When she pinched him lightly in the ribs, he groaned piteously.
“I needed a snack.” She sniffed, lifting that narrow-tipped nose high in the air. “But I suppose I can share with a philistine.”
She’d made the blinis for him. They both knew it.
And he couldn’t wait any longer. “Thank you, ma’am. Let me properly express my gratitude.”
Her mouth was salty and sweet, open and eager under his. Without hesitation, her hands slid down his back to his ass, taking a firm, possessive grip, and he moaned as her tongue glided along his lips. His own hands stroked her upper arms, the silky length of her hair, the curve of her waist. Then she bit his lower lip, her teeth a bee sting, and his pulse echoed in his ears as blood turned to flame.
He backed her into the counter, hard enough that he was poised to apologize. But she gasped into his mouth in response, parting her thighs, her fingernails sunk deep into his ass, and he discarded the apology in favor of mouthing down the length of her neck, nipping and sucking her tender flesh along the way.
His hands slid beneath her thighs, prepared to help boost her to the countertop, but she spread her hands on his chest and gave a breathless laugh.
“First of all, you’d give yourself a hernia. Second, I’d rather do this somewhere we can spread out. Like a bed.”
She was so fucking clever, his Rose. “What about the blinis?”
The skin of her shoulder slid beneath his tongue, so smooth and hot, and he wanted to take that silky tee and tear it into two. But it had probably cost more than his month’s salary, so instead he nudged the neckline aside with his teeth, traced her bra strap with his nose.
She tilted her head to the side with a moan. “I was keeping them warm in the oven. But they taste good at room temperature too.”
Clever beyond belief. “Then let’s go.”
She led him by the hand down her hall and into her bedroom, where an enormous slab of a mattress waited for them, lit only by a dim bedside lamp. A dark-wood headboard curved above the expanse, arching back in a way that sparked a new fantasy.
But he had a few things he needed to say first.
By the bedside, he let go of her hand to cup her face and turn her molten eyes to his. “I brought condoms, but if you want to use your own, no problem. Anytime you want me to stop, I will. Anything that doesn’t feel good, tell me.” Despite his nervousness, he had to grin. “Anything thatdoesfeel good, tell me. I may be too preoccupied with not coming to notice.”
Her swollen lips curved. “Same goes. Tell me what works for you and what doesn’t, so I can make this good for both of us.”
He almost laughed.
“Unless you somehow transform into a different person, there’s no way this won’t be good for me.” One more question, and then he could kiss her again. “Is there anything you want me to know ahead of time?”
She thought for a moment. “My breasts aren’t particularly sensitive. Play with them if it gives you pleasure, but maybe not for too long. After a while, I get bored or uncomfortable.” Turning her head, she kissed his palm. “What about you?”
Oh, God. Was he really going to tell her? When he hadn’t told his wife of twenty years?
“I, uh…” His face flushed with heat. “I like a little bit of pain. Not much. Not like a whip or paddle or anything. Just a little pinch, or—”
Her eyes flared. “A bite?”
He nodded.
She traced his lower lip, her finger rubbing over the mark of her teeth. “I got that feeling earlier, against the counter. I’m the same way. Do you enjoy hair-pulling and nail scratches too?”
“I think so.” The admission would reveal entirely too much about his marital sex life, but he had to tell the truth. “I don’t know for sure.”
Her slow smile poured over him like heated syrup. “Then let’s find out.”
* * *
Martin didn’t rememberhow her clothes had come off, or his.
He didn’t remember climbing up onto that enormous bed, or when exactly he’d maneuvered up against the headboard and coaxed her onto his lap, her back against his chest.
His few available brain cells were entirely preoccupied by the tremble of her thighs as he urged them open, draped them on either side of his own legs. The smooth curve of her shoulder and her gooseflesh as he sank his teeth into that muscle. The way she squirmed against him, her ass providing welcome friction against his cock. The silky fall of her hair. The heady smell of her arousal when he raised his knees and opened his own legs inch by inch, stretching her wider and wider, until she was spread before him.
