She had barely emerged from the bathroom, wearing a satin slip and robe, when the bedroom door opened.
"That was well timed," Daevyn observed with a smile as he loosened his tie whilst walking towards the dressing room. He slipped off his shoes one after the other before beginning to unfasten his cufflinks.
"Wait."
He looked up.
She crossed the room before he could continue.
"Let me."
One eyebrow rose fractionally, though he obediently lowered his hands.
Lysara smiled to herself as she reached for the knot of his tie, easing the silk loose with careful fingers before folding it neatly across the dresser. His jacket followed, then the cufflinks, each one placed beside it with the sort of quiet care that somehow made the simple act feel unexpectedly intimate.
"There," she murmured.
He watched her without speaking.
"There is something about a man in a waistcoat," she admitted, smoothing her palms lightly across the fitted fabric before beginning to undo the buttons one by one. "It's impossibly... proper."
His smile deepened.
"Proper?"
"Mmm."
"I should warn you," he said softly, "that I have no particularly proper intentions for the remainder of the evening."
She laughed under her breath.
"Promises, promises."
The waistcoat slipped from his shoulders, followed by the crisp white shirt beneath it. For the first time she allowed herself simply to look at him without embarrassment or urgency, tracing the lines of muscle across his chest with curious fingertips, discovering details she somehow hadn't noticed before.
"I think," she said quietly, meeting his eyes once more, "that I should like to decide what happens this evening."
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "Oh?"
She nodded.
"I want to learn you."
The words seemed to catch him completely by surprise.
"Learn me?"
"Yes."
She moved slowly around him, letting her fingertips skim across the breadth of his shoulders before trailing lightly down his back, feeling the subtle movement of muscle beneath warm skin. Reaching up, she loosened the ribbon binding his pale hair and smiled as it fell around his shoulders.
"I want to know how you like to be touched," she said softly. "What makes you smile. What makes you forget everything else. I know so very little about you, Daevyn... and I'd like to change that."
He stood perfectly still beneath her hands.
Then a slow smile spread across his face, warm with unmistakable affection.
"Whenever I think I've begun to understand you," he murmured, "you say something that reminds me how much there still is to discover."
He leaned down and kissed her. His lips against hers were gentle, and his hands slipped through her hair to cup her skull tenderly. He took his time, rubbing lip against lip, the most delicate tasting, his breath warm on her skin, his focus entirely upon her, and his eyes almost closed so that the green glittered between the burnished bronze of his eyelashes.
He eased back, opening his eyes fully, their gazes meeting. “I want to learn you too, Lysara,” he whispered.
He stroked his fingers down to the tie of her robe and slipped the satin from her to puddle behind her heels. She shivered in reaction to the static that the fabric caused across her skin, and he hummed, a purr of a sound as he smoothed the goosebumps that had lifted in response.
“You are so beautiful…” He murmured watching his hand travel over her skin, skimming up her arm and the down her chest, using the palm of his hand to stroke a circle over her nipple until it stood tight in reaction under the fabric. “Mmm,” his breath stirred her hair, drifting the fine strands over her collar bones. “I cannot stop thinking about you.”
He moved around her, scooping her hair forward over her shoulders to expose her back, tracing the line of her spine one knob at a time, before sliding the straps of her slip off her arms so that gravity dragged it down to join the rob.
“Beautiful,” he repeated the word reverently, and then scooped her off her feet, causing her to exclaim and grip at his shoulders in surprise. “I know,” he laughed, a soft warm chuckle. “You hate it when I sweep you off your feet.”
“I don’t always hate it…” She drew his mouth down to hers. “Like, right now, it’s actually…” Romantic, she thought as he laid her onto the mattress.
“Actually…?” He prompted, smiling a little as he stood back to release his trousers.
“Romantic.”
“I should be more romantic…” He lay beside her, his skin against hers sending desire burning through her. “I am sorry that I have not been,” he said softly, and when she looked up at him, leaned down slowly, his eyes on hers until their lips met.
His kiss was an ache of gentle desire, and she moaned, lost, reaching out to draw him to her. He moved to cover her, her legs parting for him naturally, and his cock penetrated her slowly.
His groan was broken as they merged as easily and naturally as an embrace as his hips pressed against hers. He did not thrust fast and with force, but pressed against her, before easing away, the motion smooth and sinuous, his body in constant contact with hers and his kiss deepening and heating, his tongue seducing hers.
Her hands stroked down his back and gripped his arse, holding him to her as the press of him began to slowly coax the warm burn of orgasm.
“Hmm,” he moaned the sound against her lips, his eyes closing and his arms curling under her to hold her against him. “Oh god,” the moan gained syllables as the burn turned into an ache and she came, clenching around him, his face falling into the curve of her neck. She felt the throb and hot spill of him deeply within her, the sensation adding to the pleasure of her orgasm, and pressed her face into his hair, breathing in his scent whilst her hands held him tightly against her.
His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer until she could feel the steady thud of his heart. She let her hands wander slowly across the broad sweep of his back, marvelling at the simple comfort of lying there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his embrace.
On the dresser, his telephone began to vibrate.
The sharp rattle against the polished timber disturbed the cufflinks resting in the porcelain dish beside it, the soft metallic clink impossibly loud in the stillness. She felt him tense almost imperceptibly in her arms.
Lysara closed her eyes.
Before she could stop it, a single hot tear escaped, tracing silently down her cheek before disappearing into the loose strands of his pale hair.