But that was for later. For now there was only the kiss proving all her previous claims regarding the makeup of her knees to be false as he plundered, slowly, sensually, thoroughly. The man knew his way well around a woman’s mouth, knew how to explore, how to titillate, how to come to know it intimately. She suspected he could sketch the inside of her mouth to perfection should he put his mind to it. He left not so much as a hairbreadth unmapped. All the while, he gave her the freedom to learn all the textures that made up this one aspect of him. Roughness, silkiness, hardness, softness. She took delight in each discovery as their tongues parried, not with animosity, not as though they were embroiled in battle, but as though they were engaged in an ancient ritual, the start of a journey that would prove them equals.

His actions struck at her poet’s heart, brought to life yearnings she’d never before dared to awaken. She’d known they were there, but she’d hidden them away, forced them into slumber for fear she’d offend her husband if he knew the hunger that gnawed at her in the quiet hours of the night when she’d lain alone in her bed, after he left, when the tears would fall.

She stumbled because her legs, blast them, did give out. Without moving his mouth from hers, he easily lifted her into his arms and carried her the short distance to the fainting couch where he laid her down, knelt on the floor beside her, and continued to ravish her mouth. His groans echoed around her, reverberated through her as he held her with one arm positioned at her back so her chest met his, his other hand cradling her head to give him the angle he needed. She didn’t want to consider how many women he might have kissed in order to perfect this move.

All she wanted was to take advantage of it.

She’d always thought kisses were a perfunctory thing, a greeting to the day, a signal one was retiring for the night. But he made it involve all the senses, all aspects of her body, not just her mouth and her traitorous knees, but her curling toes, and her dampening core, and her erratic heart.

He dragged his mouth along her face where mask gave way to flesh, then along her throat, over her collarbone. She whimpered when he nipped at the swell of her breast. When he closed his mouth over her nipple through her clothing, the remainder of her body melted.

He went still, so still. She was certain he continued to breathe, because she felt his hot breath penetrating the cloth, moisture gathering around her nipple. Then he eased back, cradled her face once more, and held her gaze. “It’s time for you to leave, sweetheart.”

She shook her head. “But you haven’t bedded me.”