“You asked me how I wanted to use you,” she murmured, her words puffs that fluttered against his vest. “I came here because I needed you to hold me. To touch me. To shield me from the world just for a little while before I have to go back out and face it again.” She slid her hands over his stomach, up the ridged ladder of his abs until her palms covered his pounding heart. Turning her head, she pressed her cheek to his back. “I think we can give each other that. I don’t see anything wrong with both of us using each other.”
For the longest moments, he didn’t stir. Thethump,thumpagainst her hand the only movement. But in a sudden explosion of action, he wrenched out of her embrace, turned and damn near leaped on her.
Excitement and lust combusted within her, and she met him in a clash of lips, tongue and teeth, his beard abrading her chin and mouth in a sensual caress. God, it’d been so long. So damn long since she’d been touched. No, that was wrong. Not just simply touched. So long since she’d been touched byhim. ByAchilles.
The whimper that escaped her throat should’ve embarrassed her, but she was beyond that. Tunneling her fingers through his thick, cool strands, she fisted them, dragging his head down so she could feast on the mouth that had been taunting her for weeks. Impatient and so damn hungry, she licked him, demanding he give just as much—no, more—in return.
His big hands gripped her head, angling this way. Then that way. Then this way again. As if he couldn’t get enough. As if he’d never be satisfied. Join the club. He could suck at her tongue, nip at her lips, lick the roof of her mouth, and she would still yank on his hair, claw at his scalp, silently beg for everything.
This wasn’t a kiss.
It was war.
And goddammit, yes, she wanted to be a casualty.
“This dress. It’s been fucking killing me all night. How do I get you out of it?” he muttered against her mouth, his hands roaming her breasts, belly, hips.
Chest rising and falling on labored breaths, she turned, giving him her back. “Hooks at the back. Zipper at the hip.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Hurry.”
The next few moments were an exercise in patience as he worked his way through the delicate hooks of the corset-style top, but the brushes of his fingertips over her spine and the caresses of his coarse curses in her ears only heightened the rush of burning arousal in her veins. By the time the top loosened around her breasts and the skirt dipped around her waist, she trembled with lust, and gooseflesh pebbled her skin. And when he lowered the dress, the black material pooling around her shoes, leaving her clad only in a silk thong and thigh-highs, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to imprison the sob of need that clambered at the back of her throat.
“Turn around.” He paused. “Please.”
Thatpleasein his gruff voice, with a note of the same need that burrowed through her, nearly sent her to her knees. Before she could do as he asked, though, he grasped her elbow.
“Wait.”
He knelt in front of her, and the air evaporated from her lungs. Her body and mind were of one accord as they both recalled the last time his face and that beautiful beard of his had been between her legs. But this time Achilles’s attention wasn’t focused on her sex but on her feet. Carefully, he removed her stilettos and swept the dress to the side. He sat back on his heels, staring up at her. Her body had never been the “perfect” size four, much to her mother’s dismay. Even so, over the years, Mycah had come to not just accept but to love her body, regardless of others’ opinions.
And as Achilles’s gaze caressed her thighs, which had never been slim, her hips, which had always been rounded, her belly that had never been completely flat and her breasts, which had always been fuller than an A cup, she felt desired. Worshipped.
Perfect.
“You’re beautiful.”
Truth ran through his voice, in every syllable. And no matter what might pass between them elsewhere, here, in this, she believed him.
“You’re overdressed.” She hiked her chin toward him, arching an eyebrow at his shirt, vest and pants.
His hands went to his vest, and he shrugged free of it. When his fingers gripped the top button of his shirt, she sank to her knees. Lust pumped through her, hot and heady, as she brushed his hands aside and took over the task. With every slice of inked brown skin revealed, her arousal ratcheted higher. She squeezed her legs against the sweet pain in her sex, knowing her flimsy lacy thong hid none of the evidence of the desire dampening her upper thighs. And as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders, Achilles confirmed as much when he dipped a hand between her legs, stroking a fingertip across the skin just below her folds and lifted glistening fingers to his mouth.
Deliberately, he slid them between his parted lips, licking them clean. His dense, black lashes fluttered close, and he moaned, the sound ravenous. She whimpered, an aching tug pulling hard in response.
“Touch me,” she pleaded, past pride. “Touch me, please.”
His arm snaked up, hand cupping the back of her neck and hauling her forward. Their bare chests collided, his mouth covering hers. She tasted herself on him, and the faint musk enflamed her. She opened wider for his possession. He cupped her behind with both hands, squeezing, and she arched into his hold, loving how he told her without words how much he enjoyed her body. Adored her body.
Tearing her mouth from his, she trailed her lips over his jaw, down his strong throat. She paid special detail to the swirls, geometric patterns, lettering and biomechanical art covering his shoulder, arm and chest. He was beautiful, and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Silly. God, she was being silly.
“Mycah?”
He cradled her face. Or tried to. She dodged those big palms, ducking her head and flicking her tongue over his flat, brown nipple. His groan rumbled under her mouth, and she raked her teeth over the nub, then sucked it, drawing hard.
“Damn, baby.” He carefully removed the band and pins from her hair, then drove his hands through the curls, tangling his fingers in them, tugging, sending darts of pain scattering across her scalp. “Again. Do it again.”
She complied. Gladly. Placing her palms against his wide shoulders, she lightly shoved. One of his muscular arms wrapped around her, and he fell back to the carpeted floor. She took swift advantage, crawling on top of his giant frame, straddling his abdomen and moaning deep as those ridges pressed against her wet, swollen folds. Another moan rolled out of her, and she couldn’t have stopped herself from grinding against him if inhaling her next breath depended on it.
Why did she need to breathe when pleasure so intense was turning her into living ecstasy?
