He murmured her name like a benediction as he lowered her onto the sofa, her bare back rubbing up against the upholstery. “I want you,” he groaned. “You have no idea. No idea.”
Her only response was a soft mewling sound that came from deep in her throat. For some reason that was like oil on the fire within him, and his fingers clutched at her even tighter, pressing into her skin, as his lips traveled down the swanlike column of her throat.
He moved lower, lower, burning a hot trail on her skin, pausing only briefly when he reached the gentle swell of her breast. She was completely beneath him now, her eyes glazed with desire, and it was so much better than any of his dreams.
And oh, how he’d dreamed of her.
With a low, possessive growl, Benedict took her nipple into his mouth. She let out a soft squeal, and he was unable to suppress his own low rumble of satisfaction. “Shhh,” he crooned, “just let me—”
“But—”
He pressed one of his fingers against her lips, probably a little too roughly, but it was getting harder and harder to control his movements. “Don’t think,” he murmured. “Just lie back and let me pleasure you.”
She looked dubious, but when he moved his mouth to her other breast and renewed his sensual onslaught, her eyes grew dazed, her lips parted, and her head lolled back against the cushions.
“Do you like this?” he whispered, tracing the peak of her breast with his tongue.
Sophie couldn’t quite manage to open her eyes, but she nodded.
“Do you like this?” Now his tongue moved to the underside of her breast, and he nibbled the sensitive skin over her rib cage.
Her breath shallow and fast, she nodded again.
“What about this?” He pushed her dress further down, nibbling a trail along her skin until he reached her navel.
This time Sophie couldn’t even manage a nod. Dear God, she was practically naked before him, and all she could do was moan and sigh and beg for more.
“I need you,” she panted.
His words were murmured into the soft skin of her abdomen. “I know.”
Sophie squirmed beneath him, unnerved by this primitive need to move. Something very strange was growing within her, something hot and tingling. It was as if she were growing, getting ready to burst through her skin. It was as if, after twenty-two years of life, she were finally coming alive.
She wanted desperately to feel his skin, and she grabbed at the fine linen of his shirt, bunching it in her hands until it came loose of his breeches. She touched him, skimming her hands along his lower back, surprised and delighted when his muscles quivered beneath her fingers.
“Ah, Sophie,” he grunted, shuddering as her hands slipped under his shirt to caress his skin.
His reaction emboldened her, and she stroked him more, moving up until she reached his shoulders, broad and firmly muscled.
He groaned again, then cursed under his breath as he lifted himself off of her. “Damn thing is in the way,” he muttered, tearing the shirt off and flinging it across the room. Sophie had just an instant to stare at his bare chest before he was atop her again, and this time they were skin against skin.
It was the most glorious feeling she could ever imagine.
He was so warm, and even though his muscles were hard and powerful, his skin was seductively soft. He even smelled good, a warm masculine mixture of sandalwood and soap.
Sophie touched her fingers to his hair as he moved to nuzzle her neck. It was thick and springy, and it tickled her chin as he tickled her neck. “Oh, Benedict,” she sighed. “This is so perfect. I can’t imagine anything better.”
He looked up, his dark eyes as wicked as his smile. “I can.”
She felt her lips part and knew she must look terribly foolish, just lying there staring at him like an idiot.
“Just you wait,” he said. “Just you wait.”
“But— Oh!” She let out a squeal as he flipped off her shoes. One of his hands wrapped around her ankle, then teased its way up her leg.
“Did you imagine this?” he asked, tracing the crease at the back of her knee.
She shook her head frantically, trying not to squirm.
“Really?” he murmured. “Then I’m sure you didn’t imagine this.” He reached up and unsnapped her garters.
“Oh, Benedict, you mustn’t—”
“Oh, no, I must.” He slid her stockings down her legs with agonizing slowness. “I really must.”
Sophie watched with openmouthed delight as he tossed them over his head. Her stockings weren’t of the highest quality, but they were nonetheless fairly light, and they floated through the air like dandelion tufts until they landed, one on a lamp and the other on the floor.
Then, while she was still laughing and looking at the stocking, hanging drunkenly from the lampshade, he sneaked up on her, sliding his hands back up her legs until they reached all the way to her thighs.
“I daresay no one has ever touched you here,” he said wickedly.
Sophie shook her head.
“And I daresay you never imagined it.”
She shook her head again.
“If you didn’t imagine this ...” He squeezed her thighs, causing her to squeal and arch off the sofa. “... then I’m sure you won’t have imagined this” He trailed his fingers ever upward as he spoke, the rounded curves of his nails lightly grazing her skin until he reached the soft thatch of her womanhood.
“Oh, no,” she said, more out of reflex than anything else. “You can’t—”