Further Than Passion by Cheryl Holt Page A

would progress, how it would conclude.
    At least, he assumed he could. The fiendish concoction had him so befuddled that he couldn't attest to what was real and what wasn't.
    "Have you lain with a man before, Kate?"
    She snorted. "Dozens and dozens of them. Gentlemen beat a path to my door. I can't chase them away with a stick."
    "Have you any idea what I desire from you?"
    "No."
    Except that she'd been in his room, had seen him with Pamela. So she had some notion.
     
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    Feeling like a virgin, learning his way, he kissed her. She was so unique, so fine, and he was so enamored. He was terrified that he'd proceed too fast, that he'd demand too much, that he would scare her with his burgeoning passion. He'd planned for every second to be extraordinary, and he had to show her how much he treasured her. But how?
    His paramours never mattered to him. He wasn't concerned with their happiness, yet with her, he was like a lad with his first girl.
    He deepened the embrace, his tongue flicking at her bottom lip. Asking. Asking again. She opened and welcomed him inside, and he toyed and played, teased and tormented. He caressed her everywhere, and tentatively her arms folded around him. She was eager to caress him in return, but hesitant as to whether she should.
    "It's all right to touch me, Kate. I like it."
    "You make me want to be so wicked."
    "I've never considered a tad of wickedness to be a bad trait in a female."
    "You wouldn't."
    She joined in, her fervor exhilarating and enchanting. She dallied with the wantonness of a courtesan, but the naturalness and curiosity of a sheltered maid. The incongruity drove him wild.
    Exploring, she sifted her fingers through his hair, ran them across his shoulders and back, but she wasn't brave enough to dip any further. The expectation, the yearning for what she might do, was careening him to a fevered ledge.
    In no time at all, he was too aroused to be prudent, and he worried that he'd instigate something reckless,
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    something irreversible. Was he bent on deflowering her? Could he steal her chastity, here and now, with scarcely an instant of deliberation or preparation? Was she ready? Was he?
    He clasped the strap of her negligee and slid it down, baring the creamy swell of her bosom. Her breast was exposed, her erect nipple jutting out, and he pinched it, squeezing lightly.
    "Oh, Marcus ... we shouldn' t ... we can' t ... you don' t ..."
    "We can do whatever we please, Kate. There's no one to tell us no. "
    "But it's wrong."
    "It's not wrong."
    "It's the tincture you drank."
    "I thought you said it's used for treating womanly ailments."
    Caught in a lie, she stammered, "Wel l. .. wel l ... it is, but it's obviously causing you to behave irrationally."
    "You regard making love to be irrational ?”
    "It is when you're so fixated on me as your partner!"
    "Are you trying to persuade yourself that I need to imbibe of a potion before you'd captivate me?" He grinned. "You're so perfect, Kate. And all mine."
    "I don't understand what you want from me," she protested miserably.
    "Yes, you do."
    Abandoning her mouth, he blazed a trail down her neck, her chest, to her nipple. He licked and laved it, then he suckled her, and he couldn't believe how the action calmed him, how it pacified and comforted.
    "Oh, oh yes ..." She sighed, and she seemed to add, "I dreamed of this...."
     
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    He wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. Had they experienced the same erotic reverie? Was it possible? Or was it merely another baf f ling consequence of the drug?
    She drew him closer, urging him to feast. He bit and nibbled, until the extended tip was moist and inflamed; then he shifted to her other breast and gave it the same fierce attention.
    Down below, he was pressing into her, letting her discern how hard he was, how desperately he desired her, and she adopted his tempo, her hips working with his in a furious rhythm. Her ardor was spiraling, and he was anxious to push her to the edge, to shove her