COUNTERPOINT
An original romantic serialFrom Alina Adams the author of "When a Man Loves a Woman" (DELL 4/00), "Annie's Wild Ride" (AVON 8/98), "Inside Figure Skating" (METROBOOKS 11/00 & 9/99), "Thieves at Heart" (AVON 12/95) and "The Fictitious Marquis" (AVON 6/95)
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CHAPTER 27
Robin's heartbeat rang in his ears, his blood boiling to where he thought he might rupture with joy. He stripped Victoria quickly and skillfully, discarding his own clothes at the same time, until she lay magnificently, vulnerably nude beneath him, and gazed up at Robin with such faith, the sight nearly brought tears to his eyes.
He dipped his head, kissing her flawless mouth, her eyelids, her elegant neck. He cupped her breasts in his palms, cradling the delicate weight like so much treasure.
Victoria writhed beneath him, arching her back. "Robin...."
"I'm right here, love."
"Please...."
"What?" He kneeled over her, whispering. "Tell me what you want me to do for you."
She moaned, "Touch me."
"Where, love?" He brushed his lips against hers. "Here?"
"Yes...."
He flicked his tongue around the swollen nipple of first one breast, then the other. "Here?"
"Yes...."
"Here?" He moved between her thighs, lowering his head and kissing the burning, wet core of her.
A bolt of electricity shot through Victoria as she cried out, "Yes. Oh, Robin, please."
Her body was his now, all his, and Victoria promised never to retrieve it, if only Robin would promise never to stop his blissful exploration. She'd never known a deep, bottomless gorge of an ache could bring such pleasure. She'd never known it was conceivable to feel so utterly placid, and yet so lavishly alive at the same time. She'd never known she was made up of so many buried chasms, each of which seemed to open up and bloom at Robin's touch.
His face hovered over hers and Robin stroked Victoria's cheek with one hand, while, with the other, he caressed the inside of her thigh, making her gasp and murmur his name. He whispered, "You are so very, very beautiful."
"You don't have to say that," Victoria reassured.
The hand between her legs paused, and Robin's brows furrowed. He pushed himself up one arm, looking down at Victoria and asking, truly mystified, "You don't think you're beautiful?"
"I...." She was sorry she'd brought it up. All she'd wanted was for Robin to understand that he didn't have to shower her with false compliments.
"How can you not think...." He sat back on his heels, taking both of Victoria's hands in his, and tugging her upwards until they faced each other, and she sat perched like him, on her knees. Over Robin's shoulder, the mirror above Victoria's dresser gleamed their reflections. Tenderly, Robin turned her face in its direction. He said, "I want you to look at yourself, love."
"No, God, Robin, stop." She cringed, and tried to turn away, but he held her in place.
"I want you to see what I see when I look at you. I want you to see how beautiful you are through my eyes."
"I can't." She buried her face in Robin's shoulder, refusing to glance in the mirror's direction.
He didn't force her a second time. Instead, Robin maneuvered Victoria so that her thighs straddled his hips. Instinctively, he knew she'd never made love from on top before, and he was eager to introduce her to the pleasure. But first, Robin wanted to get her ready. His hands grazed her back, rippling soft touches along each vertebrae, playing her like an ethereal instrument, and sliding his palms down the back of her legs. He felt how hot she was, how wet, how eager for him when he cupped her in his palm, waiting for that first shudder to pass before snaking his fingers in to massage her ever so precisely from the inside.
Bliss-tinged pleasure exploded within her, weakening Victoria until she needed to slump against Robin for support. Her breasts burned from where she rubbed them against his chest, and her head spun. His tongue nipped her ear, the heat of his breath seeming to diffuse through her body like steam. She scalded on the inside and out, trying to impale herself against Robin's fingers, but finding that, every time she teetered on the edge of culmination, he'd pull away, whispering, "Not yet, love. We're not finished, yet."
She wanted to scream, but whether from joy or frustration, she could no longer tell. He seemed to know her every responsive spot, her every secret site. He knew just how much tension was too much and how much was not enough, and how much would make her twist with relish and wish that this moment could go on forever.
"All right, now," Robin's voice was ragged, rasping. He wrapped his hands around Victoria's hips, and, before she'd had a chance to utter her sob of regret at his removing them from between her legs, he guided her on top of him, and, with a roar of anticipation and relief, plunged inside of her.
Victoria's nails dug into his shoulder, the delights pummeling her senses at first too overwhelming to distinguish between, and so she simply clung to him with all of her strength, willing for Robin to steer them both. He bucked inside her, sweat dripping down his neck and lathering Victoria. The tension mounting within her every crevice proved unbearable in its sweetness, and, as it begged and bubbled to be allowed a release, so did a scream clawing primal at her throat. She didn't dare voice it, though. Despite all she and Robin had already experienced tonight, Victoria wasn't quite ready to relinquish that last vestige of control. And so she bit down on her lower lip, keeping her emotions inside, and both beseeching and dreading the inevitable climax because, on the one hand, it was all she wanted, and, on the other, it would mean an end to all this.
Holding Victoria tightly, Robin increased his speed, thrusting deeper and deeper inside her, savoring her body's tightening as it suckled him, and realizing that her pleasure was his pleasure; the notion surprising Robin even as he thought it. Yet, for the first time in his life, everything seemed to make perfect sense.
He rubbed his cheek against Victoria's, asking, "Good?"
"So good," she purred. "Oh, Robin, this feels so good."
She was right on the edge of shattering, Robin could sense it. And so, right before piloting her over the brink into ecstasy, he, once again, nudged Victoria into facing the mirror, urging, "Look at yourself, love. Look at yourself, now."
She did. Because it was Robin who asked her to, she did. And what Victoria saw, amazed her.
In the mirror, she saw a young woman who was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed rose, her lips rich and fervent, her blue eyes sparkling and full of life, her hair, no longer plain auburn but a divine mane of copper and cinnamon and henna and gold. Victoria gasped, and her surprise turned to exhilaration as, with a shout of his own, Robin climaxed inside of her, detonating a barrage of such rapture to course through her veins and vibrate every nerve ending in her body, that she could do nothing but clutch him with all of her might, then let Robin hold her through the aftershocks.
He cradled her against his chest, stroking Victoria's hair, whispering half-words and endearments that meant nothing, and yet meant everything.
Exhaustion flooded her. She felt weak, worn-out, weary.
And unspeakably wonderful.
Later that night, as she and Robin lay in each other's arms prior to falling asleep, he nuzzled the top of her head with his chin and whispered, "Say you love me, Victoria."
His behest took her by such surprise, she'd barely gotten over the shock, much less started formulating a fitting response, before Robin, sensing her predicament, reassured. "You don't have to mean it. I just like hearing the words...."