“Aaron,” he rasped. “Use my name.”
She smiled. “Aaron, then.” She tilted her head. “Is something wrong?” It was a coy statement. She could tell that nothing was wrong by the way his nostrils flared and his expression was near awe, but she had to say something to break the tension. Never before had anyone looked at her like that and it thrilled her as much as it made her shift uneasily on the bed.
“Now that we are here,” he said softly as he extended his hand. “I want to remember everything.”
He touched her left breast, his caress mesmerizingly slow. He outlined the shape of her, lifting her breast in the palm of her hand while he stroked left and right across her nipple. She tingled where he caressed her, her flesh burned where he held her, and the brush against her nipple felt like the strike of flint. Each spark built upon the other until her chest was on fire.
And then he put his mouth to her body.
She braced herself on her hands, arching her back as he kissed her throat, her collarbone, and then down to her breasts. He sucked her left nipple into his mouth, then alternately pulled and nipped at the pebble.
Her breath shortened, her body trembled, and she wanted more, more, more of whatever he wanted to do.
She set her hand to the back of his head. She felt him wrap his arms around her back as he eased her down. He did such things to her breast and then he did the same to the other one. And while she gasped at that, she felt the heat of his skin against hers. She gripped the bulge of his biceps, and she pulled herself up against him however she could.
Sensation flowed, one experience building to the next as he touched her all over. Breasts, ribs, stomach, and then at the juncture of her thighs.
First it was his whole hand over the base of her, then his fingers slipped between the folds. Such long, thick fingers explored her. They spread her open, they coiled against the nub at the tip, and they pushed inside her.
Her legs widened and her stockings slipped lower. He continued to suck on her breasts, but her attention—even fractured as it was—centered on where his fingers stroked, pushed, and entered.
He lifted off her breast, watching her face as he rolled across her nub. She cried out as he did that, unable to form a true word. And just like before, the sensations built until she was writhing beneath his hand, but his weight held her down. The palm of his hand kept her pelvis from accidentally bucking him off. His chest against hers kept her from twisting away when she wanted to be closer.
And his fingers kept moving, kept touching, kept building the tension inside her.
She clutched him then. Not his body, but lower down his back until she gripped the fabric of his falls. “Off,” she said. “Take them off.”
She wanted to feel him. She wanted him as open as she was. She wanted him.
“Not for your first time,” he said. “Not yet.”
She had no idea what he meant. And soon, she had no ability to do anything but feel. His fingers moved in a steady rhythm now. Inside and out. Inside and out. She understood what he mimicked. She knew the mechanics of this, but never had she thought it so all consuming.
He rolled his thumb against her nub. His thick, powerful thumb. Up and over, back down. Up and over, back down. Faster and harder while her legs spread and her back thrust upward. Her breath caught, her eyes shuttered closed.
Her belly rippled.
And then he abruptly squeezed her nipple.
Light shot through her entire body. A flashflood of sensation, an explosion of something, a taking and giving of… of…
Everything. And nothing.
He was not inside her. He was merely watching. His hands were not still, his gaze was fixed upon her, and though he was right there, she felt as if she had missed something important.
She felt exquisite. She was soaked in pleasure. And yet, she was alone in her bliss even as he lay pressed against her.
She breathed in the sensations. She shivered in continued ecstasy. And when the floating was done, she rolled her head to him.
“That was wonderful,” she whispered. “But it was not what you promised.”
He frowned. “What?”
She touched his face, felt the scrape of his beard against her palm, and the tension in his jaw. “Can I not be a whole woman? Just this once?”
He pressed a kiss to her palm. “You are a whole woman. You are more woman than anyone I have ever known.”
She shook her head. “Not in this. Not yet.”