She gives me a sidelong glance before looking away. “That I want you to be my first lover.”
DARREL
For a moment I feel like we’re frozen in time.
Stella is sitting next to me on the bed, her chest heaving with every breath. There’s something magnetic about her gaze, her expression, her demeanor. It reels me in. That tantalizing something draws me closer and closer until there’s hardly any space left between our bodies.
Her face is flushed. It’s disconcerting how her reddened cheeks look sweet to me. My fingertips itch to feel their warmth, their fullness, the texture of their skin. My palms burn to cup them. It’s profoundly unnatural to be so close to such a desirable woman who just confessed how much she wants me without touching her in some way.
Before my conscious mind can register what I’m doing, I move my hand to tilt her chin so that she’ll look into my eyes.
Her gaze meets mine. The effect is electrifying. Ever so gently, I brush a wisp of hair away from her enticing face. Her eyes widen slightly. A host of emotions flickers through them, all at once, and I find it hard to predict which one will prevail in the end. There’s vulnerability, yearning, apprehension, shame… And those are just the ones I’m able to read.
I remind myself that she’s inexperienced.
I’ve never been with someone like her, even when I was a teenager. I was already tall and muscular and looking older for my age, so my first lovers were at least five years my senior.
Even more so, it’s hard to believe how closely my own emotions mirror Stella’s. It comes as a surprise. I want her to distraction. And I’m ashamed of it. Touching her like this is wrong on so many levels. She’s too young for me. She’s my captors’ daughter. She’s a virgin and engaged to another man…
“Is it okay for me to touch you?” I ask, giving her a chance to back out.
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine.
I cradle her cheek, my gesture tentative, light. It’s such a simple, yet exquisite joy to feel the smoothness of her skin and the warmth of her blush beneath my fingers!
My next aha moment is the realization that I want nothing more than to fold myself around her and protect her from whatever is causing her apprehension. And, once I’ve chased her fear away, I want to caress and kiss her to oblivion. I want to fan her desire to a Godzilla-sized monster she’ll have no choice but to yield to.
I move closer still. My thumb grazes over the corner of her lips. She leans into my touch, her pupils dilating. I take her face in my hands and look into those beautiful eyes of hers, feeling a wave of unexpected tenderness swell in my chest. Our faces are mere inches apart, and all I can think about is how much I need to kiss her. That need consumes me with its intensity.
Her lips part.Is she inviting me in?
“Have you been kissed before?” I ask.
She’s twenty-two, pretty as a picture, andengaged—so I don’t see how she wouldn’t have been. But she’s also leading a secluded life in an uncommon household around very strange people.
“No,” she says. “Please, don’t ask me how it’s possible.”
All right then, I won’t.
I stare at her mouth. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then I give in. I lean down, closer and closer, until I feel her breath on my lips. It’s intoxicating—honeyed without being saccharine, fresh but not frosty—so very her! My heart races like it did twenty years ago, before my very first kiss. Like it did a month ago, when I jumped from a crashing helicopter. In some ways, it’s worse now. I don’t recall ever fearing that my heart muscle might overheat.
I should release her. But, God, it’s hard!
Where do I find the willpower when she’s given me this opening? How do I forfeit the chance, when I have imagined this moment, daydreamed, and dreamed at night about it, for nearly three weeks?
Amid my inner struggle, she sets her hands at the base of my neck.
Forgive me, Stella!You just sealed your fate. There’s no more turning away from what I crave.
I brush my lips against hers, at first gently and then applying more pressure as the desire builds. Her lips part a little more. Tentatively, I circle my tongue around their inner rim, tasting, feeling. Her flavor explodes against my tongue—the same delicate, exhilarating blend of sweet and fresh as her scent. It’s better than my favorite elderflower drink, better than mint tea with honey.Pure ambrosia.
My hands find their way to her waist. She grips my neck harder and pulls me closer still. It’s like she’s melting into me. Before she can reconsider, I stroke my tongue between her lips, pushing it in hot and hard. She gasps against my mouth. Her fingers dig into my flesh as she absorbs the intimacy of this kind of kissing. The raw sexuality of it. The masculine possessiveness I no longer bother to hide.
You said you wanted it, so take it—I’m giving it to you.
For someone French-kissing for the first time in her life, she’s a quick study. She takes her cues from me and starts to move her tongue, letting it dance with mine. Soon, she’s drinking me in like I drink her in. Her eyes flutter and close. Unmistakable little sounds of deep, greedy arousal come out of her. In no time, the tip of her tongue darts into my mouth to explore it in her turn.
Babe, you’re a natural!