“Can you feel how much I want you?” he said, his lips moving along her cheek to her temple. He pushed his hips against hers, the hard length of him pressing relentlessly against her belly. “Every night,” he groaned. “Every night I have dreamed of you, and every night I have been like this, with no release. But tonight”—his mouth made a slow, wicked trail down her neck—“it will be different.”

“Yes,” she sighed, arching beneath him. He was cupping her breasts, plumping them in his hands. Then he licked his lips . . .

She nearly came off the bed when he took her into his mouth. “Oh my oh my oh my oh my,” she gasped, clutching at the sheets beneath her for purchase. She’d barely given thought to this part of her body before. They looked nice in a dress, and she’d been warned that men liked to look at them, but heaven above, no one had told her that her breasts could feel such pleasure.

“I had a feeling you’d like that,” he said with a satisfied grin.

“Why do I feel it . . . everywhere?”

“Everywhere?” he murmured. His fingers moved between her legs. “Or here?”

“Everywhere,” she said breathlessly, “but there most of all.”

“I really can’t be sure,” he said in a teasing voice. “We shall have to investigate the matter, don’t you think?”

“Wait,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.

He gazed down at her, his brows rising in question.

“I want to touch you,” she said shyly.

She saw the instant he understood what she meant. “Sarah,” he said hoarsely, “that might not be such a good idea.”

“Please.”

He drew a ragged breath as he took her hand and slowly led her down his body. She watched his face as she drifted past his ribs, his abdomen . . . He almost looked as if he was in pain. His eyes closed, and when her fingers reached the smooth, taut skin of his manhood, he groaned audibly, his breath coming in shorter, hotter gasps.

“Am I hurting you?” she whispered. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She knew what went on between a man and a woman; she had more older cousins than she could count, and several were quite indiscreet. But she had not expected him to be quite so . . . solid. His skin was soft and smooth as velvet, but underneath . . .

She wrapped her hand around him, so intent on her exploration that she did not even notice the indrawn breath that shook his body.

Underneath, he was hard as stone.

“Is it always like this?” she asked. Because it didn’t seem comfortable, and she could not imagine how men fit it into their breeches.

“No,” he rasped. “It . . . changes. With desire.”

She thought about that, her fingers continuing to stroke him until his hand closed over hers and pulled it away.