Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

“Oh. I’m removing them.”

“Yes, I see that. But why?”

“They’re old favorites and I’d prefer not to ruin them.” He rose and shrugged his jacket from his shoulders. Then began untying his cravat.

“ Now what are you doing?”

“Removing my cravat.”

“Again, I must ask why.”

“Because I cannot remove my shirt without doing so. You did say the water felt nice.”

“It does, but…”

Her words died when he pulled his shirt from his snug breeches and yanked the garment over his head.

Oh, my . Simon Cooper might not like to exercise at midnight, but his body gave testament to the fact that he partook of physical activities at other times. Her stupefied gaze traveled over his broad chest, thick and well-defined with muscle and covered with a shading of crisp ebony hair that tapered into a thin ribbon and bisected his ridged abdomen, a fascinating trail that her avid gaze followed until it was obscured by the waistband of his breeches. The impressive bulge pressing against the front of the snug black material gave proof that she wasn’t alone in her desires.

Before she could pull a breath into her stalled lungs, he moved to the edge of the spring.

“Wh-what are you doing now?”

He slipped into the water. “I’m joining you.”

HIS WORDS sucked the oxygen from Genevieve’s lungs. She stared transfixed as Mr. Cooper, with his gaze steady on hers and bubbles foaming around his ribcage, slowly swished his arms through the water. The play of muscles in his powerful shoulders flexed with the movement, lulling her into a trance, rendering her incapable of doing anything save stare. Surely she should say something, demand he stop, but the only words rushing into her throat were Oh, my, you are magnificent. Indeed, she had to press her lips together to prevent herself from saying them out loud.

“You’re right,” he said, his husky voice rippling a heated tremor through her. “It does feel good.”

Oh. Dear. God. She pressed her spine against the rock ledge to hold herself upright lest she slither beneath the surface of the water from a combination of surprise, apprehension and desire so strong it threatened to choke her. She yanked herself from the stupor into which she’d fallen and lifted to chin. “That was merely a statement of fact, Mr. Cooper. Not an invitation.”

“Wasn’t it?” He moved slowly toward her and she shrank farther into the shadows. “I think it was. Because there’s something between us. Something I’ve felt since the first moment I saw you. A desire so strong I can barely think properly.”

His words, which so precisely mirrored her own thoughts just moments ago, halted her breath. All she could think was, Thank God, it’s not just me.

He stopped directly in front of her, then braced his hands on the stone ledge on either side of her, caging her in. Mere inches separated their bodies, a distance that simultaneously felt far too close and not nearly close enough. Genevieve sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the darkness and shadows. Although she tried to arrange her features into a cool mask, she doubted her ability to fully hide her desire for him.

“Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel it, too?” His gaze searched hers. Looking into his compelling eyes she felt as if she were falling into an abyss.

Dear God, how could she deny it? She hadn’t felt need this profound since…she couldn’t recall. Had she ever? Heaven help her, she didn’t know. Yet to admit it would set her on a course she wasn’t prepared to take.

Or was she? It was dark…dark enough to hide her hands, and the water would do the same. He wouldn’t be able to see them, wouldn’t know…and therefore wouldn’t have any reason to reject her.

Did she dare?

Before she could decide, he leaned forward until his lips hovered a mere hairbreadth above hers. His scent surrounded her, a delicious combination of soap, warm skin and a hint of sandalwood.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered. The words resembled a growl and blew warmth across her lips. “Bloody hell, say something. Tell me it’s not just me who feels this.”

A shudder of raw, naked wanting wracked her, shaking her with its intensity, and all the reasons she should push him away faded into oblivion. “It’s not just you,” she whispered back.

“Thank God.” The words sounded like a fervent prayer and in the next instant his arms were around her, hauling her up and against him. His mouth slanted over hers, and, with a moan, Genevieve parted her lips and welcomed the delicious invasion of his tongue. In a heartbeat she was lost, her senses reeling with long-forgotten sensations. He felt so incredibly good. Big and strong, hard and solid. And he tasted so wonderful-like mint with a hint of fine brandy. A groan vibrated in her throat at the erotic friction of his tongue exploring her mouth, of the press of his erection against her belly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged impatient fingers through his thick, silky hair to drag his head closer.

Touch him…she wanted, needed to touch him. Had to touch him. She skimmed her hands across his broad shoulders, then down his smooth back, reveling in the feel of his supple skin and the way his taut muscles jumped beneath her fingertips.

He broke off their frantic kiss and dragged his open mouth down her throat. “So good,” he muttered against her neck as his hands roamed her back. “You feel so damn good.” He touched his tongue to the sensitive skin behind her ear and groaned. “Taste so damn good.”

She would have returned the compliment, but his hands came forward to cup her breasts, evaporating her ability to speak. While his thumbs drew drugging circles around her nipples, he kissed his way along her collarbone and down her chest. Slipping his fingers beneath the straps of her chemise, he pulled the garment down to her waist where the bunched material floated in the gurgling water. She arched her back in a silent plea and gasped when he drew one aroused peak into the heat of his mouth. Her eyes slid closed, her head dropped back, and she fisted her fingers in his hair, urging him to take more of her, drowning in the pleasure of being touched, of touching. Of his mouth and hands on her, of her hands on him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against her breast, his voice a husky rasp in the darkness. He laved one nipple with a lazy swirl of his tongue while his fingers teased the other. His hand slipped beneath the water, lifted the hem of her chemise, and cupped her bare bottom. “So damn beautiful.”

With his tongue lightly playing with hers and one hand caressing her breasts, his other hand slowly stroked her bottom, his fingers teasing the sensitive nerve endings between her cheeks. Unable to remain still, Genevieve lifted one leg and hooked it high on his hip, a blatant invitation he immediately took advantage of. The first touch of his fingers against her swollen folds dragged a guttural groan from her throat that felt as if it was ripped from her soul. Her head fell limply back and exhaling a long aaaahhhh of delight, she basked in the waves of pleasure washing through her. He slipped first one, then two fingers inside her and slowly pumped, eliciting another moan from her. Desperation seized her and she raised her leg higher, shifting so that his erection nestled directly against her throbbing clitoris. The pressure coiled the knot building inside her tighter and she writhed against him. He answered with a long, slow thrust of his hips that robbed her of the last vestiges of her control. Lifting her head, she fisted her hands in his hair. “More,” she demanded against his mouth in a strained voice she barely recognized. “Please, more. Now. ”