“Turn around and walk out of here, Isobel,” he warned her, his voice so guttural, he almost winced. “I’ll break your condition. I’ll put my hands and mouth on you. I’ll finish what we started in the dark if you don’t.”
A small, muted whimper escaped her. Almost as if she’d tried to trap the needy sound but hadn’t been fast enough.
“You’re not running, sweetheart.” He lifted his hand, let it hover over her cheek for a weighty moment, granting her time to evade it. But she remained still, and he swept the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, then lower, across the lush curve of her bottom lip.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”
“Your rule,” he whispered back.
“Break it... Break me.”
The request, uttered on a trembling breath, snapped the already tattered ropes on his control, and with a groan, he crushed his mouth to hers. When her heady taste hit his tongue, that groan morphed into a growl. Delicious. Addictive. He drove his fingers into her hair, tipping her head back so he could gorge on her. Yeah, he was committing the sin of gluttony, and resigned himself to hell for it.
Her palms slid over his sides and up his back, curling into the backs of his shoulders. The bite of her nails sent pleasure sizzling through him like an electrical charge, arrowing straight for his cock. He shifted, pressing harder against her, giving her full, undeniable disclosure to what she did to him.
Abandoning her hair, he dropped his arms, molding his hands to her ass, cupping the curves. He bent his knees, then abruptly straightened, hiking her into his arms. A bolt of carnal satisfaction struck him when her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms encircled his neck, holding on to him. Her mouth clung to his, that wicked tongue twisting and tangling, dancing and dueling. Damn, he wanted that talented mouth on his skin, on every part of him.
After quickly striding back to the couch, he sank down to the cushions, arranging her so she straddled his thighs. He broke their kiss long enough to fist the hem of her shirt and yank it over her head. All that hair tumbled down around her shoulders, back and chest, transforming her into a seductive siren. He wanted to crash himself against her and drown in pleasure.
“You’re going to take me under, aren’t you?” he murmured, voicing his thoughts.
“Are you afraid?” she asked.
He shifted his enraptured gaze from her hair to her eyes.
Yes.
The reply erupted inside him, ringing with certainty, but he didn’t vocalize it. Instead he cradled the nape of her neck and drew her forward until their lips brushed, pressed, mated.
Impatient, he stroked a caress over her shoulders, down her chest and finally reacquainted himself with the flesh he’d dreamed about before waking up, hard and hurting. He cupped her, squeezed...and it wasn’t enough. Ripping his mouth free of hers, he bent his head, trailed his lips over the soft swell of her breast, then circled his tongue around the taut, dusky peak.
Her cry rebounded off the walls and windows, and her arms clasped him to her. Her scent, rich and deep, filled his nostrils, and he licked it off her skin. In response, her hips rolled, rocking her lace-covered folds over him. The pressure against his erection had him hauling in a breath and bracing himself against the stunning pleasure barreling through him. He shifted beneath her, sliding down a fraction so his length notched firmly against her. He dropped a hand to her hip, encouraging her to continue riding him. Continue stoking the fire between them until it consumed them.
“You’re so sweet.” He lapped at her nipple, then drew it into his mouth, suckling on her, tormenting her as she was doing to him. “Dangerous,” he admitted.
Her only response was to buck those slim hips. It was the only response he needed. Switching to her neglected breast, he worshipped it, losing himself in the taste, texture and wonder of her.
“Let me,” she panted, gripping his hair and tugging his head up. He resisted, but spying her flushed cheeks, swollen lips and glazed eyes, he relented. “I want to...need to...”
She didn’t finish the thought, but with trembling fingers, plucked at his shirt buttons. Too impatient, he replaced her attempt with a hard yank. The buttons flew, scattered, and he tore off the offensive material.
“God,” she breathed, flattening her palms to his chest. He shuddered, the sensation of being skin to skin almost too sharp. “You’re beautiful. So...beautiful.”
Another shiver rippled through him, just as intense, but it was the result of her words rather than her touch. Or rather the stark truth in her words. When they were clothed, minds and bodies not warped by passion, he didn’t trust her. But here...with their bodies stripped...honesty existed between them. The honesty of lust and pleasure. She couldn’t hide from him, couldn’t lie to him. Not when the evidence of her desire soaked her underwear and his pants.
He loosened a hand from the soft ropes of her hair and slid it down her back, over her hip and between her legs. She stiffened a second, and he paused, imprisoning a groan as her wet heat singed him. But only when she melted against him, her whispered, “Please” granting him permission to continue, did he slip underneath the plain but sexy-as-hell underwear to the soft, plush flesh beneath.
She jerked, whimpered as he glided through the path created by her folds, ending his journey with a firm circle over her clit. The little bundle of nerves contracted and pulsed under his fingertip, and he teased it. She straightened, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her back arched, surrendering to his touch.
She was the most goddamn beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“I love how wet you get for me,” he rasped, stroking her hair away from her face, studying her pleasure-stricken expression. Dipping his hand lower, he rimmed her tiny, fluttering entrance. “You have more for me, sweetheart?”
He didn’t wait for a reply but drove a finger inside her. Her cry caressed his ears even as her silken sex clutched at him, convulsed around him. He growled, loving her response to him. Hungry for more. Withdrawing, he slid in another finger, stretching her, preparing her to take him so he wouldn’t inadvertently hurt her. And the selfish side of him reveled in the tight clasp of her body, in the soft undulations of her flesh that relayed her pleasure and impatience. Impatience for him, for what he was giving her. For what he was promising her.
“Can you take another?” he murmured, pulling free again.
“Yes.” Her fingernails denting his skin. “Please, yes.”
