Kit Black Read Online Free Page A

swallow me, swallow us both in its intensity.
    He took his time, and he planned his actions carefully. He was thorough. And patient. He gave me everything before he even thought of himself. But he was also a firebrand in his passion. A lamb and a lion. I found that with each passing moment I loved him more.
    He confused me and delighted me in the same moment. He was a scrumptious, intoxicating mixture of everything I wanted, both wanton and wild, safe and soothing.
    I think that when he was a child he at first willed himself to suck and savour his treats and then, later, having tested his will to satisfaction, plunged in to gobble. He made me feel as I were the best, most glorious treat he’d ever had and in return, he left me wanting nothing.
    Perhaps his initial patience was in deference to my inexperience. Part of me, that willful, bratty, headstrong girl, wanted to hurry him along. I wanted to find out all there was to know. Now. To stand on that precipice and just leap with my arms spread wide. I do not normally like to be shown. I want to find out for myself, and I always want to lead.
    He didn’t stand for that. “Let me show you,” he said, taking my chin in his hand, his voice husky. His eyes were wicked with promise.
    He stilled my restless, shaking hands, covering them with his as he kissed me, more to reassure than to control. They remained there, threaded to mine, pressed against my quivering thighs.
    He moaned then, leaning forward, letting go of my hands, holding me tightly on either side of my waist. His face was angled up into mine, as if he was in some way giving himself to me.
    I threaded my fingers through the silk of his hair. He slid his hands slowly up my sides, cupping my breasts. The sensation made me jerk in response. I pressed my legs together to still the reaction there.
    â€œI don’t know what to do. I do need you to show me…I don’t want to disappoint you.”
    â€œYou’ll not do that. But I shall like being your teacher.”
    He rose to his feet and reached for my hand. “Come. I will not let myself take you without loving all of you first.”
    I took his hand, shyly, my legs so weak they could scarce hold my weight. “You’ll not need to take. I give myself to you freely and without regret.”
    He looked at our joined hands, his eyes closing slowly. I saw his throat convulse against to smooth skin of his neck. He pressed a kiss to the chapped backs of my fingers. When he looked at me, his green eyes glittered. “I shall try not to hurt you. Come. I can’t wait much longer.”
    He helped me remove my chemise, even if I told him I could do it myself. He said he wanted to undress me. He said he wanted to do it slowly so his eyes could make love to me as well. It was a strange and beautiful thing to say. He looked at me for a long time, my taut aching breasts, my waist, my hips, and my long legs. When he finally raised his eyes and smiled at me, almost in awe, I thought I might cry from the acceptance, the longing, the need I read within their depths.
    What I remember most is how he looked there in his bed, a bed so sumptuous and soft, I could not imagine such bliss anywhere. He pulled me down atop his body, brushing back the curtain of my hair, bringing my face down slowly to meet his, as our lips and our bodies joined as one.
    Afterwards, I remember watching as he slept, worn out from exertion. I looked at a fresh sword cut on his shoulder, still glaring red, an inch from where his heart lay beating. How close it had come to my never having known him. His hair had spilled on the linen pillowcase in loose, thick red-fire tinged waves. He seemed gilded by the moonbeams that streamed through the high mullioned window. When he opened his eyes to look at me, the prisms lit his eyes like jewels in their dense thicket of lashes. I remember how his lips looked, swollen by our long, heated kisses, stretching in a cat’s contented