His breath grew harsher. She’d almost reached his last finger, when he curled his hand into a fist. “For the love of God, stop!” he said hoarsely. “I won’t be able to—”
She kissed his lips, gently. “It’s time we took off our clothes. Together.”
That word had a delicious feel to it—together. Verena sat up in his lap and untied the ribbon that held her gown. The strip of pink silk slid through the gathers and pulled free. Her gown gaped at the neck. Verena held the ribbon at arm’s length and let it slither to the ground, a puddle of lush pink on the red carpet.
Then she placed her hands on the loose neck of her gown and pushed the material down, over her shoulders, to her waist. All she wore was her chemise, thin and damp from his embrace. It showed far more than it should have, her nipples clearly evident through the thin material.
Brandon watched, his eyes unusually bright, as if he suffered a slight fever.
Verena leaned closer to him and whispered against his ear. “I have taken my gown half off. It’s your turn now.”
He rested his head against the high back of the chair and glinted a smile, his blue eyes vivid in the glow of the firelight. “You believe in fair play.”
“Always.”
He tugged on his cravat. His fingers fumbled over the knot, but he persisted. She watched him, her eagerness building with each passing second. The moment seemed interminable.
Finally, just as her impatience was at the breaking point, the knot slipped free. Brandon yanked off his cravat and then leaned forward to do the same with his shirt. One right after the other, his cravat and shirt fell to the ground.
The sight of his bared chest caused her to shiver in delight. Broad and sculpted, he was as finely made as a statue, his chest muscles magnificent, his stomach ribbed and tightly drawn. She splayed her hands over him, running her fingers over every rich inch, lingering over the sprinkling of hair that covered his chest and narrowed to a tantalizing line that trailed all the way to the fastening of his pants.
He caught her hands and held them tight. “Not yet. Your gown first.”
There was a hint of an order in his tone. But though he was issuing commands, she felt in control—almost powerful. It was a heady experience, to be wanted so much, to be desired by such a tantalizing man. She stood then, pulling her hands free. Facing him, she allowed her gown to fall from her hips to the floor where it pooled about her feet on the rug, white froth on a sea of red.
Brandon caught his breath harshly, his gaze traveling over her. Her chemise was made of the finest lawn. The white flimsy material hugged every curve she possessed, outlining her full breasts in mouth-watering detail, clinging to the slope of her stomach, draping her rounded hips.
He grasped the arms of the chair tightly to keep himself from yanking her to him. It was almost too much to be borne.
Her eyes gleamed softly, as if she delighted in tormenting him. She leaned forward and placed a hand on each of his knees and pushed them aside so that she could stand between them, his powerful thighs against the outsides of her legs.
Her stomach was directly before him and he could see the outline of her navel and, by just dipping his chin the slightest bit, the faint tangle of hair at the juncture of her legs. Faint tremors wracked him. God, but she was beautiful. Beautiful and standing within arm’s length.
He found her gaze on him. He loved the way her eyes shone; she knew she was teasing him mercilessly and she reveled in the power of it. She sank to her knees before him and gently pushed him back in the chair. He allowed her to direct him, though he kept his hands locked about the arms of the chair—he didn’t trust himself to let go.
She leaned forward to place a kiss on his stomach. Then her tongue, wet and hot, flickered over his ribs. She traced a path over his stomach and up. He sucked in his breath, his eyes half closing as he watched her. She locked his gaze with hers as she gently kissed his nipple.
Brandon almost bolted from the chair. “Verena,” he whispered, his voice rough.
She nipped his skin, letting her teeth abrade his puckered nipple. He released the arms of the chair and sank his hands into her hair, scattering the pins and loosening the mass until it tumbled over her shoulders.
He ran his hands through her long tresses, the strands clinging to his fingers. “I’ve dreamed of this.”
“And I’ve dreamed of this.” She placed her lips over his nipple and sucked.
Lightning-quick stabs of pure pleasure bolted through him. “Verena!” he gasped, his hands closing over her shoulders. He held her roughly, his breath harsh, his manhood rigid against her stomach. Verena’s own excitement rose to match his. She moved restlessly, pressing herself closer.
Brandon thought he would explode from desire. She was a wraith, a magical breath that brushed him with an exquisite combination of wantonness and pure desire. She wanted him and somehow, through that wanting, made his desire all the stronger.
Never had he been more taken with any woman. He couldn’t stand another moment without feeling her naked beneath him. He stood, lifting her to her feet at the same time. “It’s my turn,” he growled, undoing his breeches with more force than necessary, struggling briefly with the wet material. But he was determined and within seconds he was bare before her.
She watched as if fascinated, her hands touching here, lingering there. It was as if she couldn’t help herself. Her fingertips stroked heat everywhere they touched and he had to bite back a groan.
“Your chemise,” he ordered. “Take it off.”
Verena’s gaze softened, her amazing violet eyes shadowed by the length of her lashes. She removed her hands from his hips and ran them lightly over her own body, lingering on her breasts as if she knew Brandon’s every thought. “Now?” she whispered, her lips glistening from his kisses.
He had to curl his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her and ripping the chemise from her body.
She must have seen his desire, for she laughed softly, the sound running through Brandon like liquid fire. She had the most sensual laugh, husky and unrestrained.
Her fingers lingered at the chemise’s ribbon. “Should I—”
Brandon untied the ribbon and pulled her chemise from her shoulders, the delicate material ripping as he did so, but he didn’t care. He was too taken by the expanse of creamy white skin that was bared to his gaze.
The remnants of the chemise joined Verena’s gown on the floor. Brandon placed his hands on her shoulders and stood back to look at her. She was beautiful when fully clothed, but naked, she was a goddess. Every inch of her was curved, from her calves to the gently rounded contours of her stomach, to her full breasts. And every curve proved that she was a woman. Lush. Inviting. And all his.
He wasn’t sure afterwards how they made it to the bed. One moment they were standing, luxuriating in each other and the next, they were on the soft mattress, chest to chest, his thigh pressed between her legs, her moisture driving him mad.
He captured her mouth with his and tasted her, luxuriated in the feel of her. Like a trace of sugar, she was sweet on his tongue and left him wanting for more.
He placed his hand on her breast, her nipple between two fingers. She arched at the touch, her midriff lifting from the bed, her breast thrust further into his palm. He gently kneaded her flesh, admiring the perfection of her breast, the womanly curve of her stomach, the incredibly sensual line of her shoulders and throat. She was art, made by a master hand, touched with a beauty of soul he was only beginning to realize.
She moaned deep in her throat, her hands resting on his wrists as if to guide his wandering fingers to other, secret places.
“You’re so warm,” she murmured, her hands feathering over his arms and back. “It’s like there’s a fire inside you.”
He had a fever, he knew. But he couldn’t tell if it was from standing in the rain or from the sensations caused by her fingers as they brushed and stroked and tormented.
He could take no more. He moved his thig
h to one side, pressing her knees apart.
She didn’t resist, but lifted her knees and opened for him. She was thoroughly wanton, as shameless as any man could ever dream. He doubted she knew how much her bold actions fueled his desire, but they did. Fanned him to a flame he’d never found before.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured fiercely. “All of you.”
The words sent a pleasurable shiver through Verena. He was the most sensuous man she’d ever known—every touch elicited a response, every word drove her closer to madness.
He lifted his head, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you afraid?”
Was she afraid? Her heart was certainly thundering against her ribs and she felt breathless, as if she’d been running. But she wasn’t afraid. She was excited, thrilled; her whole body burned with a passion she’d never before experienced. Dare she tell him such a thing?
He captured her face between his hands, the gesture both rough and yet oddly gentle, as if he were restraining himself with only the greatest effort. “Do you want me to continue? This is your last chance, Verena. Your last chance for salvation from whatever consumes us.”
She didn’t want any more chances. She wanted him between her thighs, filling her up, pleasing her, reminding what it was to be a woman. But somehow she couldn’t form the words.
Instead, she gripped his wrists as she planted her heels on the mattress. Then she lifted her hips to brush his, her hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders.
Every finely muscled inch fueled her desire all the more. She locked one arm about his neck and pulled his mouth to hers to kiss him boldly, recklessly, plunging her tongue in and out of his mouth.
He moaned into her mouth, his hands sliding over her waist, her hips, cupping her intimately. Verena reached between them and found his manhood. She stroked and slid her hands over his velvet hardness.
His breath hissed through his lips and he closed his eyes, his body rigid. His skin was damp, his breathing harsh against her ear. “Let go, sweet, or neither of us will get what we want.”
Verena reluctantly did as he asked. She loved the feel of him, of the smoothness of his skin over his hard muscles. The contrast was fascinating.
His body lost some of its tension and he laughed softly, gently rubbing his forehead against hers. “You’re beautiful, did you know that?”
She wasn’t beautiful. She was short, had a sad tendency to freckle at the first hint of sunlight, and possessed hips that obviously belonged to a much taller woman. But lying here before Brand’s hot gaze, she realized that she felt beautiful, the sensation intoxicating.
He pressed her back against the pillows and placed his hand on her inner thigh. He lightly trailed his fingers up her thigh, to the damp tangle of curls. He paused for the briefest moment, then contined on, his fingers tracing a course across her slick folds. She gasped and arched into his hand.
“I want to taste you,” he growled again into her ear, his fingers stroking, sliding back and forth, driving her mad.
She ran her hands through his hair and pushed his head down, past her breasts, opening for him even as she gasped his name.
Brand accepted her gift, drank of her, suckling her soft feminine folds and tormenting her flesh with his tongue and teeth. Her movements grew more frantic and he increased his efforts, cupping her bottom and pressing her up. She grew slick with need. Her hands rippled through his hair, pressing him onward, encouraging him to continue.
He found the core, raking his teeth over the delicate spot. She gasped and then held still…frozen in place. Brandon intensified his efforts, worshipping her in a way he’d never before worshipped any woman. With a frenzied jerk of her hips, she arched wildly, calling out his name. He closed his eyes at the sound, suckling her deeply, urging her on and on.
Finally she collapsed, spent and drained, her hand still threaded through his hair.
Brand’s own body was rock hard, rigid with the effort to stay in control. While her breathing returned to normal, he sucked in slow breaths of air, willing his turgid flesh to give him more time to savor, more time to torment. If it killed him, he vowed that she would never forget this night.
Verena sighed deeply, then moved as if to close her legs.
“Don’t,” he said, holding her knees apart. He bent to taste her one last time, reveling in her pleasure. “I love the way you feel beneath my mouth.” He placed kisses along her thighs and lower, where he stopped to place a kiss on the sensitive skin behind her knees. She moaned and moved restlessly.
Verena shivered, her skin flushed and glowing in the firelight. “You are going to kill me.”
“Ah, but what a lovely way to die,” he murmured. “Did you know that your toes curl when you’re excited? Arched as if they, themselves, were having the ultimate pleasure.”
She lifted herself on her elbows and watched him, her lips parted, her thick blond hair falling over her brow and shoulders. She looked flushed and sinful, her lips swollen from his kisses, her entire body aglow from his caresses. He grew harder just looking at her.
He moved back to her side so that he could look her directly in the eyes. Such beautiful eyes, the lashes long and lush, the color startling—a pure violet, like a flower drenched in rain.
He traced her brows with his finger, then tipped up her chin. She threw her arms about his neck and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him with every bit of her soul, her passion.
His control began to shred. His hands wandered feverishly, his body aching for release. “I must have you.”
Verena didn’t think there were any more beautiful words in the entire English language. She followed his lead, letting her hands wander where they would. When they found his manhood, she wrapped her hands around his length, marveling in the velvet hardness. Heat seemed to radiate from his skin, through her fingertips, trailing through her like tendrils of delicate fire. She opened for him, rubbing the tip of him against herself.
He gasped. “Verena, please—”
“Take me,” she whispered, delighting in the torment on his face. She opened her legs beneath him, her hands on his hips, pulling him forward, toward her. She pressed herself against him, wrapping her legs about his hips.
He entered her, his fullness sending deep tremors through hers. Verena gasped, feeling herself stretch and wrap about him, her flesh yielding before his.
She burned beneath him and with him and for him, their movements increasing, growing more frantic. Verena felt him grow harder, thicker, his manhood on the brink. She put her hands to his stomach and halted his motions.
He lifted himself on his elbow, poised above her, his face rigid as if he were in pain. “God, Verena,” he rasped. “What—”
She put her arms about his shoulders, lifting her leg over his hip. “Lay back, Brandon. Let me do it.”
Verena lifted herself up, pushing him back against the pillows and raising herself until she sat astride him, her knees on either side of his hips.
“Don’t move,” she ordered, then boldly settled upon him, pressing downward, his flesh joining hers. It was heaven. Slowly, she began to move. Back and forth, each stroke pleasure and pain.
“Verena,” he gasped, his hands about her waist. “Don’t—”
She stopped, leaning over him so that her hair brushed his broad chest. “What’s wrong, St. John? Afraid? Because if you are, I’ll stop.” She made as if to climb off, but he gripped her waist and held her there.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” His gaze burned into hers. “Especially not you. Never you.”
She closed her eyes, lifting her head, her hair falling down her back. His hands molded her hips, sliding up to her breasts. He pressed and kneaded, tormenting her nipples until she writhed on him. The feeling of being filled, of completion, of being joined—she gasped as a wave of bliss rippled through her, her body enveloping his, intimately holding him, squeezing him.
Brand’s hands tightened on her waist and he held her firm, his own pleasure increased, comp
ounded. He exploded in a surge just as she collapsed across him.
Moments later…or maybe it was hours…he realized she was still lying upon him, his arms tight about her as if he was afraid to loosen his grip. He smiled at the thought, rubbing his cheek against the satiny softness of her hair. “That was beautiful.”
She shifted as if to move, but he held her tight. “No,” he whispered. “I want to sleep like this.”
She chuckled against his chest and he smiled, relishing the feeling. He’d never felt this sort of peace. Never felt so comfortable, so…sated.
God, but she was wonderful. He found the blanket where it had been shoved to one side of the huge bed and he pulled it across her shoulders, tucking it about them both. “I don’t want you to get cold,” he said, his own voice still raspy.
She snuggled against him. “It sounds as if you are the one catching cold.”
“Me? I’m never sick.”
“Don’t tempt the fates, St. John,” she said, her yawn warming his skin. “They will get you every time.”
Brandon rubbed his cheek against her hair. She was pert. Saucy. Well read. Annoyingly right. And the most perfect woman he’d ever met. He could understand why Chase thought this woman might be able to hold his demons at bay. Brand was beginning to believe that Verena could do anything she wanted to.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and snuggled deeper into the soft bedding. She had a wonderful bed—the sheets crisp and smooth, enough pillows for twenty people, and an astonishingly thick down counterpane. The best part was that the entire bed smelled faintly of lavender.
He sighed contentedly. “I like your bed.”
“I like you in my bed,” she responded sleepily. “In fact, I’m almost certain that I like you. At times, anyway.”
“You should. I’ve had the devil of a time trying to get close to you.”