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His eyes aren’t just blue, I notice dazedly as he pulls me into a kneeling position next to him. His irises have flecks of silver in them, some light enough to be almost white. They’re beautiful, and the way his pupils are dilating is mesmerizing me, even as growing arousal quickens my breath and floods my sex with liquid warmth.
“Emma.” The soft, deep timbre of his voice vibrates through me, adding to the hypnotic effect as one of his hands leaves my waist to curve around my jaw, the gesture both tender and possessive. Leaning in another inch, he murmurs hoarsely, “Kitten, if you don’t want this, tell me now.”
Yes, tell him. Only my mouth refuses to cooperate, to form the words needed to stop this insanity. Because I do want this. I want it so badly that I ache. I know there are reasons why this is not a good idea, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what they are.
He correctly interprets my silence, and his lips hover next to mine for only a moment longer before pressing against them in a tenderly demanding kiss. His tongue sweeps over the closed seam of my lips, seeking entrance, and I let him in with a soft moan, my eyes closing and my hands fisting in the lapels of his coat as heated pleasure rockets through my body.
Distantly, I hear a pissed-off meow, but it can’t penetrate the sensual fog enveloping my brain. The tension is growing in my core, coiling tighter with each skillful caress of his tongue, and my hands slide up his neck to indulge in the feel of his thick, silky hair. My touch seems to please him, and a groan rumbles low in his throat as he pulls me to my feet and maneuvers us both toward the bed, throwing off his coat and jacket on the way.
There are more outraged meows as the cats jump off the bed, clearing the space for us, and then I’m stretched out on my back, with Marcus over me, his lips devouring mine as his hands roam greedily over my clothed body. One big hand ventures underneath my sweater, the palm hot and rough on my bare skin, and I shudder with pleasure as his fingers close over my left breast, kneading it through my bra with firm pressure. His thumb brushes over my peaked nipple, and I arch into his touch, craving more, needing more.
Needing everything.
This must be what it’s like to be swept away by passion, I realize dimly, even as my hands yank at the knot of his expensive tie, desperate to get it off him so I can tear off his shirt and feel his bare chest. I’ve always thought the swept-away bit was just a poetic turn of phrase, a romantic exaggeration. But that’s precisely how this feels: like an unstoppable wave, a tsunami of sensation over which I have no control. My entire body is on fire, my nipples taut and aching, my clit throbbing as need coils ever tighter in my core.
I don’t know how I manage to get the tie and shirt off him in this state, but I do, and the heat inside me grows into a conflagration as my hands slide across the broad, muscled planes of his chest and back. He’s warm and hard all over, his smooth skin roughened only by the sprinkling of coarse hair near his flat nipples and the happy trail running down his ridged stomach. His abs feel like they’ve been carved from stone, each one delineated so perfectly that I want to slow things down so I can stare at him and drool. But he’s already pulling off my sweater and too-tight jeans, along with my socks and the one boot, and all thoughts of slowing down evaporate as he buries his hand in my hair and kisses me again, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with fierce hunger as his free hand slides down my body and delves under my soaked panties.
Yes, oh God, yes, right there. I want to scream the words from the rooftops as he unerringly finds my throbbing clit, but all I can manage is a ragged gasp against his lips, my vocal cords locking up along with every muscle in my body. My eyes squeeze shut, and I arch against him, writhing and panting, my nails digging into his sides as his thumb presses on the swollen bundle of nerves and starts moving in a cruelly teasing circle. I’m close, so very, very close—
“Look at me,” he orders, lifting his head, and my eyes snap open, meeting his gaze as his index finger dips lower, smearing the wetness along the rim of my entrance while his thumb continues its exquisite torment of my clit. His eyes are dark and hungry as he says hoarsely, “I want to watch you come.”
