One Night in the Orient by Robyn Donald Page B

long, half-sobbing moan. His mouth took hers again, delving deep into her sweet depths, transmuting desire into the fierce intensity she craved.
    He lifted his head and almost soundlessly said, “Do you want
this?”
    All she could think of was to repeat his assertion on the dance floor. “I
want.”
    She shuddered with excitement and pleasure when his lips traced a path to her breast before closing over the eager, burgeoning tip.
    Nick slid his hands down to cup her breasts and, too soon, further on again to her narrow waist. His touch was sure and gentle; some taut inner part of her began to relax, letting her enjoy with sensuous pleasure his slow, confident exploration of her body.
    And then he pushed her remaining garment down, and further down, until it was peeled away from her.
    Enraptured by the progress of those knowing fingers, Siena forced her eyes to stay open. Without volition, her hand splayed out across his chest, pale against the iron muscles there. Awe filled her when she felt them flex against her palm.
    Delicately he probed, found the centre of her desire. Her breath quickened.
    His touch was like an explosion, a sunburst of sensation that swirled through her, brilliant and unbearably good, and much—too much—more than she could cope with.
    “Nick …”
    The word came out softly on a sigh, the merest breath of delight and anticipation, echoing her unspoken conviction that she could let herself go with him wherever he took her.
    With Nick she felt utterly safe.
    Safe?
As though that small, unromantic word was some sort of precious talisman, her body arched into a bow when the first wave of ecstasy broke through her. Her hands clenched on him, eagerly demanding, and she cried out, wondering and triumphant while she rode those waves until they eased, leaving her dreamy and lax in his arms.
    “I didn’t know,” she whispered, still lost to everything but the fading transcendent delight that held her prisoner.
    Nick bent a searching look onto her face. In a raw voice he demanded, “Is this your first orgasm?”
    Turning her head into his chest, she fought a strange reluctance to answer.
    He lifted her chin and searched her flushed face with glittering eyes. “Tell me, Siena,” he insisted, with formidable determination.
    “Yes,” she whispered finally.
    Siena didn’t expand; five years before he hadn’t realised she was a virgin and he’d been angry afterwards. Nothing since then had compared to the rapture she’d just felt.
    He said nothing for a few seconds. Secure in his arms, she mourned as the rapture sank into a delicious, lazily sensuous aftermath.
    “How do you feel now?” he asked.
    Pulling away, she risked a glance at his face. It revealed nothing, the expressionless mask firmly back in place.
    Chilled, she said, “Good. I mean, great.”
Calm down,
she ordered, and took a deep breath. “Why do you ask?”
    His voice was carefully neutral. “I wondered if you’d like to stop there.”
    Siena looked blankly at him, but asked in her turn, “Would
you
like to?”
    And held her breath until he said, “No.”
    “Oh, good,” she said fervently.
    Nick’s laughter was low and unforced. “Then we’re both in agreement.”
    He bent his head and kissed her again, making himself master of the soft depths of her mouth. To her rash exhilaration the smouldering embers of her desire flared into flames again.
    This time it was even more … more everything, she thought, as he acquainted her with pleasure points she hadn’t known existed and with skilful patience led heron a long, infinitely fulfilling path to the moment when at last he eased over her and into her.
    Wide-eyed, she stared at him. He was so controlled, she thought with a frisson of unease.
    “All right?” he asked quietly.
    “Yes.” How could he discipline his reactions like that? Hers were headstrong and intoxicating and utterly irresistible.
    And why was he asking? Surely he understood by now that she was neither