Sara Craven - To Claim His Mistress

She shook her head, colour sweeping into her face. She felt shy, suddenly, and incredibly vulnerable in the face of his passion.

She tried to smile. ‘I’m frightened too—a little.’

He came slowly across to her, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders, his thumbs stroking the delicate hollows of her collarbone.

He said, ‘But I’m not the first? I can’t be.’

‘No.’ Cat, for one strange moment, found herself wishing desperately that her answer could have been different. That she could have told him she was still a virgin—that there had been no other man in her life and that the night ahead with him would be her true initiation.

She said, ‘Liam…’

‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘The past doesn’t matter. Just the pleasure of the present—remember?’

He bent his head and found her mouth with his. Her lips parted willingly, eagerly under the questing pressure, meeting the sensuous invasion of his tongue with her own ardent warmth.

His fingers slid down her arms to her waist, then moved to the base of her spine, his hands hard as he drew her against him and the heated passion of his arousal, and Cat sighed brokenly as she felt her body respond to his desire with its own surge of liquid fire.

When the long kiss finally ended, she was trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, her breathing shallow and driven, astonished at the depth of emotion he had engendered in her.

She took one small step backwards, away from him, staring at him with enormous eyes as slowly she hooked her fingers under the thin shoulder-straps and pulled them away and down, releasing herself from her nightgown.

As it slipped to the floor the delicate fabric seemed to shiver against her fervid flesh, grazing the hardening peaks of her expectant breasts, lingering for the length of an indrawn breath over her hips, until she faced him, naked, her body an exquisite challenge.

Her voice was a husky wisp, half lost in the depth of the silence between them. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

Liam made a small harsh sound in his throat. He untied the belt of his robe and shrugged it away, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the waiting bed.

He lay beside her, his lips on her mouth, her throat, as he caressed her breasts with gentle, awed fingertips. She arched towards him, yielding and sinuous, her hands beginning an exploration of their own, stroking his muscular shoulders, then moving slowly down his spine to the flat male buttocks.

He had, she thought, a wonderful body—lean, tanned and smooth-skinned, apart from a shadowing of body hair on his chest. Cat buried her face in his shoulder, absorbing the scent of his skin, marvelling how familiar and precious his nakedness seemed.

Only a few hours ago they’d been strangers, she thought wonderingly. Now, in this moonlit bed, they were becoming lovers, intimate and enthralled.

He muttered hoarsely, ‘Hold me,’ and she obeyed, her fingers encircling the taut velvet hardness of him, paying delicate tribute to his potent masculine strength.

Sighing with pleasure, Liam lowered his mouth to her breasts, his tongue adoring the engorged nipples until she moaned aloud with the pain and glory of it, aching for his possession, and felt him smile against her skin as he whispered, ‘Wait, my love.’

He moved slightly, turning away from her, and she murmured his name in disappointment and appeal, only to realise he was simply taking care of her by using protection.

He came back to her, framing her face with his hands, kissing her deeply and sensually. Then his fingers were parting her thighs, exploring the sweet, scalding heat of her, his touch light, but almost agonisingly precise. Now gossamer, now fire.

And at the moment when the sheer agony of her need was threatening to overwhelm her Liam slid his hands under her hips, raising her slightly to receive him in one powerful thrust.

She responded instantly, fiercely, her hands gripping his shoulders, her legs lifting to enfold him and draw him even closer.

He moved rhythmically and without hurry, sinking his body deeply into hers. Taking her with him quite inexorably, it seemed, to some distant place. Somewhere she had glimpsed so many times, but arrived at so rarely.

This time, she told herself. This time…

She heard his breathing change, the pace of his movements quicken, and knew that, for him, the moment was there. But that once again it had passed, leaving her behind. So when his body shuddered its way into the ultimate rapture, and he flung back his head, calling her name, she cried out too, her panting voice rapturous.

She pulled him down to her, clasping him as he groaned out his release, her mouth seeking his with unassuaged hunger. When it was over for him he lay very still, eyes closed, his body slick with sweat.

At first she thought he was going to sleep, and that was something she was also accustomed to. But to her surprise he moved, lifting himself away from her. Clearly he did not plan to sleep in her arms, and the realisation gave her an odd pang.

For a few long moments there was only silence, and Cat lay motionless, not wanting to disturb him.

Then she felt him stir, and the next moment his hand reached out, gently but firmly taking her chin and turning her to face him. He was lying, propped up on one elbow, apparently replete and relaxed. He was smiling faintly, but his eyes were narrowed slightly as he regarded her.

‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘how was it for you?’

‘Wonderful,’ she said, and smiled back into his eyes. ‘Surely you don’t need to ask?’

He said slowly, ‘If it was that great, why didn’t you come?’

She swallowed. ‘But I did…’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not a fool, Cat, and I know you were pretending. You were with me almost to the last moment—I could feel it—and then I lost you somehow. You seemed to—drift away.’

There was a silence, then Cat released herself from his clasp, biting her lip. ‘I—I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ His tone was dry. ‘Obviously I should have taken more time—been more considerate.’

She didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t think that would have made much difference. It just—doesn’t happen for me very often.’

‘Yet you wanted me,’ he said gently. ‘You weren’t faking that.’

‘I can’t explain it,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘It’s as if I reach—and reach—but there’s nothing there.’

‘And is it like that every time?’

To which the answer was, Pretty much, Cat thought. But she had no intention of saying it.

‘I don’t think that’s up for discussion,’ she said. ‘After all, we agreed—no past, no future, just the pleasure of the present.’ She paused. ‘Or are you some kind of psychotherapist, wanting to delve into my subconscious? Because I’m not buying.’

‘No,’ Liam said, a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘I’m the man who’s just failed to satisfy you. But at least I can do something about that.’

He pulled her to him, stifling with his mouth any protest she might have planned. But at the first touch of his lips Cat was beyond resistance, her surrender absolute.

His hands were travelling slowly down her pliant body, lingering, arousing. Making every sense, every nerve-ending quiver in this new awakening. And where his hands touched his mouth followed, feathering kisses on her vulnerable flesh.

His tongue teased her breasts, turning the rosy peaks to tingling hardness, and she closed her eyes, sighing, conscious of nothing but the piercing delight of the sensations he was evoking.

When he raised his head, she heard herself say thickly, ‘Don’t stop—you can’t stop…’

‘I’ve only just begun.’ There was a shadow of laughter in his answering whisper.