Embraced by Lora Leigh

hesitation.
“I’m not good at this, Sax.”
    Her fingers flexed against his chest as she
stared up at him, imploring. Vince hadn’t been her first lover, but his abuse
had all but destroyed her confidence. She was terrified of disappointing him.
    Shame coursed through her. She had known it
would be like this. He would expect her to participate, to know what to do, to
know how to love him in turn. Her throat thickened with rage and tears as she
realized she didn’t know, had no idea how to touch him, how to pleasure him.
    “It has nothing to do with how good you are
at something, Marey.” His voice was dark, deep, as he shrugged the shirt from
his shoulders, her fingers touching impossibly warm teak flesh then.
    She trembled at the feel of him. Strong and
heated, the muscles of his chest bunching beneath her touch as her lips moved
along his chest.
    “Just touch me,” he crooned gently, weaving
a spell of sensuality around her that was impossible to resist. “I’ve dreamed
of it, your hands on my flesh, your lips, your tongue, touching and stroking me
with your hunger. Show me how hungry you are for me.”
    Hungry? She was starved. She could feel her
hand soaking in the feel of him, sending the sensation to parts of her body
that shouldn’t even be considered erogenous zones.
    As she stared up him, she licked her lips,
her gaze centering on his. Perfectly, sensually full, they looked warm,
inviting. She needed his kiss. She whimpered with the need, suddenly
overwhelmed with the thought of touching and being touched. God, she needed him
to touch her. Just a kiss. One small, light touch of his lips…
    His head lowered, but there was nothing
light in the possession he took of her. He groaned, a rough, desperate sound as
his lips covered hers, his tongue stroking against the seam until she parted
for him, gave him permission to raid the warm depths of her mouth.
    One arm went around her, clasping her to
him as her hand roamed over his chest, his steel-hard abdomen. He might work at
a desk, but his body was in perfect shape, muscular and hard. So hard.
    She moved against him, feeling the wedge of
his cock behind his slacks, against her lower stomach. She trembled, pressing
closer, her head falling back in surrender, her body sliding against his as her
tongue reached out timidly to his.
    Racing, desperate, clawing lust bit into
her with a demon’s razor-sharp bite. She arched, sizzling heat blooming in her
belly and streaking to her clit, her pussy, her engorged breasts. Out of
control, her hands slid up his chest, his strong neck, gripping the back of his
head as his hands arched her closer, lifting her until he could grind the thick
erection against the pad of her cunt.
    She cried out, shaking in the grip of an
arousal she had never known before. Never, even in the darkest dark, when
dreams so erotic, so sensual attacked her, had she known such a powerful,
driving need as what she felt now.
    “Easy, sweetheart.” His lips moved from
hers, his hands holding her still when she would have followed, would have
begged for more.
    When he refused the caress, her lips moved
to his chest. Sleek, tough skin over powerful muscles. Her tongue stroked over
the dark flesh, her hands moving from his head to his abdomen. She wanted him
naked, wanted him hot and blistering with desire as she was. It was killing
her, the sudden, powerful sensations sweeping through her.
    “There you go, baby.” His deep, crooning
voice urged her in her madness.
    And it was madness. She was setting herself
up for a fall, a small weak portion of her mind warned her. This was
destruction. It was a fall from which there would be no recovering.
    Her lips moved to his abdomen, close, so
close to the opened waistband of his pants. And beyond. Beyond lay the object
of her desperation.
    She nipped at his tight flesh as his
fingers threaded in her hair.
    “Loosen my pants, Marey. Release my cock,
baby. I’m dying to feel your hands on me. Soft, silken