With one stride he was next to her, overwhelming in his nudity. “Be sure, Silence, mine. Once I take ye to me bed, I won’t be stoppin’ if ye have any sudden maidenly qualms. Right now I’ll let ye walk through that door and away. In a minute more, I’ll not.”
She reached out and did what she’d been wanting to do for weeks—she laid her palm against his naked chest. His skin was smooth and so hot she felt as if he’d branded her hand. She’d carry the mark of his flesh forever. “I may have qualms, but they aren’t maidenly, I assure you. I want this.”
The sound that came from his lips was very close to a growl as he moved swiftly and decisively. Silence found herself suddenly lifted in strong arms as Michael bore her to his big bed.
He laid her down on the soft mattress and placed a knee on the bed. Then he stilled, the muscles on his shoulders bunched and ready. He seemed to restrain himself with effort. “Am I frightenin’ ye?”
She shook her head slowly, her heart contracting at the fierce worry in his eyes. “Only in the best of ways.”
He closed his eyes and she saw that his big body was trembling. He gripped the coverlet in both fists. “Ye must tell me if anythin’ I do frightens ye. I don’t want to hurt ye. I—”
She placed her fingertips against his lips and he froze. His black eyes snapped open and he watched her, wild and dangerous.
But not to her.
Never to her. She didn’t know how she knew this, but somehow, deep in her bones, she knew now that Michael O’Connor would never hurt her physically. He might hurt her emotionally, but even that wouldn’t be on purpose. One couldn’t blame the animal for the instincts he was born with.
The thought was a little sad, so she banished it and focused on the man beneath her fingers instead.
His lips were soft. She rubbed them lightly and they parted to lick at her fingertips. She smiled and let her hands drift over his jaw, rough with a day’s growth of beard. He was very still, watching her with waiting eyes. She stroked down his neck, feeling the cords of his tendons, and over to her favorite part: his smooth chest. She flattened her hand there and pressed. The muscles of his chest were hard and strong and gave very little. Curious, she scooted closer on her back, putting herself almost under him, so that she could touch him with both hands. Why he stayed so motionless and simply let her explore, she did not know, but she was grateful. She’d always been indecently interested in what lay beneath a man’s clothes. William had been a very modest man, so her curiosity had not been assuaged.
Here, now, though, Michael seemed willing to let her explore as much as she wanted. And she was determined at last to discover all she could about this man—in both body and mind.
She smoothed her hands up to his shoulders, shaping the sloping muscles that led to his neck. Women didn’t have such muscles and she found it fascinating. She trailed her hands down his upper arms—and then laughed in delight when he flexed them beneath her palms, the bulges of his muscles moving under her hands.
His expression didn’t change, but somehow his eyes laughed, too, a great predator, indulgent.
She peeked up at him from underneath her eyelashes as her hands touched his wrists. How far would he let her explore?
She trailed her fingers over his ribcage. A swirl of black hair circled his navel and she traced it, amazed that men should have such hair where women did not. She glanced up and saw his eyes were nearly feral now, watching her with half-lowered lids. His look made her breath quicken.
Hastily she lowered her gaze again. Below his navel the hair narrowed to a line that led to the inky curls around his penis. She followed the line with her fingertips, her mouth going dry at her daring. The fine curls wrapped themselves around her fingers as if drawing her in. He rose strong and hard in the space between her hands, but she didn’t touch him yet. Instead she fingered the lean lines of his hips, returning again and again to the center of his manhood, drawing out the anticipation. His breathing had roughened as she played and she thought she heard a low growl.
Only then did she bring her hands together and cradle the prize she found there. She smiled as she held Michael O’Connor’s cock. Oh, it had been so very long and holding a man’s cock was a wonderful thing. He was soft like a fine kid glove, but if she gave a little squeeze, the flesh beneath was hard as a rock. Her fingers didn’t quite wrap around him as she circled him and something feminine inside her quaked. This part of him would be inside her body soon, large and foreign and male.
She inhaled and delicately traced the head of his penis. His foreskin was pulled back, the glistening, swollen head entirely free. At the very tip was a drop of clear liquid and she caught it on her fingertip, bringing it to her mouth to see what a man tasted like.
At her gesture Michael cursed and caught her hand, falling suddenly atop her.
She stared up at him wondering what bedchamber faux pas she’d committed.
He groaned at her look. “I’ll let ye pet and play all ye want—after. Now I need”—he pushed her chemise to her waist, parted her thighs, and settled between them—“to be inside ye.”
There was a flag of red in his cheeks and his mouth had turned dangerous. She could feel his hard cock prodding insistently against her thigh.
He reached between them and touched her, probing and parting her folds. Her eyes widened, watching him as he watched her and touched her where no one else had put a hand save she herself. Her face was hot, she wanted to look away, and she knew she was already embarrassingly, naively moist. Was this what sophisticates did in the bedchamber? She had certainly never done this in her marriage. Did his other women take this type of touch in stride, perhaps with a knowing smile?
The thought of his other women made her mouth tremble and he misunderstood.
“Have I hurt ye?” he asked, his voice like gravel.
He took his hand away and turned with her so that all at once she found herself laying on top of him, her face only inches from his.
He scowled at her. “Ye must tell me if I’m too rough, if I hurt ye. Damn it! I had no intention o’ causin’ ye pain, m’love.”
“Shh!” She pressed her palm to his mouth to stop the fast, angry voice. “You did not hurt me.”
“Then why did ye frown?” he demanded.
“I…” She lowered her gaze. How could she be having this conversation? She with her chemise rucked up, her wet sex against his hairy thigh and his erection still pressed to her belly? This was a mad dream.
“I’m not used to this sort of lovemaking,” she said in a rush before she could think better of the words.
He was quiet for a moment. Then she felt his hand on her chin as he tilted up her head to meet her eyes. His mouth was still hard and dangerous, his face drawn into even more severe lines if that were possible, but his words were quiet if not soft. “Forgive me for a thoughtless lout. Truth be told, I’m not exactly used to this kind o’ bedsport, either.”
Her brows drew together. He’d had many lovers. “But—”
“Hush.” He placed his own far bigger palm over her mouth. “Let me…”
He gripped her bottom with one hand and drew her legs up on either side of his hips, spreading them wide. In this position his cock was pressed intimately against her folds.
“Oh!” Her exclamation was muffled behind his hand, but since her mouth was open anyway, she stuck the tip of her tongue out and tasted him.
He hissed. “Brat.”
She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought that might be a compliment.
He took his hand away and caught her hips in both hands, arching beneath her. The movement drove his cock over her, rubbing the peak of her sex.