Which is when he realized that she, like he, was completely, gloriously nude.
He gathered her into his body, claiming her completely at once. They laced their limbs. She draped her leg over his thigh. Groin to groin, face to face, they merely held each other like this for a moment, shocked by and drunk on the feel of skin against skin. It almost seemed to him like enough, forever. If he died now, so be it.
He set his hands free over the warm, smooth heaven of her: the sharp wings of her shoulder blades, the satiny slope of her arse, the soft, fuzzed curve outside her thigh and the petal of vulnerable skin inside, skimming the curls of her mound, then dipping to play in the slick heat they covered.
Her breath fell swiftly, hotly on his neck, where she’d tucked her head; he felt every catch of her breath, every sigh, as she received pleasure, reveling in it, rippling and arching beneath his hands. He laid his lips against the pulse at her throat, softly, then drew them up to her ear, and with delicate, purposeful tracings of his tongue and breath, soon had her moaning softly.
He wanted her to understand just how muchpleasure he could give her. How she was made to be touched like this. How he, specifically, knew how to make her writhe from the surfeit of bliss. He brought his skills, his lips, his fingertips, his earthy, sensual hunger to her like offerings.
He filled his hands with the silky weight of her breasts and with his fingers traced hard shapes over her ruched nipples, and exulted at the sound of her stunnedohas her breath left her. The arch of her body as pleasure pierced through her.
Apart from that, no words were uttered.
In the dark, they could be anyone: any man, any woman, any two creatures who’d stumbled across each other and had gotten it into their heads to fornicate, rather than two people who had inadvertently ruined each other’s lives. It needn’t have significance. It needn’t mean surrender. It didn’t change a thing.
But she might have noticed that his fingertips trembled as they slowly glided over her skin, mapping out the magical terrain of her, showing her the secret places where pleasure hid: the crease of her elbows, the fan of her waist into her round hips, the pearls of her spine, and the little dimple at the base of her spine as it dipped to her arse.
But the way she slowly dragged her hands across his chest, tangling her fingers in the curling dark hair; the way she found and traced with her fingertips the deep gullies between the muscles of his abdomen; and the way her toes dragged along the diamond-hard contours of hiscalves suggested she had imagined doing all of these things for some time.
Her wandering hand stopped over his heart.
And surely there she discovered for certain what touching her and being touched by her did to him.
So he laced his fingers through hers and guided her hand down to his cock and silently showed her how he wanted to be stroked.
As she dragged her fist again and again along his rigid length, they kissed each other with a tender, searching leisure that undid him. Surely she felt his groan of helpless pleasure vibrate through her body.
He knew she was close, so he slipped his hand between her legs and stroked until she cried out, her body bowing beneath him, and he let his hand linger there, savoring every pulse of her release.
He pulled gently from her arms and bridged her with his body.
Instinctively she shifted her body beneath him and opened her legs to welcome him.
With a thrust they were joined, and he moved, this time more deliberately.
In the dark, they could almost pretend all of this was a dream.
And in the morning, if they wished, they could pretend it had never happened, and meant nothing.
But he said her name in a sort of anguish of bliss when he came.
And she held him until he stopped quaking.
For a moment they held each other. This was all he would allow himself: this moment.
Finally, he pulled from her arms, slipped from the bed, and closed the door behind him when he left.
Chapter Fifteen
Over coffee and scones the following morning, Alexandra handed to Magnus the trousers he’d left on the floor next to her bed.
He took them wordlessly, and laid them over the chair.
They settled in at the table across from each other.
He poured her coffee and passed the sugar.
He was still in shirtsleeves. His forearms were on display. Alexandra watched his hands—strong, rough, long-fingered—as he poured her coffee.