Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

Given her question, her reaction, it would have been ridiculous to deny it. She confirmed his statement with a tight jerk of her head. “My…husband couldn’t tolerate ugliness and came to abhor my touch.” Her husband, her lover, what did one more lie at this point matter?

Again that muscle in his jaw flexed. “I’m sorry he hurt you. But Genevieve, I’m not him. I’m aching for your touch.” He reached out and took one of her hands. Held it between his as if it were a precious treasure. Then slowly, he slid one long finger inside her glove to caress her palm.

She gasped at the intimacy of the gesture. Her mind told her to pull away, but the feel of his finger caressing her, the heat and desire burning in his eyes, rendered her unable to move.

“Beautiful doesn’t mean perfect,” he said softly, “and there is nothing about you that isn’t beautiful. Exquisite. No part of you that I don’t want next to me. This is how badly I want you.” He grasped her other hand and pressed it to the hard ridge of flesh tenting the front of his breeches. A shiver of pure want rippled through her, and when her fingers involuntarily curved around him, his eyes darkened. “Trust me, Genevieve. Please. If you harbor any fear, it shouldn’t be that I’ll reject you, but that I’ll keep you locked in this room with me for the next fortnight.”

She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Staring into his eyes, feeling his arousal pulsing against her palm, his finger stroking her, she couldn’t deny him. Trust me …She pulled in a shuddering breath, then eased her hands away from him. With her insides quaking, she slowly pulled off her gloves. His gaze never left hers, not until she’d dropped both gloves to the floor. Then she stood before him, fully clothed, yet feeling utterly naked. And more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life.

Without looking away from her he pulled his shirt from his breeches then lifted the linen garment over his head and let it fall to the floor. Then he picked up both her hands. Settled them against his chest. Dragged them across his skin.

His eyes slid closed and he let out a long breath. “You cannot know how good that feels.” He opened his eyes and her breath halted at the fire burning in their green depths. “Again. Do it again.”

Genevieve swallowed and slowly dragged her palms over his skin. He felt hot and hard and his muscles jumped beneath her fingers. He lightly encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away from him and looked down. Genevieve’s throat tightened and her every muscle tensed as she braced herself for the passion in his eyes to turn to disgust at the sight of her skin, reddened from the swelling, and the joints that were larger than they should have been.

He studied her hands, gently turning them over. Then, he brought them to his mouth. And gently kissed them.

Genevieve sucked in a harsh breath. “Magic,” he whispered against her fingers. “Just like the rest of you.” He drew the tip of her index finger into his mouth and slowly swirled his tongue around it before letting it free. “Delicious. Just like the rest of you.” He pressed her palm to his cheek. “Beautiful. Just like the rest of you.”

A sob welled in Genevieve’s throat, one that escaped her in a trio of jerky sounds when Simon turned his head and kissed her palm. His words, the sight of his mouth against her imperfect hand, pleasures she’d never thought to experience again, simply undid her. The dam inside her burst, releasing the moisture that pushed behind her eyes. Tears overflowed, dripping down her cheeks, wetting their joined hands. Without a word he pulled her into his arms and settled his mouth on hers, coaxing her with feather-light kisses. Her shivers turned into shudders of delight and with a moan she parted her lips. He kissed her with a slow exploration that made it seem as if he had hours to do so, and his very leisurely approach filled her with impatience. Desperate urgency filled her and she pressed herself more closely against him. Her skin felt tight and hot, as if it had shrunk. She tangled her fingers in his silky hair and leaned back far enough to whisper against his lips, “I want to see all of you, Simon. Touch all of you. Now. Please, now. ”

Breathing heavily, he stepped back and quickly dispensed with the rest of his clothes. When he stood before her, hair disheveled from her impatient fingers, eyes glittering with desire, arousal jutting, a thrill of feminine pleasure raced through her. She reached out and stroked his erection, immensely satisfied not only by his groan, but by the pearls of fluid that leaked from the engorged tip. She painted the wetness over him, stroking his length with one hand while the other slipped between his legs to cup him, all while reveling in the sight of his avid gaze watching her touch him.

“I’m not going to be able to stand much more of that,” he said, slowly thrusting into her hand.

“Neither am I.” Her sex throbbed with need, her own slick wetness coating her folds.

Her words clearly inflamed him. He looked as if he wanted to swallow her in one gulp, a look that fired her every nerve-ending into burning awareness. With a growl rumbling in his throat, he grabbed her bodice and yanked it down along with her chemise. While he pushed the garments over her hips, she kicked off her shoes. When nothing remained except her garters and stockings, he simply lifted her against him and, with his lips claiming hers, walked to the bed, her feet dangling several inches off the floor.

He sat on the mattress then lay back, taking her with him. Her body covered his, his erection trapped between them, the hard ridge of flesh searing her. His fingers tunneled through her hair, scattering pins, until long strands surrounded them like a curtain. He looked up at her, his eyes intense, filled with need. “Ride me.”

Genevieve’s heart stuttered at the hoarse command. She straddled his hips, taking him into her body in a slow, deep, wet impalement that dragged a ragged groan from her throat. Setting her hands on his chest, she slowly rocked against him, lifting up until only the head of his erection remained in her, then sliding down again, loving the way he watched her body swallow him.

He let her set the pace, and at first she kept her movements slow, luxuriating in sensual sensation. The delicious feel of his length stretching her, the musky scent of her arousal mingling with his. The sound of his harsh breathing enraptured her. And most miraculous of all, she gazed in awe at the sight of her hands skimming over his muscular chest, her fingers sifting through the smattering of ebony curls darkening his skin.

His strong hands cupped her breasts, teasing the hard points of her nipples, each tug of his fingers shooting exquisite shards of sensation straight to her womb. She threw her head back, saturated in pleasure, her movements quickening, her orgasm a whisper away, a whisper that evaporated when he slipped one hand down her torso, to tangle in the curls between her legs and circle her clitoris. Her climax hit her like a bolt of lightning. She cried out as spasms of pleasure gripped her. Beneath her Simon tensed, her name a guttural groan on his lips as his release pulsed inside her.

With tiny aftershocks still rippling through her, Genevieve melted against Simon’s chest and buried her face against his neck. At least a minute passed before she could raise her head. When she did, she found him staring at her, as if he’d been waiting for her to look at him. His gaze probed hers, intense, as if searching for something.

Tucking a curl behind her ear, he said, “Thank you.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you .”

His fingertips traced her eyebrows. “For what?”

She wished she could keep her answer light and breezy, along the lines of “for the very enjoyable romp and much-appreciated orgasm,” but she couldn’t. “For giving me back something I thought I’d lost forever. For not finding fault. For…accepting. And finding beauty where there is none.”