Their bodies strained to be closer, hard and demanding. Sara didn’t know if he carried her to the bed or if she floated, didn’t know which of them threw back the covers. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t known what to expect of Andres as a lover. She knew the tenderness of his love and had glimpsed the strength of his passion, but nothing had prepared her for the astonishing depth of his ability to give of himself. He hid nothing, held back nothing. She had never felt so loved in her life. He murmured endearments in English and Spanish as he loved her, his caresses achingly sensitive. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, he looked at her as if something of inestimable beauty and wonder had been given to him. He couldn’t stop kissing her, couldn’t stop touching heated, quivering flesh. “Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured in a raspy voice, the warmth of his breath teasing even as his tone compelled. His lips lightly brushed a nipple hardened with wanting him, and his big hands slowly slid up her narrow waist until the swelling fullness of her breasts was captured.
