Irresistible (27 page)

His knee slid between hers, nudging her thighs apart. Claire felt an icy stab of pure panic and stiffened— but she realized even as his mouth claimed hers that it was far too late to stop him now, even if that was what she wanted to do.

Chapter 21

Hugh's kiss was slow and hot and dizzyingly sweet, and did much to reconcile her to the coming invasion of her body. He lay on top of her, warm and unbelievably heavy, his skin roughened with hair, his long, muscular body almost completely covering her smaller one. Even as her arms slid around his neck and she kissed him back, gradually surrendering to the magic only he could evoke, she was aware of myriad different sensations: the crushing of her breasts by his wide chest, the sinewy strength of his thighs nudging hers apart, the burning heat of his privates lying erect along the inside of her thigh. Despite the swooningly intense sensations he was evoking with his mouth and body, she had yet to lose herself entirely in what they were doing, and that male part was why. The truth was, she was made nervous by it. Though he had not attempted entry yet, he had parted her legs and was lying between them, and would, she knew, start wedging that thing inside her when the urge struck him, which could be at any time.

David had always put his male part into her within seconds of coming to her bed. That was the way intimate congress worked: The male part was inserted, sometimes easily, and sometimes, when it did not seem to be cooperative, with difficulty, the man rutted briefly, did his business or, if something went wrong, grew angry because he could not, and withdrew. In any case it was all over in a few minutes, and then he would lift himself away from her and leave her alone in the bed.

That was the way intimate congress had worked with David, anyway. Would Hugh be different? Already he had caused her to feel things that she had never, ever thought she would feel. When he kissed her, she grew light-headed. When he wanted her naked, she blushed with embarrassment— and got naked, letting him look his fill. When he touched or caressed or— so shocking!— kissed her breasts, she trembled with pleasure. Now that he was lying on top of her, and she was experiencing the suddenly just-right weight of him, the feeling of skin against skin, of hard male muscles against soft female curves, she was rapidly becoming curious to finally learn the truth.

Were all men the same between the sheets? Or could Hugh, who had already thrilled her with his kisses, with his touch, give her what she had only ever dreamed about?

Her heart pounded erratically as she focused with an uneasy mix of hope and trepidation on the latter. Finally, one way or another, she was going to know.

"I'm— ready," she whispered bravely in his ear. Having left her mouth to trail across her cheek to her throat, his lips were now busy tracing a line of hot, tingly kisses along her jaw.

"Are you now?" He lifted his head to look at her. One hand came up to smooth the tangled hair back from her face. Though his eyes were dark with passion, even as she met his gaze the tiniest smile curved his mouth.

She nodded, still resolute, and the smile broadened briefly before it vanished altogether as suddenly as it had appeared. He kissed her mouth, a hard possessive kiss, and even as she responded instinctively she felt his body tense, felt the hardness of him stir against her thigh, and braced herself. Here it came. He was so large— would it hurt? Or would she scarcely notice him sliding inside her, as she sometimes scarcely noticed David's entry?

She was suddenly overwhelmingly curious to find out.

Then his mouth found her breast, and all thought fled. What replaced thought was feeling, hot urgent feeling, as he suckled first one breast and then the other, laving the nipples with his tongue, drawing them into his mouth, suckling them, at first leisurely and then with increasing urgency. The quaking inside her solidified into a burning ache, a fierce hunger, a driving need. Her hands were on his head now, her fingers embedded in his hair, holding him to her. Gasping, trembling, she quite forgot about his male part as his mouth on her breasts once again worked its magic. Then his back seemed to flex, and his male part probed the delta between her legs. Breathing heavily, she moved restlessly beneath him, on fire for him, parting her legs wider, not just ready now but eager for him to come inside.

But to her surprise he shifted, sliding down her body so that his male part was no longer touching her. What was he doing? This was not what she wanted, not how it was done. Her eyes popped open as he kissed his way down the center of her rib cage to no purpose that she could see. Her fingers tightened in his hair.

"Hugh." Despite the unsteadiness of her voice, it was clearly both a protest and a question. He looked up at her, his eyes blazing, his lips parted as he breathed like a man suddenly finding himself short of air. "I said— I'm ready."

"Then you must just clothe yourself in patience, my innocent little darling, because I'm not."

As hot as they were, there was a glimmer in his eyes that was almost amusement, and then his head was at the level of her waist and he was kissing her belly button and sliding even lower….

"Hugh!" This time her voice held genuine shock, and she struggled up on her elbows to see what he was about.
His face was almost at the level of the black triangle of curls between her thighs— it was there— he was nuzzling his face into the soft nest.
"Oh, dear Lord, what do you think you're doing?"

He looked up, and as Claire met his gaze she realized that the sight of him lying there between her pale spread thighs with his face just inches away from that part of her that even she was shy to look at, or touch, was so far beyond any of her tentative imaginings that she didn't know whether to scream, slap his face— or just lie back and let him do with her as he would.

"Trust me," he said, his voice so hoarse that the words were almost a growl. Even as he spoke, his hands were gently stroking the soft insides of her slender thighs, pushing her legs farther apart so that he could have more access to her most secret flesh.

Chest heaving as she fought to draw breath, trembling as if she had an ague, Claire could only watch with helpless fascination as his head dipped and he pressed his face against the velvety delta between her spread legs. Pure fire shot through her as he kissed her in a place where she had never, ever expected to be kissed. Gasping, quivering, she sank back bonelessly to experience a delight she hadn't even known existed. Her eyes closed and her fingers curled into the bedclothes again as embarrassing little sounds of pleasure emerged from her throat. Her hips writhed under his ministrations, but she didn't care about that either. All she could focus on was the sheer ecstasy of it as he pressed his mouth against her, his tongue licking at her like a finger of liquid flame.

Tongues of fire seemed to race over her body as he concentrated on one secret point. She cried out, then cried out again, quite unable to help herself as he aroused her to fever pitch. His fingers found that moist, secret place that was her entry, and slid inside, moving boldly in and out. That made her cry out too. He kissed her and stroked her, miming the act of intimate congress with his fingers at the same time as he touched her with his tongue, using his hands and mouth together to drive her to heights of passion she had never even suspected she could reach. When the hot, fierce contractions took her, they were all she had ever dreamed of.

Then, while she was still reaching, still writhing and gasping and wanting what he was doing to her never to end, he stopped, leaving that part of her that he had been so thoroughly pleasuring throbbing and weeping with need, to slide back up her body and kiss her mouth.

Shaking with passion, Claire realized that she could taste herself on his lips. She moaned, aflame with desire and embarrassment and a blinding new knowledge. Then she locked her arms around his neck and kissed him back as if she'd die if she didn't. She felt the hot smoothness of him probe at her entry, at the place where his mouth and hands had been working black magic just seconds before. She made a tiny mewling sound deep in her throat and lifted her hips off the mattress in wordless entreaty. This time she was not merely ready: Her body ached for him, burned for him, melted for him.

He came inside her in a single slow surge, hard and hot and filling her to capacity, stretching her as she had known he must, but the sensation was wonderful, it was indescribable, it was more delicious than anything she had ever felt or imagined she could feel. She dug her nails into his shoulders and her heels into the mattress and tilted her hips to accept him fully.

Even as she squirmed beneath him, wanting more with an open, greedy hunger that would have shamed her to her core had she been in possession of even a fraction of her senses, he lifted his mouth from hers.

"Claire." It was a ragged breath.

Her lids fluttered up and their gazes met. His body was joined with hers in intimate congress and she was moving beneath him like the wanton she now knew for certain she was. Yet as she looked at him in the candlelight she was unashamed, no, bold with passion, avidly registering the hot glaze clouding his eyes, the dark color high on his cheekbones, the tautness of his mouth still damp from her kisses, the sweat shining on his brow and shoulders. It was the most transforming experience of her life.

All men were not the same between the sheets. What she had gone through with David bore no relation to this hot sweet assault on her senses.

"Wrap your legs around my waist."

Claire's eyes widened as the instruction percolated through the steam that befogged her brain. When it did, she drew in a ragged breath. And then, trembling, she did as he bade her. Her legs lifted until her slender thighs gripped his hips and her ankles locked behind his waist. She could feel him inside her all the while, thick and hot and swollen and tantalizing, and she couldn't help herself: She moved against him again, then moved some more, then gasped at the pleasure of it.

"Now I'd say you're ready." It was a tender taunt, whispered in an unsteady voice in her ear. She felt the tremors racking him. He was tense, poised, shaking, sweating— and yet waiting for her.

"Yes. Oh, yes."

Unable to stand it any longer, Claire surged against him. The sensation made her cry out. He shuddered, tightening his arms around her so that taking a deep breath became suddenly impossible. Then he buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder. His mouth was open and wet and warm as he pressed it to her neck.

And he began to move.

Claire cried out again, losing every inhibition she had ever had in that moment. Wild with need, she moved with him, meeting him thrust for thrust as a firestorm built inside her. He took her hard and he took her fast and she was with him every inch of the way, going higher and higher until at last she flew higher than she had ever dreamed of going and exploded with what felt like the combined firepower of a million shooting stars and flaming pinwheels and bursting suns.

"Hugh Hugh Hugh Hugh
Hugh
."

Even as she cried out his name and was whirled away on the storm, he stiffened and groaned. Then, shaking, he held himself deep inside her as he found his own release. Still lost in her distant universe, she clung to him as he collapsed atop her. For a long time they lay together, totally spent.

Finally Claire started to be aware of little things. The weight of him atop her came first. He was a tall man, muscular and broad-shouldered, but he was also lean and it did not seem possible that he could weigh so much. But he did. In fact, now that she was not caught up in the throes of passion, he was crushing her into the mattress and suffocating her and roasting her alive to boot. She felt the sweat-slickness of his shoulders beneath her hands, heard the steady rasp of his breathing— had he fallen asleep?— and saw the back of his head as his face remained buried in her throat.

She really, really needed to breathe.

She must have moved, or made some small sound, because he lifted his head then and looked at her. For a moment she stared, mesmerized, into gray eyes that looked just as intently back. Then she remembered that she was naked and he was on top of her and all the things he had done to her with his hands and mouth and body and
how she had reacted
. Heat suffused her face, and she was suddenly, self-consciously sure she was the color of a fresh-picked, red ripe strawberry.

A long, slow smile curled his mouth as he surveyed her. She had little doubt that her heightened color had been observed and ascribed to its correct cause. Unlike herself, he looked relaxed, at ease, and totally at home in the situation in which he found himself.

"Now wasn't that fun?" The wicked glint was back in his eyes. Claire looked at him, at the lean unshaven cheeks, at the narrowed eyes and twisting mouth, and felt her heart flutter. Modesty as well as all the precepts she had ever heard about ladies and the marriage act bade that she downplay what she had experienced, that she cast down her eyes and nod shyly, or even deny that she had felt a thing. But she had always been incurably honest, even blunt at times, which, to hear her sisters tell it, could be a grave fault, and anyway he had been there with her, seen her quiver and shake, felt her squirm and writhe, heard her groan and cry out his name. He would not believe her if she tried to convince him that she hadn't had the experience of a lifetime.

So she simply told the truth.

"It was wonderful."

The smile grew more pronounced. He looked quite pleased with himself. "Was it now?"

She nodded. Then, because she really couldn't breathe, she gave a delicate little shove to his shoulder.

"Now that we're finished, would you mind getting off me? I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry." He rolled off her, but instead of letting her go, he caught her around the waist and pulled her over on top of him. Surprised to find herself lying atop his chest, she blinked at him for a moment. But he smiled back at her with lazy charm, positioning a pillow under his head and giving every indication that he meant to stay in that position for quite a while. With the thought of what their parting would mean— she couldn't think of that now, or it would spoil what time they had left— she was in no hurry for him to get out of bed, to dress and leave her.