The heavy, honeyed mass tumbled about her shoulders, and he amused himself by running his fingers through its richness, gathering it at the nape of her neck, twisting it into
a thick knot as he bent his head to brush his lips over the fragile column thus revealed. Polly shivered deliciously and found the sensation incompatible with the stolid consumption of fruit. She laid the pear back on the platter, allowing her head to bend beneath the pressure of his mouth, the firm smoothing of his tongue in the groove of her neck.
He cupped the rounded edges of her shoulders, slid his hands forward to mold the shape of her breasts beneath her gown, rubbing gently with his thumbs until he felt the hardening as her nipples rose to press against the fine wool of her kirtle. Polly gave a startled gasp and moved her hands instinctively to cover his, whether to keep them at work or to push them aside was not clear to herself or to Nick.
"Come." He pulled her chair out from the table, drew her to her feet, turning her to face him. "There are things I would show you." The pure fire of passion flamed behind the bright green gaze, but his mouth was soft, his hands gentle as he cupped her face and kissed her. Her eyes remained riveted on the face so close to hers, as if only thus could she be certain of missing no nuance of feeling. The mouth against hers curved, and his fingertips brushed her eyelids closed before moving beneath the fall of hair to trace the perfect outline of her ears. Her body tautened beneath the caress, and his little fingers, in instant response, moved enticingly within the shell-like contours as his tongue ran over her lips, demanding entrance. Her lips parted for him, her tongue joining in a tentative dance with his.
Slowly he raised his head, licked the tip of her nose, a salute that brought the hazel eyes wide open in surprise. "Do not look so astonished, moppet," he said on a husky murmur. "Before very much longer, I shall taste every morsel of your sweetness, drain the last honeyed drop from your body."
Polly did not know what the words meant, knew only that the soft promise brought pinpricks of fire darting across the entire surface of her skin, a liquid fulness in her loins, a weakness in her belly. She shivered against him, and her
hands moved to her bodice. "Should I take off my clothes now?"
Nick took her hands, holding them away from her body. She was so ingenuously matter-of-fact. He smiled, shaking his head.
"Not this time, my flower. That is a pleasure I wish to take for myself, and in the taking would give to you."
He appeared to be talking in riddles, Polly thought, but they were riddles whose solution seemed redolent with promise, so she made no demur as he led her into the bedchamber, closing the parlor door behind them with a definitive click. He drew her over to the fire and set the tapestry screen between its heat and the window, shielding the flame from the snow-laden drafts fingering their way through every crack between frame and glass. He moved the candlesticks from the tiring table, placing them at either end of the mantel, so that they threw their soft light onto the hearth, where Polly stood tremulous, watching these preparations, wondering what they presaged.
"Now." He took off his coat of green broadcloth, and the close-fitting doublet of ivory satin. He came toward her with a lithe, springing step, the gleam in his eyes and the luster of his auburn head caught by the mingled golden glows of fire and candle. "Now we may begin."
The bodice of her kirtle came unlaced. Polly found herself looking down at his deft fingers as they flew at their work, the square emerald on his left hand, the intricate gold signet ring on his right, winking in the light. He slipped the open bodice off her shoulders, stroking her upper arms as he did so before moving his hands again to her breasts, hidden now by only the fine cotton of her smock. Her breath was coming too fast to catch, and she could feel her skin misting with a light sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire. He stretched the material taut over the soft hillocks so that the pink and pearl of her skin showed against the white, and the deep rose of her nipples stood out, sharply peaked. Polly felt more naked than she had ever felt, even when she had stood before him completely unclothed.
With the same deftness, he unhooked her smock. It followed the path of her kirtle to cluster at her waist, baring her upper body for the touch of his eyes and fingers. She could feel the fire's heat now, and the heat that was spreading from her belly, moistening the deep recess of her body, melting her joints and sinews. He held her breasts, one in each palm, as he kissed her again, but this time with greater demand, his fingers lifting her nipples as his tongue probed the velvet cavern of her mouth. Then his hands moved to grasp her waist, his head bent to take their place on her breasts. Polly whimpered with an inexpressible delight as his teeth nibbled their rosy crowns, his lips tugged, setting up a chain of sensations in her belly and between her thighs so that she moaned again and moved between the hands spanning the indentation of her waist.
His tongue dipped into her bosom's cleft, then trailed upward, painting fire in the hollow of her throat as her head fell back, offering the soft vulnerability. Her own hands gripped his upper arms, fingers curling against the cambric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the hard ridge of muscle. She found that the material prevented the contact that she now desired, her fingers, hasty, fumbling in their eagerness, tugged at the buttons of his shirt until they flew apart and she was able to push it aside, her breasts now pressing against his bare chest.
Nick inhaled sharply at this independence. He had not expected it, had expected her to remain passive as he aroused her, obedient to his orchestration for this first time, at least. It was a most welcome surprise. He drew back to look down at her. Her eyes were heavy and languorous, her skin damp and flushed with excitement, those peerless breasts proudly outthrust, grazing his chest.
Holding her gaze, he moved to untangle the wadded material at her waist, loosening her kirtle so that it fell to her ankles. The top of her smock hung over the waistband of her petticoat, and it required the attention of eyes as well as hands to unfasten the latter. He pushed both garments off her hips, his hands sliding, lingering over the curves thus
revealed. Polly quivered as the heat of the fire licked her bared skin, and passion's flame flared in the emerald eyes riveted to her body, clad now only in her stockings and garters and leather pumps. He dropped to his knees to unfasten her garters and roll down her stockings, lifted each foot in turn as he eased them into nakedness.
Still kneeling, he ran his hands up the straight, clean length of leg to hold her hips as he kissed her belly. She jumped against him, and his grip tightened, holding her steady for the nuzzling caress of his mouth, for his dipping tongue exploring the tight bud of her navel. Convulsively, her fingers twisted in the long auburn curls that fell over his shoulders, whispered against the skin of her abdomen. But when his fingers moved, parting the soft, golden fleece at the apex of her thighs, slipping into the moist, secret furrow, she started with a small cry of protest, pulling on his head.
He looked up, seeing the panicky flutter in those huge eyes, the quiver of her soft mouth. Slowly he rose to his feet. "You must trust me," he said, and there was quiet, calculated reproof in his voice. "I will bring you only pleasure, I swear it."
She hung her head in sudden embarrassment, but Nick caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eye. "Do you believe that I will not hurt you?" She nodded, knowing it to be the truth. "And do you believe that there is no shame in what is about to happen? None for you and none for me?"