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Her fingers encircled him. How had she gotten her hand down his pants? Not that he was complaining.
His head fell back; his hair had come loose on the dance floor, and the slide of it along his neck made him shiver. The heat of her palm along his shaft nearly made him come.
Though his body barked in protest, he encircled her wrist and removed that clever, clever hand from its home.
“Keep that up and we’ll be done before we start,” he muttered.
“We wouldn’t want that.” She ran a thumbnail up his erection. His eyes crossed, and she laughed.
“Maybe I should—” She rolled her thumb over the tip. His jeans did little to alleviate the friction or that eternal, blessed, heat. “Take the edge off.”
“Huh?” He couldn’t think.
Mission accomplished.
Her smile was all woman as she unbuttoned, then unzipped, his jeans. “Lose them,” she ordered.
He did.
“The shirt, too.”
Liam drew it over his head and tossed the garment to the floor with the rest. Then he stood in the glaring light of the lamp and let her stare.
He knew he was lovely to look at. Always had been, always would be. He couldn’t help it. He also knew that beauty could be as much of a curse as ugliness. Beauty seduced and it tempted, but beauty had no substance. It was as worthless as the sheen of the moon.
Kris didn’t look long. Perhaps, as a thing of beauty herself, she understood how passing frail human beauty was.
When she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth, he was so shocked he let her. Then he was so captivated he could do nothing but yearn. He’d never had a woman’s mouth on him.
The scalding, wicked, wet heat spread through him. Her tongue swirled over him, and she suckled.
Ah, God. Why not?
He cupped her head with his palm as she began to move in the age-old rhythm. Just a few seconds, he promised himself. Just a few—
His hips thrust, in and out, in and out. The pressure. The heat. That tongue. What was she doing to him?
He was seduction; he had never, yet, been seduced. He wasn’t sure that he liked it. He had no restraint. His body spun toward something he wanted, needed, craved.
Liam pulled away. “No,” he said. “I’ll—”
He bit his lip. He who had had so many women he’d lost count, who had taken them in ways they’d begged for, ways that had surprised but never shocked him, couldn’t find the words for a simple, inevitable response of the body.
“You’ll come?” She glanced up, lips full and curved and wet. “That was kind of what I was going for.”
As she leaned forward, her tongue darted out, swirling around his head. He lost control.
“No,” he said again, reaching down and dragging her to her feet. Then he tossed her over his shoulder, stalked into the bedroom, his cock leading the way, where he dropped her onto the bed. “I’ll not come until I’m inside of ye.”
Her eyes lowered; her gaze brushed over him like a caress, and his penis leaped. “You’d better hurry.”
“I never hurry,” he promised, then slowly removed every stitch of her clothes, echoing the movements of his hands with the press of his lips, the skim of teeth and tongue. By the time he finished, she was writhing.
“Liam.” She lifted her hips—an offering he could not help but take.
His tongue darted out, and those hips jerked. His lips curved as he feasted. This was familiar. This he had done. Some women needed more … help.
Not Kris. She began to swell against him; desire rolled toward them, given voice by the ever-increasing beat of their breath.
