Sara Craven Tribute Collection

He stripped with deftness and grace, and without apparent self-consciousness, although she knew he was watching her watch him.

Watching her widening eyes, and the swift, betraying flush that stained her cheeks as she absorbed his lean, strong, totally masculine beauty. The flutter of the muscles in her suddenly dry throat, as apprehension took hold. As she remembered…

Her eyes and her mind went blank. She wanted to run—to hide—to be a thousand miles from this place—this room—this bed—where pain and humiliation waited for her all over again.

The flame in her veins was cooling to ice. The swift, mindless rapture that had consumed her such a short time ago had burned itself out, leaving her with only the ashes.

She thought, Oh, God—what can I do? What can I say…?

She felt the bed dip as he came to lie beside her. Heard him say her name with a question in his voice.

Fingers as gentle as the brush of a feather stroked her hot cheek, then inexorably turned her face towards him.

He said quietly, ‘Tell me.’

Pointless to pretend she didn’t understand.

She said, falteringly, ‘I’m not a virgin—at least, not completely.’

She’d been afraid he would laugh, or be scornful, but instead he nodded, the green eyes thoughtful.

‘You are telling me that you have made love with your fidanzato after all?’

‘Not—exactly.’ She swallowed. ‘This is—so difficult to explain.’

‘No,’ Marco said. ‘You forget—I have seen your eyes, mia bella. And I do not believe that your first surrender was a happy experience for you. Is that what you are trying to say?’

‘Yes—I suppose.’ She flushed unhappily, avoiding his gaze. ‘But it wasn’t Chris’s fault. I just didn’t realise it would—hurt so much.’

She tried to smile. ‘It’s so ridiculous. I’m a twenty-first century woman, not some early Victorian. It never occurred to me…’ Her voice trailed into silence.

He stroked her hair back from her forehead. ‘And when the pain was over, did he give you pleasure?’

He sounded totally matter-of-fact—as if he was asking if she thought it would rain tomorrow, she told herself, bewildered.

She said stiltedly, ‘He was very—kind about it. But, naturally, he was terribly upset that he’d hurt me. So he suggested it might be better—to wait—before trying again. So we—have…’

‘Such amazing self-control.’ The cool drawl held a sudden bite. ‘I am filled with admiration.’

‘He was thinking of me,’ Flora defended swiftly.

He shrugged a negligent shoulder. ‘Did I suggest otherwise?’

‘And it was my problem—my failure,’ she went on with determination.

‘With lovers, there is no question of failure,’ he said softly. ‘Some times are better than others—that is all.’ He paused. ‘As for this problem you believe you have—we shall solve it together.’

Her voice shook. ‘I don’t think—I can…’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But you will. And that is a promise, Flora mia. So, do you believe me? Say, “Yes, Marco.”’

A tiny shaken laugh escaped her. ‘Yes, Marco.’

‘Then why are you still trembling?’

She thought, Because no matter how scared I might be, you make me tremble—and burn—and shiver—and ache. And even if I had all the experience in the world you would still possess the power to do this to me. Because—with you—I cannot help myself.

She said, with a catch in her voice, ‘I think you know…’

He said quietly, ‘Perhaps.’

He framed her face in his hands and began to kiss her again, lightly and sensuously, making no further demands until her taut body began gradually to relax and her lips parted for him on a little sigh of acceptance. His kiss deepened, showing her a glimpse of hunger held well in check. Leaving her almost disappointed when he took his mouth from hers.

He held her for a long time, murmuring to her in his own language, his long fingers stroking her tumbled hair, her cheek, the line of her throat, his gentleness a reassurance. And a seduction.

When his lips next touched hers Flora responded like a flower turning to the sun, offering her mouth’s inner sweetness without restraint.

As they kissed Marco began to caress her, the experienced hands slowly rediscovering the curves and planes of her body, revealing them to her anew through his touch.

She had never known there could be such excitement in the brush of skin on skin. She was warming deliciously, her body tinglingly alive to the subtle caress of his fingers, so intent on every new sensation he was offering that she hardly knew the moment when he slipped off her final covering and she was naked in his arms at last.

When his hand parted her thighs, her little gasp was lost under the answering pressure of his lips, as he kissed her deeply and with mounting sensuality. And any sense of shock or shyness was drowned in the flood of sensation which instantly assailed her.

His fingers stroked and tantalised, demanding her quivering body to yield up its most intimate secrets to him. Turning her slowly and deliberately to liquid fire.

She began to move in response to his caress, her body arching tautly towards him as his lips returned to her breasts, suckling the rosy peaks with voluptuous delight. At the same time his exploring hand discovered, then focused on another tiny hidden mound, moving gently and rhythmically on its moist, silken pinnacle.

She was making small helpless sounds in her throat, her head twisting involuntarily on the pillow. She was dissolving in pleasure, her attention absorbed, blindly concentrated on the delicate arousing play of his fingertips with an intensity that bordered on pain. Nothing existed but this man and what he was doing to her, she thought, as her breathing changed and even this last contact with reality slid away.

Even so, the final dark waves of ecstasy caught her unawares, lifting her to a sphere she had never known existed and holding her there, suspended in some rapturous vacuum, while she called out in a voice she didn’t recognise and her body shattered into the uncontrollable spasms of her first climax.

She descended slowly, every inch of her body throbbing with a new languor yet feeling alive as never before.

She lifted heavy eyelids and looked up at her lover, and her hand went up to touch his face, feeling the taut jaw muscles clench under her fingers. He captured her questioning fingers and carried them to his lips, biting the tips gently.

She said softly, huskily, ‘Is it appropriate to say thank you?’

‘If you wish.’ There was a smile in his voice, and his mouth was curving in disturbingly sensual appreciation.

Flora realised suddenly that he was moving—positioning himself over her without haste but with definite purpose. ‘But I would prefer a more—tangible demonstration, mia cara,’ he added softly, easing his way into her newly slackened and totally receptive body.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and startled as she felt herself filled—possessed utterly.

‘Hold me,’ he instructed tautly, and she obeyed, her hands clinging to the smooth brown shoulders as he began to thrust into her, gently at first, his eyes watching hers for any sign of fear or reluctance, and then more powerfully—more urgently.

She had thought that he had taken her to the extremes of sensation, and beyond. That she was sated—content to be passive while he took his own satisfaction.

But, as she soon discovered with astonishment, she was wrong. Because her body was answering him—mirroring the strong, controlled rhythm of his lovemaking.