When he was fully undressed, he crossed to her and cupped her face in his hands. “Are you certain?” he asked, his voice strained. “We can wait. We can?—”
She kissed him before he could finish. Hard and demanding, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.
“I am certain,” she whispered against his mouth. “I have never been more certain of anything.”
He groaned and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. He laid her down gently, his hands moving over her body with a tenderness that made her chest ache. He kissed her mouth, slowly and deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. Then he kissed her jaw, her throat, and the hollow at the base of her neck where her pulse was racing.
“I have dreamed of this,” he murmured against her skin. “Every night since you walked into my house. Every moment I spentwith you. I have imagined what it would be like to have you like this. To worship you the way you deserve.”
His mouth moved lower, to the swell of her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and she gasped. The sensation was exquisite, pleasure sparking through her body like lightning. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, his tongue circling and flicking until she was arching into him, her hands fisting in his hair.
“Anthony,” she breathed. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he murmured against her skin. “I have waited for this. I am not going to rush it.”
His mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing patterns across her ribs, her stomach, her hips. He kissed the inside of her thigh, and she trembled. When he settled between her thighs, she gasped. He had done this twice before, including the night he proposed, but it felt different now. More intimate. More real.
He looked up at her, his green eyes dark with desire. “I want to hear you,” he said, his voice rough. “I want to know every sound you make when you come apart for me.”
And then his mouth was on her, and she forgot how to breathe.
He kissed her there, soft and reverent at first, then deeper, his tongue sliding through her folds with devastating precision. He found the sensitive bundle of nerves and circled it with histongue, slow and steady, and she cried out. Her hands flew to his hair, holding him there, and he groaned against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her body.
He worked her with his mouth and his tongue, learning every place that made her gasp, every touch that made her moan. And then he added his fingers, sliding one inside her, and she bucked against him. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust, and then he added another finger, stretching her, preparing her.
The pleasure built with every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers inside her. She could feel it coiling tighter and tighter, could feel herself climbing toward something she had only experienced once before. But this was different. This was more. This was everything.
“Anthony,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I—I cannot?—”
“Let go,” he commanded, his voice muffled against her. “Let go for me, Caroline. I want to feel you.”
And she did. The pleasure crested in a wave that stole her breath. Her body clenched around his fingers as she cried out his name. He stayed with her through it, his mouth gentle now, coaxing every last tremor from her body until she was boneless and breathless and utterly undone.
When she could think again, when the world had stopped spinning, she looked down at him. He was watching her with an expression of such satisfaction, such masculine pride, that it made her blush.
“That,” he said, his voice rough, “was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
He kissed his way back up her body until he was hovering above her. She could feel him against her thigh, hard and ready, and she reached down and wrapped her hand around him. He hissed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Caroline—”
“I want to touch you,” she said, her voice breathless. “The way you touched me.”
She stroked him, tentative at first, learning the shape of him, the weight of him in her hand. His skin was hot and smooth, and she could feel him pulse beneath her fingers. She tightened her grip and moved her hand, and he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder.
“God, Caroline,” he breathed. “You are going to unmake me.”
She stroked him again, and again, until his breathing was ragged and his hands were fisted in the sheets beside her head. And then he caught her wrist, gently but firmly, and pulled her hand away.
“Not like this,” he said, his voice strained. “Not the first time.”
He positioned himself between her thighs, the head of him pressing against her entrance. “Look at me,” he said, his voice rough.
She met his eyes, and what she saw there stole her breath. Love. Want. Devotion. Everything she had ever hoped to see in a man’s eyes and had never thought she would.
He entered her slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. There was a sharp sting of pain, and she gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders. He stilled immediately.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice strained. “Do you want me to stop?”