined the first inside her, thrusting deep, in time to the rolling of her hips, to her silent demand for everything he could give her. He pressed long and hard against the core of her, where she most ached … where she most needed him. He pulled back, meeting her unseeing gaze.
She cried his name, desperate.