Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [37]
“Why?” she asked, utterly bewildered.
“Later,” he promised.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s complicated and I cannot talk coherently at the moment,” he rasped.
“Owen?”
“Please, if you have any generous feelings toward me at all, not now.”
“All right,” she said. “But later.”
“Later,” he said again.
He groaned and kissed one breast and then the other through the chemise. The gossamer fabric was no barrier to his hot, hungry mouth. He moved his hands up the insides of her thighs. When he reached her heated core he found the wellspring of the growing urgency that consumed her.
“Yes,” she gasped. Her fingers clenched around his shoulders. She closed her eyes against the rush of exquisite tension.
He stroked her, finding places of intense sensation that she had never known existed. Everything inside her shivered and tightened until she could not abide it any longer.
A surging energy flashed through her. Suddenly she was sailing on a glorious tide. The release stole her breath. She clung to Owen, her rock in the storm.
She was only vaguely aware of him pushing into her, forcing his way gently but relentlessly into her passage. She paid no attention, too enchanted with the cascading waves of energy.
He thrust suddenly, deeply. Even though she knew enough to be prepared for some initial discomfort, the sharp, lancing pain caught her off guard. The electrifying sensation was not just physical. It crackled across all of her senses.
She flinched, gasped and bit the nearest thing at hand, Owen’s earlobe, quite fiercely. The small act of retaliation was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Owen.
He sucked in a harsh breath and held himself very still within her.
For a couple of heartbeats neither of them moved.
“I think we both just drew blood,” Owen said. He sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.
She took a breath and was shocked by the coppery taste on the tip of her tongue. Good grief, she really had bitten the man. It wasn’t his fault that she was new to this business.
“My apologies.” Mortified, she dropped her face back down onto his broad shoulder. “One reads about this sort of experience and one thinks one is prepared, but I wasn’t expecting quite such a jolt.”
“Neither was I. Tomorrow I must remember to purchase a gold ring to insert into the ear that you just pierced.”
She raised her head again, alarmed. She stared at the small drop of blood welling on his earlobe. As she watched, the tiny crimson rivulet dripped onto the collar of his pristine white linen shirt.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “This is awkward.”
“Not as awkward as the position we are in at the moment.”
She could feel the steel-hard tension in his muscles. She sensed that he was holding himself in check for her sake.
She cleared her throat.
“Well,” she said, “is that all there is to the business? I must say, after waiting so long to escape spinsterhood, I did expect something a bit more interesting.”
“Interesting,” he repeated, a bit too neutrally.
“In sensation novels there is always a transcendent metaphysical passion that accompanies the physical act. I expect when that occurs, it compensates for the uncomfortable side of the experience.”
“You didn’t experience anything of a transcendent nature just now?”
“Actually, I was engaged in an extremely transcendent experience, but you just ruined it.”
“It is my turn to apologize. I did not expect you to be a virgin.”
She glared at him. “Why not?”
“You are a woman of strong passions,” he said. He kissed her cheek. “I assumed that by now—”
“You mean at my age—”
“I assumed that by now,” he repeated deliberately, “you would have found some way to explore those passions.”
“Well, I was considering an appointment with Dr. Spinner.”
He caught her face between his hands. “Could we discuss this some other time?”
“Certainly,” she said politely. She winced, trying to adjust to the feel of him inside her. “Do, please, get on with it. We’ve come this far. We may as well carry on to the conclusion.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.