His hand slid lower and cupped her breast. She moaned with the intimacy of it, the pleasure that tripped through her when he skimmed his thumb over her pearled nipple.
She broke off the kiss, pressing her mouth to his chin, his jaw, his neck. She damned the cravat and the blasted buttons that kept her from going where she wished, from tasting him fully. Why tonight of all nights had he decided to prove that he did indeed understand the purpose of buttons and buttonholes?
He cradled her face between his strong hands, forced her to meet his smoldering gaze.
“I was wrong, Anne. I won’t be able to stop. So tell me now: do I take you to my bed or do I jump into the sea to cool off?”
She wanted to laugh, but all she seemed capable of doing was pleading, “Don’t go.”
Thank God, Tristan thought. Thank God.
He’d known she’d be exquisite but none of his imaginings had prepared him for the reality of her responsiveness, her flavor, her heat. His burgeoning desire astounded him. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. Even his past hunger for revenge was dwarfed by the need clawing through him to possess her completely and fully.
He wanted to exhibit the slowness with which he’d taunted her but he wanted her too badly. And she was wearing so damned many clothes. In between kisses he released buttons, untied ribbons, dragged off petticoats—
In between kisses she unknotted his cravat, gave his buttons their freedom, tugged at his clothes—
Between caresses he removed her slippers, rolled down her stockings—
Between caresses she pulled off his boots, drew his shirt over his head—
It seemed hours but he knew it was only mere minutes before they were breathing harshly, taking each other in.
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped. Her breasts were high and firm, her nipples a pale pink that he longed to taste. Her belly was flat, her hips narrow. He watched as her gaze traveled over him, and he couldn’t mistake the appreciation in her eyes. It was without arrogance that he knew he had much to offer, but he also knew that for a virgin it could be frightening to see the clear evidence of his desire for her. He should have doused the blasted lamps. He should have—
She placed her warm hand on his shoulder, met his gaze. “I want you.”
She devastated him with so little. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to his bed, set her on the sheets with care, then followed her down.
Anne welcomed the weight and length of him as he covered her body with his and once again took her mouth. She wanted to touch all of him, every inch. He was magnificent. Long legged, strong, powerful. She’d seen his muscles bunching with his movements as he made his way about the ship. In her innocent imaginings, she’d never envisioned that a man could look so beautiful. A handsome face, yes, but a beautiful body that promised something that went beyond pleasure. It was a fanciful thought, but it had raced through her mind when she’d finally managed to unveil him. She thought perhaps she should be frightened by what was to come, but she seemed to be capable only of anticipating it.
She skimmed her fingers over his chest, his shoulders, his back. She felt the raised welts that marred that incredible expanse of muscles and sinew and wanted to weep, knowing that he had once suffered such damaging punishment. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezed him tightly, wishing she could take the painful memories from him.
But she supposed they were partially responsible for shaping him into the man he’d become, the man who fascinated her, the man she now yearned for more than her next breath.
His mouth left hers to trail along her throat, and while she almost cried out at the loss, she welcomed the new sensations that arose with his explorations. He seemed to be intent on not leaving an inch of her unknown to his questing tongue. He lightly nipped her collarbone before easing down. He skimmed his lips over the swells of her breasts. He was wedged between her thighs. She rubbed her soles over his calves, arched her hips upward—
“Not yet, Princess.”
“Is this too to be long, slow, and leisurely?” she asked on a sigh.
“Long, slow, but hardly leisurely, once we’re into the thick of things.”
She wanted to laugh. Instead she moaned as he closed his mouth over her nipple and suckled gently. Conflicting sensations poured through her. Tension and lethargy battled. She wanted to relax beneath him, tighten herself around him.
He journeyed to her other breast and bestowed upon it the same attentions. She’d never imagined such dedication, had never realized the full extent of caressing, tasting, touching that making love would entail. She had always thought it would be over quickly. Instead she was discovering that it might last forever.
He ran his tongue up and down the valley between her breasts, turning his head one way to kiss an inside swell, then the other. She scraped her nails along his scalp, welcoming the long strands of his hair curling around her fingers. Easing lower, he dipped his tongue into her navel and her body tightened in response.
She raised her shoulders from the bed, clutched his, tried to pull him toward her. “I want another kiss.”
His eyes were heavy-lidded, held a hint of wickedness in them as he met her gaze. “I intend to give you one. Only on another set of lips.”
“Whatever—”
“Relax, Princess. I’ve thought of this too long to deny myself the pleasure of it.”
“The pleasure—”
His breath stirred the curls between her thighs and whatever words she might have been on the verge of saying scattered from her mind. She thought a proper lady would object, but tonight she was anything except a proper lady.