That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [93]
"I love touching you." His whisper scraped across her nape, then his teeth lightly did the same.
She moaned. "I knew I'd love the way you touch me."
But it wasn't quite enough.
Reaching around her back, she unhooked her bra. Luke's brown eyes darkened to near black as he watched every move she made. She let the straps slide down her arms, but didn't allow the bra to drop completely away, wanting to draw out the moment, to tease him. For the first time in forever, she was exceedingly glad for her curvy figure. Because the desire was practically dripping off the man in waves.
And when she did uncover herself completely, he let out a low, long groan of pleasure.
As if unable to help himself, he reached up to cup her, caressing her breasts with the same skill in his every other touch. She moaned when he toyed with her nipples, and cried out when his other hand slid lower, across her midriff and her belly, below the top of her panties.
He pushed them off, dipping lower to touch her even more intimately.
"Please, Luke…" she muttered hoarsely, needing so much more.
She didn't have to ask twice. As if in one smooth move, he pulled off his T-shirt, kicked off his shoes and pulled a condom packet out of his jeans pocket. Then he unfastened the jeans and pushed them, and his briefs, to the floor.
All the air left her lungs. She'd watched his every movement in the mirror, and the sight of him—proud and erect and throbbing—made her feel suddenly weak, yet also incredibly powerful.
Wanting to see him without the interference of the mirrors, she slowly turned around. She let her hungry gaze rove over him—his broad chest and thick arms. The flat stomach awash with rippled muscle. The lean hips. Lower.
"Oh, my," she whispered. She gasped at the thought of all that strong, male heat being inside her in a few moments.
"I didn't plan for our first time to be on the floor," he said as he looked around the crowded room. Then they both glanced at the pile of fabric on the raised platform. Wicked anticipation lit up his whole face. Rachel shook a little, picturing exactly what he was picturing.
Luke pushed the pile of material over and they watched it cascade across the carpeted platform in a rainbow of color and texture. The peach silk was on top. Of course it was.
"I pictured your skin when I first touched this," he said as he gently lowered her onto the cushiony, silky mound.
"I know."
Then there were no more words, there was simply soft, cool, smooth delight. She was enveloped by the material scraping deliciously against her sensitized skin. Cool silk and smooth satin and delicate lace and warm cotton. All combining in a cacophony of sensation that had her tingling from head to toe.
Luke took special delight in lifting the edges of the peach silk and rubbing it across the most sensitive parts of her body. Wherever the material touched, Luke's mouth soon followed until she was going out of her mind with the pleasure of it.
Cool and hot. Smooth and rough. Slick and damp. And finally, oh, finally, hard and full and deep.
Joined. In the most intimate way possible.
It was utterly amazing.
"I love you, Rachel," he said hoarsely as he drove into her body, driving out any doubt, any second-guessing.
Nothing had ever been this perfect, she realized, as she arched against him, wanting him deeper, wanting to fill herself up with him so she'd always feel like he was a part of her.
And when she finally felt the incredible climactic sensation washing over her in waves, she admitted to both of them, "I love you, too."
IN ALL HIS LIFE, Luke realized, he'd never made love to a woman. He'd had sex with plenty of them. But never, never, had he connected all the dots—put all the pieces of emotion, pleasure and tenderness together—to truly make love. Until now.
After they'd shared their shattering climaxes, he'd rolled onto his back, pulling her over to rest on his chest. They lay silently for a few