Secrets of a Summer Night
Page 62
The elegant cacophany of the musicians jangled in her ears, reminding her of the imminent possibility of discovery. She forced herself to relax against Hunt, her body shaking. For the next few minutes, she would let him do anything to her, anything, just so long as he didn’t betray their presence. Hunt tasted her again, searching with subtle strokes of his tongue. She was shocked by the intimate exploration, and even more by the unspeakable sensations that shot through the vulnerable places of her body. Delicious weakness overtook her, and she wobbled in his hold, her hands groping for his neck, his hair, the locks thick and silky against her fingers. The tentative inquiry of her hands caused him to draw an out-of-rhythm breath, as if her touch had affected him intensely. He slid one hand up to the side of her face, cradling her cheek as he pulled back just enough to nibble and tease, catching gently at her upper lip, then the lower one, lavishing her with feathery brushes of warmth. Compulsively, she exerted shaky pressure behind his neck, urging him back down to her, and when his mouth took hers in another penetrating kiss, she nearly moaned aloud. Before the sound could escape her dilated throat, she tore her mouth away and buried her face against his shoulder.
She felt the quick rise and fall of his deep-vaulted chest, and the hot rush of his breath against her hair. Grasping the mass of pinned-up curls at the back of her head, he pulled her head back to expose her throat. The burning path of his lips began at the tiny hollow just beneath her right ear, awakening exquisitely sensitive nerves as he traced the line of a delicate vein with his tongue. His fingers slid over the top of her shoulder, his thumb finding the wing of her collarbone, his open hand exploring the fragile architecture of her body. Nuzzling the side of her throat, he found a place that made her shiver, and he lingered there until she felt another moan threatening to break from her kiss-dampened lips.
Pushing at him frantically, she managed to divert him for all of three seconds, after which he sought her mouth with another hungering kiss. His palm brushed over the silk that covered her breast, once, twice, thrice. With each slow pass, the heat of his skin sank through the veil of fabric. As her nipple tingled and budded, he stroked it tenderly with the backs of his fingers until it tightened even more. The increasing pressure of his kiss forced her head back in a position of surrender, opening her to the lazy caress of his tongue, the artful investigation of his hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen, her nerves shattering with pleasure, her body consumed with sensual heat.
He made her forget everything in those silent, febrile moments—she lost awareness of time, of where they were, and even who she was. All she knew was that she needed him closer, deeper, tighter…his skin, his hard flesh, his mouth wandering in heated trails over her body. She gripped at his shirt until it loosened from his trousers, clutching handfuls of the starched white linen in desperate need of the warm skin beneath. He seemed to understand that she had no experience at controlling this level of desire—his kisses became soothing, his hands beginning to move over her back in calming strokes. However, the more he tried to ease her craving, the worse it became, her mouth moving frantically beneath his, her body twisting in an anxious rhythm.
He finally resorted to taking his mouth away and holding her in a crushing embrace, his lips buried against the flushed curve of her neck and shoulder. Annabelle was absurdly grateful for the brutality of his grip, his arms forming heavy bands of muscle that helped to contain her violent trembling. They stood like that for what seemed an eternity, until Annabelle became hazily aware that the room was silent. Sometime during the past few minutes, the musicians had finished their preparations and left. Lifting his head, Hunt slowly reached for the edge of a curtain panel and moved it an inch to the side. Seeing that the music room was empty once more, he returned his attention to Annabelle, using the tip of his thumb to brush back a lock of glinting hair that had fallen over her ear.
“They’re gone,” came his rasping whisper.
Too stunned to think coherently, Annabelle looked at him without speaking. His fingertips traced the hot surface of her cheek, the swollen cushion of her lips. With something like despair, she felt the skyrocketing response of her unappeased body, the renewed vigor of her pulse, the wash of pleasure that slipped over her skin. That was the time to pull away from him, or her disappearance would soon be remarked on. To her shame, she remained still, her body hungrily absorbing sensations as Hunt continued to caress her. His hand moved to the back of her gown, and she felt the deft workings of his fingers, even as he bent and kissed her mouth again. This time she could no longer hold back the sounds; the small sobs that broke from her throat, the whimper of relief as the tight bodice of her gown was loosened. The cut of the neckline had made it impossible for her to wear a corset with cups— instead she had worn an under-the-bust style that had left her br**sts unconfined beneath her chemise.
Continuing to kiss her, Hunt drew her down with him to the upholstered window seat. He cradled her in his lap, his fingers smoothing the sagging bodice downward, and he made a sound of pleasure against her mouth as he discovered the fullness of her br**sts. Suddenly frightened by the realization of what she was allowing, Annabelle pushed weakly at his wrist. He lifted her body higher and pressed his mouth to the center of her chest, where her heart thumped in a hard, regular rhythm. His supportive arms maintained the arch of her back as his lips slid downward to investigate the plump rise of her breast. At the touch of his passion-heated breath on her nipple, she stopped straining and went still, her hand balling into fists against his shoulders. He took her into his mouth, his tongue brushing gently until the peak was wet and tender-hard, and her veins were filled with simmering honey. He whispered reassurances as his hand smoothed over her breast, his thumb rubbing the glaze of moisture into her glowing skin. Murmuring incoherently, she circled her arms around his taut neck, and gasped as his mouth closed over her other nipple and tugged gently.
She felt the quick rise and fall of his deep-vaulted chest, and the hot rush of his breath against her hair. Grasping the mass of pinned-up curls at the back of her head, he pulled her head back to expose her throat. The burning path of his lips began at the tiny hollow just beneath her right ear, awakening exquisitely sensitive nerves as he traced the line of a delicate vein with his tongue. His fingers slid over the top of her shoulder, his thumb finding the wing of her collarbone, his open hand exploring the fragile architecture of her body. Nuzzling the side of her throat, he found a place that made her shiver, and he lingered there until she felt another moan threatening to break from her kiss-dampened lips.
Pushing at him frantically, she managed to divert him for all of three seconds, after which he sought her mouth with another hungering kiss. His palm brushed over the silk that covered her breast, once, twice, thrice. With each slow pass, the heat of his skin sank through the veil of fabric. As her nipple tingled and budded, he stroked it tenderly with the backs of his fingers until it tightened even more. The increasing pressure of his kiss forced her head back in a position of surrender, opening her to the lazy caress of his tongue, the artful investigation of his hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen, her nerves shattering with pleasure, her body consumed with sensual heat.
He made her forget everything in those silent, febrile moments—she lost awareness of time, of where they were, and even who she was. All she knew was that she needed him closer, deeper, tighter…his skin, his hard flesh, his mouth wandering in heated trails over her body. She gripped at his shirt until it loosened from his trousers, clutching handfuls of the starched white linen in desperate need of the warm skin beneath. He seemed to understand that she had no experience at controlling this level of desire—his kisses became soothing, his hands beginning to move over her back in calming strokes. However, the more he tried to ease her craving, the worse it became, her mouth moving frantically beneath his, her body twisting in an anxious rhythm.
He finally resorted to taking his mouth away and holding her in a crushing embrace, his lips buried against the flushed curve of her neck and shoulder. Annabelle was absurdly grateful for the brutality of his grip, his arms forming heavy bands of muscle that helped to contain her violent trembling. They stood like that for what seemed an eternity, until Annabelle became hazily aware that the room was silent. Sometime during the past few minutes, the musicians had finished their preparations and left. Lifting his head, Hunt slowly reached for the edge of a curtain panel and moved it an inch to the side. Seeing that the music room was empty once more, he returned his attention to Annabelle, using the tip of his thumb to brush back a lock of glinting hair that had fallen over her ear.
“They’re gone,” came his rasping whisper.
Too stunned to think coherently, Annabelle looked at him without speaking. His fingertips traced the hot surface of her cheek, the swollen cushion of her lips. With something like despair, she felt the skyrocketing response of her unappeased body, the renewed vigor of her pulse, the wash of pleasure that slipped over her skin. That was the time to pull away from him, or her disappearance would soon be remarked on. To her shame, she remained still, her body hungrily absorbing sensations as Hunt continued to caress her. His hand moved to the back of her gown, and she felt the deft workings of his fingers, even as he bent and kissed her mouth again. This time she could no longer hold back the sounds; the small sobs that broke from her throat, the whimper of relief as the tight bodice of her gown was loosened. The cut of the neckline had made it impossible for her to wear a corset with cups— instead she had worn an under-the-bust style that had left her br**sts unconfined beneath her chemise.
Continuing to kiss her, Hunt drew her down with him to the upholstered window seat. He cradled her in his lap, his fingers smoothing the sagging bodice downward, and he made a sound of pleasure against her mouth as he discovered the fullness of her br**sts. Suddenly frightened by the realization of what she was allowing, Annabelle pushed weakly at his wrist. He lifted her body higher and pressed his mouth to the center of her chest, where her heart thumped in a hard, regular rhythm. His supportive arms maintained the arch of her back as his lips slid downward to investigate the plump rise of her breast. At the touch of his passion-heated breath on her nipple, she stopped straining and went still, her hand balling into fists against his shoulders. He took her into his mouth, his tongue brushing gently until the peak was wet and tender-hard, and her veins were filled with simmering honey. He whispered reassurances as his hand smoothed over her breast, his thumb rubbing the glaze of moisture into her glowing skin. Murmuring incoherently, she circled her arms around his taut neck, and gasped as his mouth closed over her other nipple and tugged gently.
