He kissed her and held her as if starved for her touch, but gently, softly, with an infinite tenderness that made her ache deep inside like she’d never ached before. She let her head fall back over his upper arm as he continued to hold her hands, reveling in the feel of the hard muscles under her neck, and opened herself more fully to him, feeling his tongue, the roughness of it, the hardness, as searched out every sensitive spot within her mouth. Moments later, he reluctantly lifted his mouth from her, met her gaze with his slumberous one, and smiled. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Rolph …” “What, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.” “Don’t stop … touching me.” “I won’t. I can’t. I want … this … so much,” he said, kissing her throat, her shoulder, her arm, then laying a heavy palm on her lower abdomen, making circles against her quivering muscles.
