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She moaned at the sweet intrusion. That delicate sound, the arching of her body toward his, made him shut his eyes with pleasure.
Her breasts pressed lightly against the hard planes of his chest. Matthew cupped one, feathered his thumb over the nipple and exulted in her swift gasp of arousal.
“Do you like it when I touch your breasts?” he said hoarsely.
She answered by bringing his head to hers and kissing him, her mouth open and hot against his.
He was never going to make this last!
Sex was all about pleasure but it wasn’t about losing control, not until that final second of release. And yet, he was close to losing control now. He could feel it happening. Reality was slipping away. He could hear the pounding of his blood, thick in his veins.
His erection was so full it was almost painful.
Never, not in his entire life, had he wanted a woman as he wanted Mia.
Still cupping her breast, molding its shape with his hand, Matthew caught the nipple between his teeth, then sucked it into his mouth. Her cry rang into the still night.
“Matthew,” she whispered. “Oh, Matthew…”
He rolled above her. Sent his hand skimming the length of her body. Her satin flesh was perfumed with desire.
Fragrant with it, because of him.
He had done this to her. Made her feel this way.
He was the one. Nobody else.
/> Her hands were on him. Her fingers moved over his shoulders and chest, stroked down his abdomen. Down and down again, and he caught his breath, anticipating her touch on his swollen flesh.
Her hand closed around him and Matthew threw back his head and groaned, every nerve-ending pulsing with the excitement of her caress.
It was almost more than he could take.
He had to stop her, he thought, and he closed his hand around hers…
And showed her, instead, how to move those smooth fingers along his steely length and drive him toward exquisite insanity.
His breath hissed through his teeth and he caught her hand again, brought it to his mouth, kissed it.
“Not yet,” he said, “not yet, sweetheart.”
He clasped her wrists, drew her arms high over her head. Kissed the tender flesh he’d exposed. Bit it. Licked it, until he reached her wrists again. Until his mouth was once more at her breasts.
Until he slid his free hand between her legs.
Her cry almost made him come.
That sound, the glorious female surrender in it, the feel of her wet heat against his palm, damned near unmanned him.
Matthew closed his eyes and struggled for composure.
Mia was trembling beneath him. Sobbing his name. Moving, writhing against his hand.
“Mia,” he said hoarsely, and he brushed his fingers over her clitoris.
She went wild, bucking against him, reaching up to kiss his mouth, to bite it, struggling to free her wrists from his grasp.
“No,” she sobbed, “Matthew, no…”
