by Jane Porter
He licked at her lower lip, his tongue finding all the nerve endings inside. She wriggled on his lap, hips rocking, and he longed to reach down and rub her between her thighs. Part of him wanted to shock her, while another part wanted to soothe her. She was passionate and responsive and utterly gorgeous...and right now she was his, all his.
“Can you feel me?” he growled, kissing the side of her neck, his teeth scraping across her skin. “Can you feel me between your thighs?”
She nodded her head, a jerky nod, even as his tongue flicked her tender earlobe and then swirled inside the shell of her ear, making her groan.
“I can feel you,” he murmured, tugging on her hands, drawing them lower so that he held her hands against her butt, making her back arch even more. Her white cotton blouse clung to her small, high breasts, the thin fabric outlining her nipples. His head dropped and he sucked on one nipple, drawing on it hard.
She gasped, and whimpered, grinding down against him. He could feel her through his trousers, her body hot, wet.
With his free hand he worked the blouse off one shoulder, revealing the simple white cotton bralette, the thin fabric cup damp from his mouth. He stroked the pebbled nipple, making her squirm again.
“I can feel your heat and your need,” he said, his lips just below her ear. “You are so wet, and it’s so sexy.”
She shuddered at his words.
“What I want to do with you is very hot and rather indecent. I’m afraid it would shock you.”
She was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. “How so?”
“I would like to touch you, everywhere, and discover with my hands and my mouth what you enjoy. I’d like to kiss you between your thighs and use my tongue to make you come—”
“Would you enjoy that?” she asked, interrupting him.
He laughed softly at her wrinkled nose, her expression indicating disbelief.
“I would like it very much.”
“You’re telling me the truth?”
“I will always tell you the truth. No lies between us. It would ruin everything.”
She stared deep into his eyes. “I do trust you,” she said quietly, firmly, as if giving him reassurance. “Which is why I want you to be my first. You’re supposed to be my first. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“As much as I like the sound of that, I’m afraid it doesn’t make sense.”
“But it does. It’s science,” she said, “the laws of something or other. Nature or physics. If I could think clearly, I could tell you why it’s meant to be, but I can’t think clearly, not with you kissing my neck and everywhere else. You’re clouding my rational brain.”
“I should stop.”
“No. You should most definitely not stop.” She drew her head back down to his, kissing him sweetly, persuasively. “Promise me?”
“Promise,” he answered, rising with her in his arms. As he walked, he kissed the side of her neck, making her breath catch in her throat. He was already hard and hungry, but that faint hitch in her breath made his body burn and throb.
She was gorgeous and sensitive and she made him feel so many good things. He wondered if he’d ever felt like this before. He couldn’t imagine desiring anyone as much as he desired her.
He headed to the stone house, hesitating in the center room, not sure which way to go. Josephine pointed to her room. Her bed was small, considerably smaller than her father’s, but it would still be plenty big enough for the two of them.
In her room, he sat down on the edge of the low bed and drew her between his thighs. His hands ran up and down her sides, stroking the length of her, savoring the feel of her. She was slim and toned and yet she had lovely curves, perfect breasts and generous hips, and a firm backside that was meant to be touched.
“What do I do?” she whispered as he reached for the hem of her blouse.
“Nothing. Let me,” he answered, lifting her blouse up and then untying her sarong so that the fabric fell to the ground. Next to go was the plain white bralette and matching white panties, and once they were off, she was his, and beautifully bare. He smothered his groan of appreciation. “You are so beautiful,” he said, drawing her even closer to kiss one pink-tipped breast. Her nipple puckered, tightening as his lips brushed the sensitive tip.
His body throbbed all over again, his erection straining against the zipper of his trousers. His tongue swept the peak lightly before his mouth closed over the damp tip. She shuddered as he drew on the nipple, her slim back arching. His hands settled on her hips, holding them firmly, thumbs stroking her hip bones.
She practically danced in place, making soft little whimpering sounds. She was so sweet, so innocent, and he battled to keep his desire in check, not wanting to rush.
The first time was special. The first time should make her feel good and beautiful.
He kissed his way to her other breast, giving the dark pink nipple the same attention and then some, pulling harder on the tip, working it and feeling how her body responded, hips rocking harder, her legs now trembling.
He stroked down her hips and then to her outer thighs and back again. He stroked lightly, awakening every nerve he could as her breath became increasingly shallow. She was practically panting as he caressed up the inside of her knee, up her smooth taut thigh to tease the curls between her legs. But instead of touching her then, he caressed back down her thigh and then up so that his knuckles grazed her. She bucked a little against his hand as he trailed a finger where she was most sensitive.
She was trembling against him now, her hands on his shoulders, holding her up. He slipped a hand between her thighs, finding her slick folds. She was so tender, so warm, so wet. He desperately wanted to put her on the bed and part her thighs and lick her, and taste her, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. This was clearly all so new to her, and so he contented himself with stirring her and heightening her senses and her pleasure. He wanted her fully aroused to make sure her first time was as comfortable as possible.
She shuddered again when his fingertips traced her delicate lips and then her nub. Her breath even shuddered as he stroked her, oh, so lightly there.
“I can’t stand anymore,” she said lowly, hoarsely.
“Sit. Switch places with me,” he said.
Her expression was uncertain and yet she did as he asked, and he used the moment to strip off his clothes before kneeling in front of her, his hands circling her ankles. He stroked the fine bones in her ankles and then up over her shins and calves to her knees, and then down again, working the backs of her calves. He could feel her relax, her breath grow deeper and slower. Gradually, he shifted his attention higher on her legs, stroking up her thighs and down again, and with each stroke he pressed her legs back, opening them gradually to him. She stared at him, fascinated, her husky breath the only sound in the dark room.
The moon wasn’t yet high enough to see her well, but he could see enough to be painfully aroused—pale skin, her thick honey-brown hair tumbling over one shoulder and breast, and the triangle of curls at her thighs. She gleamed in the dim light, her long limbs exquisite, her small, full breasts perfect. He felt beyond hungry; he was ravenous and he wanted to feast on her. Instead he was careful, and he leaned between her thighs to press a tender kiss in the hollow where her thigh connected to her pelvis. She groaned softly as he blew lightly on her inner thighs, focusing the air on her curls. She jerked against his hold, her breath hitching again.
“This is a kind of torture,” she murmured.
“The best foreplay always is,” he answered, parting her there to slip his fingers across her. She was hot and so tender, her soft flesh like liquid velvet. He kissed her on her nub, then used the tip of his tongue across her.
She shivered and cried out.
His body went rock hard, so hard he felt as if he’d pop out of his skin. He wanted her, wanted to be buried in her sweet we
t heat, buried so deeply that they were one, forever one, making her his, and only his. He kissed his way back to the junction of her thighs, kissing her lightly, soothing her before rising up and shifting her back on the bed and slowly extending his body over hers, covering her.
Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers at his nape.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
And he did.
Josephine closed her eyes at the hunger in his kiss. His lips were firm and the pressure of his mouth parted her lips. She shuddered at the feel of his hand under her breast and then on her breast, fingers stroking the tight, peaked nipple, sending rivulets of feeling throughout her body. Her hips pressed up against his, his thick shaft extended across her belly. She’d always wondered what this would be like, and he was right; she’d imagined it as a clinical sort of thing, but there was nothing clinical in the heat and texture and sensation.
He made her feel so wonderfully alive. She couldn’t imagine this moment with anyone else, just him.
He lifted his head to gaze down at her. There was something in his expression that made her chest tighten and her heart thump with pain.
“You promised,” she whispered. “You promised you wouldn’t stop. And I won’t regret this, I swear to you.” She caressed his neck and then her hands went to his shoulders. “Don’t be afraid.”
He laughed low, as though amused. “I’m not afraid, and I’m glad you’re not afraid, either. The first time isn’t always comfortable, but it’ll get better.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
He kissed her, smiling against her mouth, and then his smile faded as the kiss turned hot and electric. She opened her legs for him, allowing his hips to settle between her thighs. He entered her slowly, taking his time, and Josephine had to draw a deep breath and tell herself to relax when it began to pinch and then burn, and then there was all that fullness and that pressure inside her, so different from anything she’d ever felt before. He was right. It wasn’t comfortable and she wondered how anybody enjoyed this.
He must have sensed her panic, because he held still and kissed her, biting and then sucking on her lower lip, distracting her from everything but his teeth and tongue. Gradually the sting eased and the pressure was less overwhelming. He rocked his hips a little, shifting inside her, and as he eased out and then in, she found herself holding her breath again, but this time because it was a strange fluttery sensation that felt new but good.
“Do that again,” she urged.
He laughed softly. “Many, many times,” he answered, withdrawing again to thrust in more deeply. The fluttery good feeling happened again and continued with every thrust, and the pleasure built, the sensation erotic, making her arch and dig her heels into the mattress of the bed.
He met the lifting of her hips with a deeper, harder thrust, and the pleasure continued to rise, pressure and pleasure swirling, tightening so that she felt almost dizzy from it. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, or reaching for. She just knew he couldn’t stop, and she wanted whatever it was that he was doing and making her feel. Emotion and sensation joined together, hot and intense, as she tried to grip him with her body, wanting to keep him inside her where he felt so good, but he wouldn’t be stopped and her skin grew hot and damp, and she felt the heat sweep through her, her skin prickly and tingling all over.
She panted with the need and tension, her body wound up, too wound up, and she didn’t know what to do or where to go with the tension, and then he reached down, between them, and touched her where she was so very sensitive, circling her nub even as he drove into her, and his touch there, as he thrust deep inside her, made her shatter. She stifled her cry by pressing her mouth to his chest, but the waves of pleasure didn’t stop. The climax continued, hard and intense, breaking her into a million shimmering pieces. She felt like stardust strewn across the sky and it was earth-shattering, heart-stopping.
Even as she was still floating like stardust, her mind so scattered, she felt him groan and stiffen, his hoarse guttural cry not so different from her own.
Josephine’s arms tightened around him and she held him fiercely, desperately thinking her life would never be the same.
It could never be the same.
He would forever be a part of her now because she had just given him a piece of her heart.
* * *
He woke up in the night and glanced around, wondering what had woken him, and then he realized it was the moonlight streaming through the window, falling across the bed in white streaks of light.
The moonlight illuminated Josephine’s elegant profile. Her features were delicate and refined, reminding him of a fairy-tale princess. Every day he discovered something new about her, and tonight he’d discovered her passion. Part of him felt guilty for taking her virginity, and yet another part of him agreed with her—they were meant to be. Destined to be together. She was beautiful and brilliant, innocent and earnest, and temptingly sweet.
His head dipped and he pressed a light kiss to her temple and then another to her cheek.
She stirred and moved closer to him, her slim warm body pressed to his. “What’s wrong?” she murmured sleepily.
He stroked her long silky hair back from her cheek. “Nothing.”
“You’re awake.”
“The moon woke me.”
“I’ll close the curtain.”
“No, don’t. Then I couldn’t see you, and I want to see you.”
Her lips curved, her cheeks rising with her soft smile.
He dropped another light kiss on her lips. “You’re a jewel, Josephine. A rare jewel.”
Still smiling, she nestled even closer so that her cheek rested on his chest. “Thank you for the compliment, but seeing as you don’t remember anything of your world, I’m not sure it’s valid.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said with a faint laugh, her breath a light caress against his bare chest, and then she fell back asleep, and he lay awake for another hour, just holding her and watching the big full moon high in the sky.
This wasn’t his life, or his world, but in some ways he was quite certain it was the best life he’d lived, as well as the best world.
* * *
Josephine woke the next morning and stretched and smiled as she felt his arm tighten around her. He was here. It wasn’t a dream. She was so glad because it had been the best night of her life.
She slipped from bed and pulled on her bikini and then headed outside for an early-morning swim. As she swam she heard the buzz of a helicopter. It was far from the beach, but the hum grew louder. She stood up in the water, hands over her head, waving frantically as the helicopter moved toward her and then headed in a different direction, flying away.
She ran back toward the house. He was just leaving her bed, pulling on the pair of her father’s shorts she’d given him along with the other clothes. The shorts were huge and so he anchored them with a belt as he raced back outside with her.
“It came so close,” she said, running toward the beach. “And I waved, and I thought it must have seen me but then it went away.”
“Maybe it did see you. Maybe it’s gone for help.”
“Maybe.”
They spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks waiting for the helicopter to return or a glimpse of a boat, but the morning turned into afternoon, and then dusk fell. “I’m sorry,” she said to him where they sat side by side on the sand.
“I’m not,” he answered, turning his head to look at her. “I’m glad. This gives me more time with you. It gives me more time to discover you and all the different ways I want to know you.”
“But we made love.”
“There are so many ways to make love.”
She chewed her lip, hiding her smile. He made her feel so excited and nervous and shy and hopeful and all those emotions ke
pt rising in her, bubbling up, making it impossible not to smile.
“You like that,” he said, his voice dropping, growing husky.
She blushed, even as her smile stretched wider. She shouldn’t smile. She shouldn’t encourage him, and yet she loved how he made her feel and how amazing it had been to be his last night. His weight, his scent, his heat...the friction and the pleasure.
“I did,” she said unsteadily. “I loved it. I loved being with you. It was...perfect.”
“And that was just the beginning,” he answered, drawing her toward him, pulling her on top of him as he lay back. She felt him beneath her, hard and warm, his chest crushing her breasts, and his erection pressed to the apex of her thighs, the heavy rigid length making her impossibly aware of his desire. His hands shifted from her waist to her hips and then lower, to cup her butt, his hands so warm on her that she felt as if she was melting.
He cupped the back of her head, kissing her deeply, making her whimper with need. She wiggled against him, her hips dancing over him, encouraging him, practically begging him to take her.
She wanted him to fill her and stretch her. She wanted the maddening pressure and then the explosive release. She wanted everything he’d shown her last night, and even more wild and fierce tonight.
Passion—she wanted the passion he’d awoken within her.
And then he was lifting her and he was sliding lower, holding her thighs apart until he settled beneath her, his face under her most private place.
She pressed against his shoulders, trying to escape, but he held her knees firmly, keeping them wide-open so that he could her kiss there, between her thighs. She shuddered and swallowed a cry.
“Take your bikini bottoms off,” he told her. “Now.”
It was a definite command but also unbelievably sexy, and she peeled them off, trying not to panic. This was what she wanted—him. Them. Earlier today she’d wanted him to want her like this; she’d wanted him to show her all the things she didn’t know, and he could, she thought. He could teach her and share with her, helping her discover the world that lay beyond Khronos’s beach.