...“What do you think of this Finale,” he asked.

She listened for a minute. “It is very fast, Connor.”

“This would show you off well, passionato, sì?” He teased her, but something about this piece screamed “Glory” to him. “Do you know the length of the track?”

She got up and went to check the CD insert. “Nine minutes.” Her eyes closed to listen.

He picked up the bottle and glasses and set them on the stereo cabinet. “Can you picture it?”

She set the CD player to repeat the track. “Do you choreograph? Ah, Connor, I like this.”

While the music was slow and romantic, he took her in his arms and swept her around the floor a few times, accelerating as the gypsy violin grew wild and primitive. When the final chords faded, she lay breathless and limp in his arms. He covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was meant to be exploratory, small tastes and gentle nibbles. Their lips brushed, so lightly he might have imagined it except for the warmth of her breath against his face. Then her lips parted and his tongue swept between, stroked the serrated edges of her teeth, the roof of her mouth, her tongue, and suddenly, he wanted to devour her. But he chose to wait, to savor the taste of wine, the scent of her spicy perfume that sent him reeling and her hands searing his bare chest. He hadn’t even noticed she’d opened his shirt. Heat rose from her in waves as she melted into his embrace. Hot, she was so hot, and pliant and submissive in his arms, opened and offered to him.

She turned and lifted her hair with trembling hands. His fingers felt thick and clumsy sliding the delicate zipper along the silk of her back. The dress whispered to the floor.

Her arms crossed over her breasts. She hesitated to turn her nakedness to him. She didn’t need to. The mirror said it all.

He’d seen every curve and swell, held her body in the most intimate ways, caressed every inch of it, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of her honey-colored flesh bared for him. His eyes and fingers played along her satiny shoulders and spine. Head back, breasts thrust forward, she gave him the arch that never failed to send lust racing along every nerve. Hands to her hips, he pulled her close and lowered his mouth to the perfect curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“Let me see.” He breathed against feverish skin as she nervously lowered her arms. His heart stuttered. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Her head shook an almost imperceptible “no.” How could she not see?

“Your skin is perfect.” His hand grazed her golden torso, sweeping over the swell of her breasts and the chocolate-dark nipples, as he reached for her chin and turned her face to the mirror. “Look.” Smoothing her hair out of the way, he showed her what was beautiful to him.

“This is the face of a goddess.” He traced first along her brow, then drew a line from the corner of one long, Egyptian eye, over the cheekbone to the perfect bow shape of her mouth.

“My nose is too big,” she said.

Who told her that? He chuckled softly, then whispered near her ear. “If you say so, but it fits perfectly between here…” Tilting her chin in his direction, he laid feathery kisses to her eyelid. “And here.” His lips slid to hers. “This mouth is made for kisses.” He captured her plump lower lip gently with his teeth and let his tongue explore its silky texture.

She reached up to cradle his neck. Her body drew his eyes like a banquet spread before a starving man. He wanted to suck and bite and lick every inch of her sleek flesh, get to know every curve and hollow. At long last, he cupped the generous mounds of her breasts in his palms. Their weight surprised him, and so did the instinct to press their softness to his cheeks as he buried his face between them.

“I’ve never seen more beautiful breasts.” Again, he felt the “no” in her slight turn away from the mirror. “Look, Glory, really look. They’re perfect.”

A stroke of his thumbs and her nipples pebbled into tiny knots of arousal.

“Ah, Connor.” She groaned. A tremor passed through her and she flowed into him.

His balls tightened. His cock strained to nestle between her buttocks. The damn fabric of his damn pants came between them. Still, when she squirmed and those little sounds of pleasure emerged from her throat, he settled deeper into the luscious crevice with a low grunt.