“What are you waiting for, then?” I was nearly gasping.
“This isn’t something we need to rush. Taking my time ... that’s the key. I want to touch you in all the right ways. I want to taste every bit of your skin. And we have all night.”
I arched my neck back so that my eyes were staring up into his. “But if you don’t put your hands on my nipples right now, I might die from wanting you.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Vincent lowered his face until his lips hovered above mine. “No dying. But the wanting ... that’s never a bad thing.”
“For the love of God, fucking kiss me.” I reached up and pulled him down, taking what he was so slow to give, kissing him with reckless and total abandon. The second our mouths met, his hands slid the rest of the way down my dress, closing over my breasts.
I groaned into him, curving upward toward his body, eager for him to take all of me and needing his touch more than I needed my next heartbeat. His fingers sought my nipples, pinching them and pulling them taut before he let them go.
“Need—to taste.” Finally, he sounded as desperate as I was. “Jesus, Amanda—” His mouth journeyed down the column of my throat. “God, I need my mouth on your tits now.” Pushing down the straps, he bared my boobs, giving a small, strangled cry as he looked down at me.
“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbled, and then he was bent nearly double over the back of the sofa as he sucked my nipple into his mouth.
Vincent, I discovered, had not been lying about the talent of his tongue. It swirled around the already stiffened peak, pressing it up against the roof his mouth and then teasing circles around the areola. I gripped the back of his neck, holding him where I wanted him, reveling in his every movement.
“So good—harder here. Suck me hard. Bite.” I’d never been shy about my needs when it came to sex, but there was something about Vincent that made me even more demanding. He didn’t seem to mind, as his mouth did my bidding.
When his lips moved to the other side, his fingers took over, playing me until I was writhing in an exquisite mix of pleasure and agony.
“Vincent—please.” I could only beg, no longer able to put into words what I was craving. “Please. Now.”
He growled something low under his breath, and then the heat of his upper body was gone from me, leaving me bereft for a disconcerting moment, until he vaulted over the back of the couch, landing next to me as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
“Let me help.” I tugged the material from the waistband of his pants and starting working the buttons from the bottom up. When our fingers met in the middle, he yanked the still-knotted tie over his neck and then shook off the shirt.
For a long minute, I could only gape. Good god in heaven, I’d felt the hard wall of his body back at the restaurant when he’d kissed me, but seeing it was another thing altogether.Damn. He was more than built. He was goddamn sculpted. His chest was finely-crafted muscle under smooth olive skin, giving way to his chiseled abs. An intriguing line of dark hair ran from below his navel and disappeared into his pants.
I’d known from the minute he’d begun speaking to me at the party that Vincent DiMartino wasn’t my type. I tended to gravitate toward men who were like me, in the sense that we’d been raised the same way, knew the same people and would end up living similar futures, with white-collar jobs and tastefully decorated homes. I didn’t go slumming, as my less-charitable friends called it, for my occasional one-night stands. I stuck to type, whether I was looking for a relationship or just a release.
But now, looking at Vincent and feeling his heated gaze on me, I wondered what I’d been missing all this time. Because none of the men I’d ever slept with had been like this.
It was more than just his body, which was inarguably sexy and drool-worthy. It was something else about him ... something about the way he touched me, about his intensity and his focus. The other men I’d known tended to treat sex the same way they did most of life, with an air of weary cynicism, as though the act was just one more in a series of questionable endeavors to find something new or interesting.
But with Vincent, there was no doubt that he was determined to bring me as much mind-blowing pleasure as he could—and to take as much as he could for himself, too. There wasn’t anything cynical about the open admiration and want on his face as he raked his gaze over me.
I stretched my fingers to touch the button on his pants. “Take these off, too. I want to see all of you.”
He smirked and stood, unhooking the trousers. “Turnabout’s fair play, sweetheart. Lose the dress. Strip it off.”
With hands that still weren’t steady, I pushed up on the cushion and reached backward to pull down the zipper. When I’d gotten it as far as I could, I lifted my ass from the couch and wriggled the dress off, leaving me in nothing but a tiny black lace thong.
Vincent’s pants pooled at his feet. He wore boxers beneath them, and those did little to hide his erection ...thank you, sweet goddess of love. Without any conscious thought, I extended my fingers toward him.
“Uh-uh.” He knocked away my hand gently. “Not yet. It’s still my turn to call the shots. Spread your legs, baby. Spread them wide, so I can see that pretty pussy.”
I lay back again, parting my legs, and Vincent stepped into the apex of my thighs, the backs of his fingers brushing over the soft skin there. Kneeling, he lowered his mouth to my stomach and pressed a single kiss just below my belly button. His eyes met mine as he settled onto the carpet in front of me, running one fingertip down the seam of my panties.
“You’re so wet already.” He picked up my hand where it lay on the sofa and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’m going to make you even wetter. Watch me do it.” Lifting my hand with his, he laid it over my breast. “Play with your tits. I want to see you make yourself feel good at the same time I’m doing it.”
I could feel heat suffuse my cheeks. I’d never done this before—touched myself in front of a man—but there was something about Vincent that made it impossible for me to tell him no. With my eyes steady on his, I pinched my nipple between two fingers, rolling it as he smiled in approval.
And then he moved swiftly, licking me through the lace of my panties in one firm stroke. I gave a cry as my hips canted up, seeking more, and he delivered, using one finger to move the lace out of his way as his lips, tongue and teeth went to work.
It was the most exquisite, erotic form of torture I could imagine, with all of my senses under assault. I couldn’t look away from the captivating sight of Vincent’s head moving up and down between my legs, his fingers splayed over my thighs, my feet hooked behind his back. His groan of pleasure vibrated into me, competing with my own small sounds of encouragement. With one hand, I continued to pluck at my nipple, while the other drifted down to cover his dark hair and sift through its strands.
“You taste like heaven.” With the tip of his tongue, he circled my clit. “God, Amanda.”
