His own mouth ached, his eyes fixed on her lips. Her head tilted back, her eyes drifting closed, and then came the sweet sound of her labored breath. A hot gasp rushed from her open mouth, over his thumb that pressed her lips harder, the only thing stopping him from tasting her. Beneath his fingers, between her legs, she grew softer, wetter, the core of her melting in his hand.

He could feel the struggle in her. Beneath his hands, she was soft but unyielding, her body drifting closer to his, yet tense and unbending. Her grip on his arm became rhythmic, pulsing in time with the stroke of his fingers between her thighs. And he knew she was lost. This was the moment, this–if he could pull himself from her now–when he would take his hands away and watch her body strain for him. Her own need would defeat her.

Slowly, he began to let his hands fall away. His thumb slid reluctantly away from her lips, so lush and upturned, inviting. His other hand he let fall slowly, so slowly, from the warmth, the heated slickness that he had made, until his fingertips just grazed her inner thigh.

Her eyes came open, and there was no guardedness there anymore. He saw recognition in her, the realization that this had been his design. But he saw desire, too. A desire like he had never imagined, hunger that matched his own. She held his gaze for a suspended moment, not moving. There was naught but static stillness between them, a deep breath amidst the drowning need, a brief balance before he would fall away and she would hang her head in shame.

But instead, her mouth came forward onto his, fast and hard, crushing his lips with hers. Her tongue delved boldly into his mouth and he pressed back, drinking her in at last while her grip tightened on his forearm and pushed his hand back into her heat, grinding herself against his palm.

Need, intense and explosive, washed over him as he devoured her mouth. It obliterated all thought, her unpracticed lust. His fingers moved in her, his arm tight along her body where she held him to her. He gripped her smooth, slim hip with his free hand as she whimpered into his mouth, over and over again. Through the thin undertunic he wore, her mail pressed hard against him – no feel of her breasts, nothing womanly at all except her mouth beneath his and the tender flesh in his hands.