Born in Shame
Page 62
“Oh.” It was a sigh of delight and admiration. This was a body hardened and defined by labor and sweat rather than machines. Experimentally she spread her hands over his chest where the skin was smooth over solid strength, and his heartbeat jumped.
Then hers leaped into her throat as he loosened the waistband of her slacks. Mesmerized, she felt him take her hand, balancing her as she stepped free. But when she reached for him, he shook his head. Even the patience of love had its limits.
“Lie with me,” he murmured. “Come lie with me.”
He lowered her to the blanket and captured her mouth.
He touched her with a terrifying tenderness, molding her br**sts, giving himself the aching pleasure of slipping beneath the cotton to test and tease. He needed the flavor that tempted him along her throat, over her shoulders. When his tongue skimmed, as his fingers had, under the material to lave her nipple, she arched like a bow.
“Now.” Her breath sobbed out. “For God’s sake.”
He only flicked open the front clasp of her bra and took her silkily into his mouth.
Tormented, exhilarated, she pressed him closer. Beneath him her movements were frantic, shameless. He was undoing her with tongue and teeth and lips, making her beg with stumbling, breathless words. The flash came so fast, so hot, she reared up, gripping the blanket in defense. The hard, jittery climax had her shuddering, shuddering until she fell limply back.
Impossible. Fighting for breath she lifted a weighted hand to push at her hair. It wasn’t possible. No one had ever made her feel so much.
On a groan of his own, Murphy pressed his lips to her flesh, letting his hand roam lower now, over the curve of her waist and hips. “Shannon, I love you. Ever and always.”
“I can’t—” Weak, she laid a hand on his back. It was damp, she realized dimly, the muscles tightly bunched. “I need a minute.” But his mouth was skimming over her rib cage. “God, what are you doing to me?”
“Pleasuring you.” And he intended to do more to her, had to do more to her. The need was building painfully inside him, all hot blood and violent lust he knew he could only chain down for so long. He tugged the skimpy panties over her hips, and nipped. “Pleasuring me.”
Her body was a treasure of dark delights he intended to explore fully. But the time for leisure had passed. Greedy now, he took, reveling in her frenzied movements, her gasps and cries.
He wanted her like this, helplessly his, clawing at him as he drove her ruthlessly into flame after flame. And when she was writhing and wet and wild, it still wasn’t enough.
He was tearing at his jeans as he took his mouth on a sprinting journey up her torso, over her heaving br**sts and back to her trembling lips.
She arched urgently against him, then her legs scissored to clamp hard around him. He shook his head, not in denial, but to clear his hazed vision. He wanted to see her, and for her to see him.
“Look at me,” he demanded, fighting to expel each word over the heart that pounded thick in his throat. “Damn it, look at me now.”
She opened her eyes. Her focus wavered, then sharpened until all she could see was his face.
“I love you.” He said it fiercely, his eyes lancing into hers. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” She gripped his hair. “Yes.”
Then she cried out in triumph as he drove himself hard and deep into her. The orgasm rolled through her like a wave of lava, leaving her shaken and scorched. As her eyes closed again he savaged her mouth while his body tirelessly plunged.
Mindlessly she matched his pace, leaping heedlessly into the storm they brewed between them. She thought she heard thunder roll, and lightning flare its wicked fingers across the sky. Her body exploded, shattered, then went glowingly limp.
Her hands slid bonelessly from his back. She heard him say her name, felt him coil, then shudder, then drop his weight onto her.
He let himself wallow in her hair, kept his face buried there while his system vibrated. She was trembling again, or still, little bursts he knew were the aftershocks of good sex. He’d have stroked her to soothe—if he could have moved.
“I’ll get off you in a minute,” he murmured.
“Don’t you dare.”
He smiled and rubbed his face in her hair. “At least I can keep you warm this way.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again.” On a little purr of pleasure, she curled her arms around him. “You’re probably going to get all smug when I tell you this, but I don’t think I can mind. No one’s ever made me feel like this before.”
It wasn’t smugness he felt, but joy. “There’s been no one before you.”
She cuddled and laughed. “You’re entirely too good at this, Murphy. I imagine there are a lot of women—”
“They were all just practice,” he interrupted and made the effort to shift to his elbows so he could look at her. The way she was smiling made him grin. “Now, I can’t say there wasn’t a time or two I enjoyed the practicing.”
“Remind me to punch you later.” She laughed when he rolled her over, and over again until they were at the edge of the blanket with her cradled against his chest. “I’m going to have to paint you,” she mused, tracing her finger from biceps to pectorals. “I haven’t done a nude since art school, but—”
“Darling, when you get me naked, you’ll be much too busy for your brushes.”
Her grin flashed wickedly. “You’re right.” She pressed her lips to his, lost herself a moment in the lingering. With a sigh, she rested her head on his chest. “I’ve never made love outside before.”
“You’re joking.”
She lifted her head again and aimed a bland look. “It’s frowned upon in my neighborhood.”
Because her skin was chilling, he reached for the spare blanket. “Then it’s a night of firsts for you. Your first ceili.” He tossed the blanket over her, fussing with the edges until he was satisfied she was covered. “Your first waltz.”
“It was the waltz that did it. No, that’s wrong.” She shook her head, then shifted so that she could frame his face with her hands. “The waltz seduced me. But it was when you sang. When I listened to you I couldn’t understand how, why, I’d ever said no.”
“I’ll have to remember to sing for you often.” He lifted a hand, cupped the back of her neck. “Pretty green-eyed Shannon, love of all my lives. Come and kiss me.”
Then hers leaped into her throat as he loosened the waistband of her slacks. Mesmerized, she felt him take her hand, balancing her as she stepped free. But when she reached for him, he shook his head. Even the patience of love had its limits.
“Lie with me,” he murmured. “Come lie with me.”
He lowered her to the blanket and captured her mouth.
He touched her with a terrifying tenderness, molding her br**sts, giving himself the aching pleasure of slipping beneath the cotton to test and tease. He needed the flavor that tempted him along her throat, over her shoulders. When his tongue skimmed, as his fingers had, under the material to lave her nipple, she arched like a bow.
“Now.” Her breath sobbed out. “For God’s sake.”
He only flicked open the front clasp of her bra and took her silkily into his mouth.
Tormented, exhilarated, she pressed him closer. Beneath him her movements were frantic, shameless. He was undoing her with tongue and teeth and lips, making her beg with stumbling, breathless words. The flash came so fast, so hot, she reared up, gripping the blanket in defense. The hard, jittery climax had her shuddering, shuddering until she fell limply back.
Impossible. Fighting for breath she lifted a weighted hand to push at her hair. It wasn’t possible. No one had ever made her feel so much.
On a groan of his own, Murphy pressed his lips to her flesh, letting his hand roam lower now, over the curve of her waist and hips. “Shannon, I love you. Ever and always.”
“I can’t—” Weak, she laid a hand on his back. It was damp, she realized dimly, the muscles tightly bunched. “I need a minute.” But his mouth was skimming over her rib cage. “God, what are you doing to me?”
“Pleasuring you.” And he intended to do more to her, had to do more to her. The need was building painfully inside him, all hot blood and violent lust he knew he could only chain down for so long. He tugged the skimpy panties over her hips, and nipped. “Pleasuring me.”
Her body was a treasure of dark delights he intended to explore fully. But the time for leisure had passed. Greedy now, he took, reveling in her frenzied movements, her gasps and cries.
He wanted her like this, helplessly his, clawing at him as he drove her ruthlessly into flame after flame. And when she was writhing and wet and wild, it still wasn’t enough.
He was tearing at his jeans as he took his mouth on a sprinting journey up her torso, over her heaving br**sts and back to her trembling lips.
She arched urgently against him, then her legs scissored to clamp hard around him. He shook his head, not in denial, but to clear his hazed vision. He wanted to see her, and for her to see him.
“Look at me,” he demanded, fighting to expel each word over the heart that pounded thick in his throat. “Damn it, look at me now.”
She opened her eyes. Her focus wavered, then sharpened until all she could see was his face.
“I love you.” He said it fiercely, his eyes lancing into hers. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” She gripped his hair. “Yes.”
Then she cried out in triumph as he drove himself hard and deep into her. The orgasm rolled through her like a wave of lava, leaving her shaken and scorched. As her eyes closed again he savaged her mouth while his body tirelessly plunged.
Mindlessly she matched his pace, leaping heedlessly into the storm they brewed between them. She thought she heard thunder roll, and lightning flare its wicked fingers across the sky. Her body exploded, shattered, then went glowingly limp.
Her hands slid bonelessly from his back. She heard him say her name, felt him coil, then shudder, then drop his weight onto her.
He let himself wallow in her hair, kept his face buried there while his system vibrated. She was trembling again, or still, little bursts he knew were the aftershocks of good sex. He’d have stroked her to soothe—if he could have moved.
“I’ll get off you in a minute,” he murmured.
“Don’t you dare.”
He smiled and rubbed his face in her hair. “At least I can keep you warm this way.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again.” On a little purr of pleasure, she curled her arms around him. “You’re probably going to get all smug when I tell you this, but I don’t think I can mind. No one’s ever made me feel like this before.”
It wasn’t smugness he felt, but joy. “There’s been no one before you.”
She cuddled and laughed. “You’re entirely too good at this, Murphy. I imagine there are a lot of women—”
“They were all just practice,” he interrupted and made the effort to shift to his elbows so he could look at her. The way she was smiling made him grin. “Now, I can’t say there wasn’t a time or two I enjoyed the practicing.”
“Remind me to punch you later.” She laughed when he rolled her over, and over again until they were at the edge of the blanket with her cradled against his chest. “I’m going to have to paint you,” she mused, tracing her finger from biceps to pectorals. “I haven’t done a nude since art school, but—”
“Darling, when you get me naked, you’ll be much too busy for your brushes.”
Her grin flashed wickedly. “You’re right.” She pressed her lips to his, lost herself a moment in the lingering. With a sigh, she rested her head on his chest. “I’ve never made love outside before.”
“You’re joking.”
She lifted her head again and aimed a bland look. “It’s frowned upon in my neighborhood.”
Because her skin was chilling, he reached for the spare blanket. “Then it’s a night of firsts for you. Your first ceili.” He tossed the blanket over her, fussing with the edges until he was satisfied she was covered. “Your first waltz.”
“It was the waltz that did it. No, that’s wrong.” She shook her head, then shifted so that she could frame his face with her hands. “The waltz seduced me. But it was when you sang. When I listened to you I couldn’t understand how, why, I’d ever said no.”
“I’ll have to remember to sing for you often.” He lifted a hand, cupped the back of her neck. “Pretty green-eyed Shannon, love of all my lives. Come and kiss me.”
