He hadn’t realized he always led. Often, to him, it felt as though they were taking direction from each other. Except for last night, when he’d needed her so desperately and had set the pace, the frenzy. Not that she’d objected. Still, perhaps tonight was his punishment. As far as punishments went, it was one of the more pleasant ones.
Another button. Another, another until they were all freed.
With her nails, she lightly scored his buttocks as she drew down his trousers. The tremor that fissured deliciously through him with the scrape of her nails was nearly his undoing, and he almost didn’t notice that she’d gone to her knees in order to lower his trousers all the way. After stepping out of them and kicking them aside, he reached down to help her to her feet, but when his hands curled around her shoulders—
“No.”
He froze, waited.
She trailed her fingers up and down his thighs. “You have such firm legs.”
She pressed a kiss to his knee. His knee, for God’s sake. It very nearly buckled. Then an inch above his knee. The inside of his thigh.
“You often do very wicked things between my thighs with your mouth,” she said solemnly. She bent back her head, met his gaze. “Why did you never teach me that I could do something very similar to you?”
Was she insinuating what he thought she was? “Because I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.”
“Do you taste like Brussels sprouts, then?”
He furrowed his brow. “I very much doubt it.”
Her lids half-lowered; her mouth pouted prettily. “That’s the only taste I abhor.”
His groan came up from the soles of his feet. “Thea—”
“I want to taste you.” Her hands were clasping the backs of his legs, her mouth once again pressed to the inside of his thigh. “Would you like me to?”
How could she sound so innocent and yet so worldly at the same time?
“Yes.” It came out as more a croak than a word.
She nipped at the sensitive skin where her mouth rested. His stomach tightened. His hands fisted. He couldn’t take his gaze off the sight of her fair head so near to his cock. The unruly thing strained toward her. He had no luck whatsoever making it behave, no doubt because he had no desire for it to.
Her hands came around, and she closed her fingers around the base of his shaft, and now it had no choice except to do as she commanded. She licked her lips, then kissed the head, and the pleasure that shot through him caused every muscle to tighten. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair because he couldn’t not touch her when she was touching him so intimately.
“No Brussels sprout flavor,” she said, and took her tongue on a tour that left no part of that throbbing member overlooked. With a low groan, he dropped his head back with the exquisiteness of the sensations riffling through him.
A little death. That was what the French called it. He was going to die, here and now.
Then he felt her mouth—heat, dampness, softness—closing around him and every inch of him tensed. Glancing down, he watched as her head bobbed while she worked those plump lips and her velvety tongue over his sensitive flesh. “Thea... God... uh... do you know how beautiful you are?”
She didn’t answer, simply took him deeper, and he honestly didn’t know if he was going to survive her enthusiastic ministrations.
Chapter 27
Althea wondered if he could feel her smile. His groans and moans and occasional curses only incited her to torment him further. His fingers kept jerking, his thighs quaked, his stomach quavered.
It made her happy to realize how much he was enjoying this. Not in a giddy, laughing, twirling-in-the-snow sort of way. But in a darkly, delicious, sweet-agony sort of way. She was incredibly familiar with the madness all those contradicting sensations could create. He’d put her through them often enough. It pleased her greatly to be returning the favor.
“Thea... sweetheart... I can’t take much more.” Gently, he cradled her jaw and eased away from her. “Let me take you to bed now.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it.” Bringing her to her feet, he swept her up into his arms. “Kiss me, so I know what I taste like.”
Plastering her mouth onto his with an enthusiasm indicating she’d die if she didn’t, she swept her tongue over his, sighed as he sucked on her tongue as she’d sucked him. Their fall onto the bed broke the kiss but did little else to separate them as he took his mouth on a journey over the swells of her breasts.
“I’m torn between keeping this damn thing on you and taking it off,” he declared with vehemence.
