The Hidden - Jessica Verday [83]
And then he touched me.
A shock wave of feeling rolled through me, and I turned my face into his palm, closing my eyes, rubbing my cheek against his hand like a kitten demanding to be nuzzled. Demanding to be closer.
Finding it hard to believe it had been a whole year since the last time I’d felt his skin, my fingers were greedy and grasping, sliding onto his coat. Up his shoulder. Into his hair. I reached for him … and he was solid.
Caspian reached for me at the same time, and we crashed somewhere in between want and need. His free hand laced with mine, and I felt. Everything that was there, everything that made up him, I felt. The solid warmth of his fingers. The gentleness of his hand. Even the tiny bumps and ridges that were a part of his knuckles.
He cradled the back of my head, and it was blinding speed, and a mad, sweet rush as a tidal wave of emotion washed over me. The space between us had been there for so long, and now I was pressed against him, and laughing and crying, and trying not to let my makeup run all over the place again. …
And I could feel.
We could feel.
He was real, and I was real, and this was so real.
I tipped my face up, blindly searching for his. He pulled away his hands and traced my cheeks, my lips, my eyebrows, my chin. Any part of me he could touch, he touched. Slowly. Achingly. While the whole time I was going mad, burning from a fire within that was tearing me apart.
“Please, please,” I heard myself whispering. “Please …”
Then he kissed me. And I was lost.
If I’d thought I had been burning before, this was drowning. My lips coaxed his apart, and I couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t feel enough. Wasn’t close enough.
I pushed myself against him and ran a searching hand through the inside of his jacket. Closer. I wanted to be closer.
A shirt was in my way, and I wanted to howl in outrage. Hurriedly, I unbuttoned the top button, and it gave way to skin.
I had found him, and he was mine.
Caspian groaned, and pulled me against him even tighter. I could feel all of him, even through the bulkiness of my dress. We moved backward, and a wall was suddenly behind me. My hands moved up, twining in his hair, and his hands moved down. Across my collarbone.
I couldn’t stop kissing him. Tasting him. Touching him. And my hands roamed freely. I had a lifetime of touch to make up for in such a short period of time.
He broke away and kissed my neck, I shivered. He slowed at a sensitive spot near the bottom of my ear, and my knees almost gave out. “Ummmmmmm,” I said.
“What’s that?” Caspian whispered. He lifted his head a fraction of an inch.
“Don’t stop. That’s what I said.”
“Oh, really?” He laced his fingers through mine, and pinned my hands against the wall. “Because I thought it sounded more like a moan than actual words.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, moving my head to give him better access. “Same thing.”
He returned his attention to my ear, and I barely noticed that he was looking at my dress until he pulled back again. “You wore that to torture me, didn’t you?” he said, lifting his head, eyes blazing a dark green.
“What do you mean?” I glanced down.
He freed one of my hands and pulled on the laces. “This. Is torture. Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to undo them?”
A wicked thrill shot through me, and I took a deep breath, causing the laces to strain. I shook my head. “How long?”
“Too long. Much too long. And with your hair up, all sexy like that, and just a couple of these curls teasing me by falling down …” He traced a loose curl, and then groaned again. “Torture.”
Suddenly he wrapped his arm around me, and we were moving to the bed, falling onto it. He pulled me down on top of him, and my legs wrapped around his as a sea of rose petals and the skirts of my dress billowed up around us. He ran one hand gently down my face.
“I’ve been waiting a very long time to do that,” he said. “And I think I need to do it again.”
I let him pull me in again for another kiss, and this