The Seduction of Suzanne

by Amelia Hart

  “Justin?” she asked uncertainly.

  At the note of doubt in her voice, he froze. Closed his eyes.

  Then took a deep breath and opened them again, control firmly in place. Ready to be what she needed at this moment. He couldn’t quite bring himself to speak, but he raised his eyebrows in calm enquiry.

  “Uh, there’s something I should probably tell you--” she began nervously, licking her lips. His eyes followed the small movement hungrily. He felt her warm breath on his own lips.

  “What?” he rumbled, slowly leaning into her so she lay back on the cover, settling his weight so his body pressed against her softness. Dipping his head to her throat, his fingertips parted her dressing gown, brushed the upper curves of her breasts, his open mouth slowly following the path that they mapped out. Crazy to touch her.

  She sighed, arched, murmured his name, and her hand came up to wind itself through his hair.

  “It’s about this. About doing what we’re . . . um . . . going to do.”

  “I’m listening,” he growled a little raggedly, taking in the future tense of her words without lifting his head. He had found three pale freckles between her breasts, like Demerara sugar on cream. He licked them. The fingers clutching at his shoulders tightened, her short fingernails digging into his skin as she gasped.

  “I just haven’t in. . . a long time.”

  His hands stopped their delicate stroking as he propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her.

  “A long time?” he asked. He wondered what exactly she was trying to say.

  She looked nervous, an expression he had never seen on her face before. She was always so confident and composed. But not now. She wrapped her fingers around the belt of her robe and stared blindly at them.

  “Uh, what I mean is, I haven’t actually, um. . .made love before. To anyone. I had sex once but it wasn’t. . .I just. . . I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Her voice trailed off weakly.

  He was stunned. This beautiful, alluring goddess of a woman had never taken a lover? He blinked once, again, trying to make this fit with his picture of her. It didn’t. He realised he was holding his breath, made himself start breathing again.

  And with surprise felt the deep sense of possession rise in him like a tide.

  Mine. All mine.

  His woman.

  This explained the hesitation he had felt in her when they kissed, the barriers against further intimacy. He had assumed they were the boundaries of a careful, knowing woman, biding her time until she felt the moment was right. Or heightening the sensation by drawing out that anticipation. He knew how to play along with that.

  But had it always been the hesitancy of an innocent learning something new? He felt his world tilt slightly on its axis, then resettle into a new groove. Ahhhhh.

  Along with the possessiveness he felt tenderly protective.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed,” she whispered.

  “Disappointed? Hell no, why would I be . . . oh sweetheart,” he broke off, seeing tears start to gather in her eyes. Instantly he swept her into a hug, placing comforting, friendly kisses on her cheeks and forehead.

  “What man wouldn’t be delighted to be a woman’s first real lover?” He pressed his forehead against hers, so that she could see the truth of his words in his eyes.

  “It brings out every primitive male instinct in a man. You’ll have to watch out, or you’ll have me running around and beating on my chest with pride.” He grinned at her until he saw a tentative, answering smile.

  Then he said seriously, “No woman could be more desirable than you. If I look surprised, it’s only because I never expected that someone so self-assured and passionate would hold herself back for long.” He was careful not to turn his words into a question.

  “I guess I just never got around to it,” she said.

  So she wasn’t going to tell him. He buried his curiosity deep, along with a primitive urge to throw her down and impale her on the bed, quickly, now, before she could get away.

  She was looking hesitant and a little scared, the confident seductress evaporated like smoke now she knew the moment for truth had arrived. Or maybe the seductress had never existed. Maybe he was the idiot who had leapt to conclusions based on her sublime body and his nearly overwhelming response to it.

  It was hard to think straight lying here on her bed, the subtle feminine scent of her all around him, knowing she had chosen him, wanted to take him inside her to her secret places.

  He wished he could give her a gift as precious as that. But he could make it good for her, as long as he could rein himself in. His teeth were gritted hard and his erection throbbed with every heartbeat. He took a long, deep breath and then exhaled slowly through his mouth, striving for calm. Not finding it. Faking it as best he could.

  “Now might be a good time. To get around to it. I should be delighted to oblige.” Neither of them looked at the sizeable evidence of exactly how delighted he would be.

  “So if I said I’d rather not . . .?” she asked tentatively.

  “I’d die in unspeakable torment. And then I’d haunt you every night. Of course my ghost would have to sleep on the floor. I couldn’t share the bed and not ravish your delectable body.” He laid teasing little nips along the line of her shoulder towards her neck. “No, wait. You could sleep on the floor. Perhaps then you’d regret your poor decision-making skills,” he bit her ear, and she shuddered.

  “But if I said I’d like you to stay here with me and make love to me?” She blushed. He watched the pink sweep under her translucent skin, from her face down to her chest and under the robe. He wanted to follow.

  “Then I should do my humble best to satisfy your desire,” he said lightly, hiding his intense need for her.

  Experimentally she set her palm in the middle of his broad chest. He was still. She ran her hand up to where the faded blue of his cotton shirt gave way to skin. His gaze remained steady on her face. Waiting. For her.

  With a hand which shook slightly, she pulled him to her, kissing him with a sweetness that nearly undid him.

  He began to breathe heavily, and so did she.

  “Stay,” she said

  “Thank God!” he murmured fervently into the curve of her neck and immediately his hands were reaching for the belt of her robe, unknotting it to feel the heat of her. . . no, not naked skin. He took in the visual impact of her mostly undressed body, the sweet seduction of her lingerie, worn for him.

  “Oh, you are. . .I don’t have words. Suzanne. Sue!”

  For long, languorous minutes he kissed and held her, stroked her back, her flanks, hips and outer thighs inside her robe, a delicious friction and pressure her parched body soaked up like rain. How could another human being’s hand on her be so powerful? So right? She wanted more of his skin.

  She pulled his shirt up so she could touch his body, and as she had imagined he completed the movement, pulling it over his head, revealing himself to her.

  She marvelled at his smooth golden skin, at the feeling of it covering firm muscles. But immediately she wanted more again, hooking her thumb under the waistband of his shorts and then stopping, not sure what to do next. He unlaced the front placket of the boardshorts and pushed them down for her, then paused, letting her choose what happened next.

  She hesitated long enough that he took her back into his arms, his nakedness concealed in the folds of her own robe. She was acutely conscious of it, wanting to touch him, not knowing how. But there was certainly plenty of him she could touch, her hands gliding over his torso, pausing to clutch mindlessly as their shared kiss distracted her, making her head spin.

  Then he released her lips, laying more kisses down her neck and over her throat as he eased lower.

  With gentle hands he slowly peeled the fragile cloth away from her breasts, replacing it with his mouth. She quivered as he licked and sucked his way around one nipple. Finally he took it into his mouth, pulling on it delicately. A bolt of exquisite sensation s
hot through her, making her jerk and hum with astonishment. She clutched his head as he stroked and tickled her lightly on one nipple, suckled on the other. She could feel a wetness between her legs, a longing to be touched there, growing with his ministrations. She squirmed and writhed with it. When his hand stroked down the centre of her back she arched, offering herself in surrender.

  His hand swept over her hip, down to her thigh, teased inside the top of her stocking on the outside of her thigh then slowly slid to the inside of her thigh, the blade of his palm nudging her sex, so scantily covered. She jumped with the slight contact, incredibly sensitive, a heightened awareness gripping her.

  His hand wrapped around her inner thigh, not roving, but still pressing on her, until finally she rubbed against his hand, and feeling that extraordinary sensation again, began to subtly grind on the edge of that big palm.

  He whispered praise in her ear. For her responsiveness, her beautiful body and the way it made him feel to watch her take pleasure from him. Then his mouth returned to her breasts, sucking on them, stroking her nipples with his tongue, scraping them with his teeth so she bucked, her secret folds even more slippery than his hand was becoming, with the response of her delighted body soaking through the sheer fabric of her underwear.

  He moved his hand again and she whimpered as she lost the tantalising friction. But he tugged her underwear to one side, leaving her exposed, and then touched her lightly with his fingertips. She jolted like he had run an electric current through her, so stunningly intense. He moved with her, driving her out of her mind with his tenderly working fingers.

  She gasped and moaned, grabbing him and holding on tight as he drove her inexorably to orgasm. As she peaked she shuddered once, twice, all her muscles drawn tight as if fighting. Fighting to stop it or plunge into it, she didn’t know which. She didn’t know anything for long, endless moments of ecstasy.

  As her world came back into focus she felt herself relax, boneless, melting into the bed. She realised her arms had been clenched around his shoulders as she strained against him. Embarrassment rose in her, to have lost control like that, alone under his scrutiny.

  But when he met her eyes with his she couldn’t read anything but pleasure in the happy blue, crinkled at the corners. He moved to lean back on one hip, surveying her with a self-satisfied smile.

  When she saw that smile she lifted her hand to scrape over his chest with her short fingernails, clawing his nipple, an instinctive move with no thought behind it.

  His eyelids lowered over eyes suddenly intent, the smile replaced with a sultry curl as he caught her by the wrist. For a moment she tested his strength as he held her. She couldn’t move him. She pouted and he put her captured hand back on his chest, a slight pressure inviting her to explore downwards before he released her again.

  Slowly she reached out, slid her hand over his pectorals and sideways to his waist. Over his hip ran a ridge of muscle that led straight to his genitals. Her eyes were drawn irresistibly, her fingertips following more slowly, an inch at a time, until he groaned and quivered with the suspense.

  There was such beauty to him, a raw male power that made so much more sense in the nude, not broken up by the barrier of clothing. A great, gorgeous golden beast, caught in the trap of his desire for her, motionless and hungry.

  He was so hard all over. Steel wrapped in velvet. Especially when he finally broke, took her tentative hand and put it on his erection. She gripped him, not certain what to do next. Even that was enough to have him shudder.

  She moved her hand along the length of him. He was strange to her. She had never touched a man this way. Her gentle explorations made him sigh and murmur hot words.

  Then he took her hand off him, kissed it and laid it on the safer territory of his shoulder.

  “Sorry sweetheart. That feels too insanely good. You’ll make me come quickly and I want to go real slow with you.

  He helped her out of her robe, unfastened her dishevelled lingerie, taking his time, laying kisses on the skin he uncovered. She felt exposed, as if the revealing cloth had offered concealment. But he was so pleased and enthusiastic about every part of her he had unwrapped, she slowly relaxed and even began to giggle at his exclamations. “Ooo, look. More freckles. Yum!”

  He licked her and tickled her, rolling her this way and that as he made her naked. She went limply compliant, stretching her arms above her head and giving her body over to him.

  He was sweet and tender. He cherished her, sipping and stroking and teasing her with his fingers. When she was well-warmed and languorous, lost in hazy pleasure, he took a moment to protect them both and then took her back into his arms.

  With one hand he guided himself to exactly the right spot, knowing much better than she what he was doing. With dread she felt the rise of the old fear. The urge to shove him away, run, escape before he could penetrate that last boundary between them. Before she would be stripped to the core and destroyed.

  He was watching her face and he saw that moment. He hesitated, a faint tremor running through his poised body. There was a long, endless moment as she stood on the edge of the cliff, with all the unknown before her, and all the familiar safe loneliness and solitude behind.

  Then, grimly, she braced the soles of her feet on the bed angled her hips and lifted the core of her vulnerability to him, offering if freely. She was determined to overcome herself now, in this moment. She had made her choice carefully, and no half-baked, leftover teenage fear would defeat her.

  She drew him into herself. He took his time, letting her adjust to the sensation, measuring her expression. When she let her eyes drift closed to hide from the exposure he stopped and waited till she met his gaze again. She saw his pupils dilate as he sank deeper into her. The connection of eye and body was foreign, alien, intense, like nothing she’d ever felt before. She was invaded, with nothing in her world but him, his body, what he was doing to her, what they did together.

  When he was fully inside her he soothed her with soft kisses, his body stilled. It softened the overwhelming sensation of penetration. His mouth had grown familiar these past weeks. It was easier, sweeter than where his penis lay inside her, pulsing in demand.

  She felt him tremble with the effort of waiting and was overwhelmed by a rush of warm feeling, an adoration for the worth of this fine man who laboured to give her pleasure with his body. The strange penetration was not an enemy. It became once more part of him, a complete him she was slowly learning.

  She realised there were tears in the corner of her eyes when he touched them, gathered them up with an apology on his lips. Before he could say more she moved in an experimental wiggle, testing. It was such an odd sensation, to be so full of him, feel him stretching her open at her most private place.

  Odd but increasingly pleasant. And as one of his big hands cupped her breast, fingertips drawing gently at her nipple, she felt herself contract around his erection and gasped at the exquisite feeling.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, down to clasp his buttocks, amazed that she was finally allowed to touch him like this, his skin so hot, his muscles bunched as he worked over her, holding his weight off her.

  Then he rolled them both slightly to one side and she felt his hand span her thigh, his thumb between them pressing gently on her clitoris and. . .oh. Oh, that made it impossible to think. Oh.

  He moved his pelvis, starting a pattern of slow thrusts that made her quiver and sigh, instinct leading her to rise and meet him, her feet still braced as she pushed back, his partner.

  Sensation lifted, crested, lifted. She took in flashes of sensory information. His hair under her fingertips, his breath harsh by her ear, the curve of a buttock in her palm, a hint of musk scenting the air, and always, dominating everything else, that tugging slide of his body moving in and out of hers where they were made so perfectly to fit each other.

  Together they reached for climax, she half-fearing the power taking her over, he urging her on with mouth, hands a
nd body. The room’s clear morning light seemed to splinter and shatter as she peaked again, trembling with the effort not to call out the garbled words that were on her tongue. Release and wonder and . . . love. He was silent, shuddering and breathing in great, deep gusts which fanned her shoulder, the nape of her neck.

  For long, lengthening moments they lay there, under the white drape of mosquito netting, with sunlight spilling into the warm room and gilding bare skin, easing luxuriantly over curves and hollows.

  Suzanne didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally came back to herself, emerging from the dark behind her eyelids. She flexed her fingers, and felt them uncurl, brushing against Justin’s great shoulders. He stirred in response, and then rolled right over, his forearm suddenly firm around her waist so that she came too. Wide-eyed and startled, her hands came up to grip his pectorals for balance. Lazily he blinked, and stretched like a cat, his powerful body flexing fluidly beneath her. The sensation made her breathless.

  Anxiously she searched his face, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, nor what she should say, in a situation like this.

  The arm which had lain heavy across the small of her back lifted, and his hand came to cup the back of her neck. His fingers stroked briefly through her loose hair, then traced down her spine.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

  “Fine.” She found that she had to clear her throat. “Just fine. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled briefly, then returned to seriousness. “Not too tender?”

  “Too tender for what?” she said, then blushed at her own innuendo, embarrassed. However her answer seemed to satisfy him. He closed his eyes, his hand savouring the curve of her waist where it met her hip. She watched him, as his indrawn breath lifted her body. It seemed unreal that she should finally be lying here with him, skin to skin, feeling the heat of him, his scent, his hair-roughened limbs. She drank it in like wine, and like wine, it made her warm.