“We can’t do this,” he said.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Do what?”
He swore. She realized she was still bent over him. Like an idiot, she thought, starting to straighten. But then his hand was on her arm, tugging her closer. She didn’t know which way to move. Her center of balance shifted and suddenly she was falling.
Before she could stop herself, she landed on his lap—exactly where she’d imagined herself not thirty seconds before. His arms came around her, drawing her closer.
“You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about it,” he said quietly, right before his mouth settled over hers.
For several seconds Darcy couldn’t respond. She was afraid she was imagining all this. That the wine had gone to her head—so much so that on another plane of reality, she and Mark were actually having a rational conversation while her imagination created this romantic scenario.
Yet he felt very real as he pulled her against him. She wasn’t sure her fantasizing could have created such an amazing combination of heat and desire.
As she’d thought, Mark Kincaid kissed like a dream. Soft yet firm, warm and tempting. He didn’t take, didn’t hold back, didn’t give her time to think, which was all exactly how she wanted it. His lips brushed against hers in a sensual greeting that made her toes curl. His scent, the feel of his body against hers, the way his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him were all delightfully unfamiliar, but oh, so welcome.
He kept the kiss light, yet despite the delicate pressure, she found herself overwhelmed by need. Heat poured through her with an intensity she’d never experienced. She knew however unexpected the turn of events, they were very real.
Every cell in her body cried out for her to have her way with this man. She tried to tell herself that she had to be careful not to scare him off, that she needed to be the tiniest bit sensible and that it had been at least five years since she’d been with a man and she’d probably forgotten how to do it. None of that mattered. Not when his mouth moved over hers, back and forth, slowly, so slowly.
He tilted his head to improve the angle of their contact. Instinctively she parted for him, wanting him to kiss her deeply, needing that intimacy more than she’d ever needed anything. But he made her wait. First he nibbled on her lower lip, the pull of his teeth nearly making her cry out with pleasure. Her breasts swelled and began to ache. Without meaning to, she found herself moving her hands up his shoulders to his neck, then burying her fingers in his hair.
Finally, amazingly, he swept his tongue against the inside of her lower lip. Desire shot through her, making her cling to him. Something hard and masculine bumped up against her hip. The proof of his arousal made her brush her tongue against his, taking rather than waiting.
It was as if she’d set fire to dynamite. Passion exploded through her. Through Mark, as well, if his actions told the truth. Even as they leaned into each other, trying to kiss more deeply, to explore every aspect of their sensual connection, their hands reached for each other.
He grabbed her hips, lifting her. She shifted around until she straddled him. Instantly her hot, ready feminine center pressed against his hardness. The perfect pleasure of the contact nearly made her scream. She couldn’t stop the pulsating movement of her hips, or the catch in her breath when she found a rhythm that nearly sent her over the edge. Mark only made it worse—and better—by urging her on. The hands holding her hips eased her back and forth until they both moaned.
He pulled away enough to kiss her cheeks, her chin, then to nibble along her throat. He moved his hands from her hips to her waist, then around to her ribs. From there it was a short journey to her breasts.
She was too stunned to protest…at least that’s what she tried telling herself in the tiny part of her brain that was still coherent. This wasn’t her fault. Except she’dwantedit to happen, had imagined what it would be like. Instead of stopping him, she arched her back, pushing her full curves into his hands. He squeezed gently, then explored her. When his fingers brushed against her nipples, she cried out, exhaling his name.
When he tugged on the hem of her sweater, she helped him pull off the garment. He unfastened her bra without a single fumble, leaving her bare to the waist. Before she could even think about being embarrassed or stopping him, he straightened and leaned forward, then took her right nipple in his mouth.
The sensation was nearly more than she could stand. As his lips closed around her and his tongue flicked against her taut peak, he used his fingers to tease her other breast. She clutched at him, feeling the silk of his hair. Powerful muscles bunched as he shuddered.
The voice whispering this had to stop began to fade as desire pulsed in time with her rapid heartbeat. Tears burned in her eyes—brought on by skin long deprived of human touch. Every brush of his fingers was exquisite. When he stood her on her feet and reached for the button at her waistband, she didn’t have the will to stop him. Especially when his fingers trembled slightly. She looked at his face. The raw need in his green eyes reassured her more than words.
He unfastened her slacks. Before tugging them down, he paused to shrug out of his shirt. She had a brief impression of strong muscles and a still-red scar, but then he urged her out of her shoes and she couldn’t think about anything except him pulling off the rest of her clothes.
He settled back on the sofa, then ran his hands up and down her legs, pausing at the top of her thighs. The pulsing desire had only increased and when he swept close to the blond hair protecting her most private place, she began to quiver. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down next to him on the cushion. They kissed. A deep, stirring sharing of souls that made her shake even more.
Long fingers rested on her thigh. She parted slightly, so ready she knew that it wouldn’t take but a touch to bring her to climax.
“Mark, I—”
He touched her there. Through the slick folds of skin, the dampness, he found the one spot designed to bring her to her knees. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but silently beg him to never stop.
He read her mind.
With agonizing slowness, he circled the sensitive place, then returned to brush over the swollen nerve center. Twice more he repeated the process and, on the third lap, she lost herself.
Her climax shuddered through her with the intensity of a volcano. He deepened the kiss, swallowing her cries as pleasure rippled through her, making her shake and cling to him. He touched her lightly until the last tremor faded.
He drew back slightly and stroked her cheek. When she finally gathered the courage to open her eyes, she found him smiling at her. The slow, easy, masculine smile of a man who has just pleased a woman.
“Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “It’s been some time since I’ve, ah…”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
