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“Do I look like a generous man to you? Do I?”
“It was a compliment.”
“Well, I don’t want that kind of compliment,” he snarled, even though a little voice inside was assuring him he was behaving like a fool. “Compliments are the last thing I want from you.”
“Really?”
“You’re damned right, really.”
Her smile was as old as Eve. “Then, what do you want from me, Cameron?” she said.
And he knew that he’d been scammed.
“Witch,” he said softly.
She smiled. Rose on her toes. Laced her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to the wicked thrust of his tongue as he lifted her from the floor and carried her through the dark rooms, to their bed.
“I’m not going to stop this time,” he whispered.
“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Don’t—”
Cam tugged at his jeans, kicked them aside. He gathered his golden dancer into his arms and kissed her again and again, one kiss merging into the next.
This, he thought, this was what a man searched for his entire life, what he’d searched for without knowing it.
Leanna clasped his face, brought his mouth to hers. She was parched for his kisses. How had she lived without them all these years?
“Touch me,” she whispered, arching toward him, wrapping her long legs around his hips. Her mons brushed against his erection and he groaned, gritted his teeth, felt the electric shock of that whispered caress shoot through his blood.
Hold on, he told himself, hold back.
This was her first time. He was ready. God, he was more than ready, but he had some control left. Not much, but enough to know he wanted it to be right. To be everything for her.
She sighed. Arched against him again, and he was lost.
A growl rumbled in his throat. He bent his head, sucked first one sweet nipple and then the other into his mouth. Rolled his tongue around them until she cried out and bucked with passion.
Then he moved lower, kissed and nipped his way down her rib cage, dipped his tongue into her navel.
Brushed his mouth over the golden curls at the junction of her thighs.
“No,” she said, “Cam—”
“Yes,” he said, catching her hands as she tried to push him away, lifting her arms, pinning her hands above her head. “Yes,” he said thickly, and nuzzled against those soft curls, parting her labia, exposing the heart of her desire to his eyes and mouth.
Slowly he tongued her clitoris. Inhaled her woman’s scent. Tongued her again and again until a wild cry burst from her throat.
He looked up, saw her head thrashing against the silken pillows. He let go of her wrists, slid his hands under her buttocks, lifted her to him and tasted her again.
“Please,” she sobbed, her eyes blind with need, her hands clutching at his shoulders, “oh, please…”
He entered her. Slowly. God, yes. Slowly, even though his heart was pounding. Her lips formed his name and he leaned down, kissed her mouth, let her taste her own passion on her lips.
He wasn’t going to be able to hang on much longer. The tightness of her vaginal muscles adjusting to his size, the little cries of pleasure rising from her throat, the taste of her mouth…
She whispered his name as he pressed forward.
“Am I hurting you?” he said. “I don’t want to hurt—”
