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Anouk tried to answer, but speech was impossible. Even before he slid those expert fingers around to caress her.
It took her a moment to realise that the low moans she heard were her own. This—what Sol was doing to her right now—was like nothing she’d ever known before.
So adrift, so out of her own body, and yet so wholly at its mercy all at the same time. She was vaguely aware of moving her head so that she could fit her mouth back to Sol’s, every slip and slide of his tongue mirroring what his fingers were doing, stoking that fire higher with each passing moment.
He moved his other hand from the nape of her neck to cup her cheek, cradling it almost tenderly, if she hadn’t known that to be ridiculous. Still, when he angled his head for a deeper fit, she poured more into that kiss than she’d ever known possible.
It was incredible, the sensations rushing through her body from her mouth to her core and back again, everywhere that Sol was; the devastating rhythm he was building inside her. She would be ruined for any other man. She was sure of it. Solomon Gunn would make sure that no other man would ever be able to satisfy her again.
She didn’t think she cared—just as long as he never stopped doing what he was doing now.
She sighed, a sound of deep longing, causing Sol to wrench his mouth from hers, his eyes seeking her out and staring at her as though trying to see something in them. Either that, or conveying some silent message that she couldn’t understand. She wanted to ask him, but it wasn’t in her to speak, his dexterous fingers leaving her only just able to breathe; tracing her shape, holding her, cradling her and then, finally, slipping inside her slick heat. She felt the shudder roll through her even before she heard her needy moan.
His eyes went almost black with desire.
‘You respond so perfectly, zoloste,’ he murmured, his gravelly voice the perfect telltale.
She bit her lip and nodded, unable to speak. Not that it mattered, she wouldn’t know what to say even if she could. His fingers were still moving over her, around her, inside her. And she couldn’t get enough. Especially when he lowered his head, placing his wicked mouth on her neck and driving her wild with his clever tongue and devilish teeth.
She didn’t know when she began moving against his palm, urging him to quicken the pace when he seemed to want to take it at his own leisurely pace—to stretch out the blissful agony in her that much longer—she only knew she could feel herself hurtling along, and the abyss coming up on her so quickly she thought she might hurtle down for ever and ever and ever.
And she wanted Sol inside her. Properly. She reached down his body to his belt buckle, her fingers fumbling in her haste. She could feel him. Steel straining behind the denim, as though he wanted her just as badly. It was a thrilling thought. If only she could work the damned belt.
The driving rhythm didn’t stop or even slow for an instant, but with his free hand Sol caught her wrists and moved her away.
‘There’s time enough for that,’ he muttered, every word dancing across her skin as his fingers continued their devastating concerto. ‘Right now, this is about you.’
She’d never felt so worshipped, so powerful, or so confident in her own body.
Finally it broke over her, as if every nerve ending in her entire body were fizzing and popping, from the top of her head right down to her very toes, and then he twisted his wrist skilfully, in a way she’d never known before, and she felt herself catapult into the air. Higher and higher, further and longer, soaring spectacularly on a wave of shimmering, magical sensation that she thought might never end.
She certainly never wanted it to. And still Sol touched her, held her. So that as the wave finally began to slow, and drop, she found herself tumbling straight onto another, which took her soaring back up again.
Time after time.
Finally, sated and spent, she felt herself tumbling, her body sagging into Sol’s, her breathing rapid and harsh.
And all she could do was hope that he broke her fall when she finally hit the ground.
* * *
Anouk was in his bed by the time she started coming back to herself. Right where he’d been imagining her for too long now. As nonsensical as that notion was. He watched her, half amused, half ravenous, as she blinked and tried to focus on her new surroundings.
‘Oh.’ The small sound escaped her lips and he was powerless to do anything but lower his head and try to catch the sound in his own mouth.
‘I took the liberty of bringing you to my bed,’ he managed. Then, as her eyes wandered down to his naked form, he added, ‘I also took the liberty of stripping. Is that a problem?’
‘On the contrary.’ Her voice was thick, hoarse, and he liked that she couldn’t conceal her need for him. ‘I find I rather like that.’
And then, as if to prove her point, she stretched beneath him, parting her legs to settle him against her wet heat, and Sol almost lost it there and then.
‘There’s no rush, zolotse,’ he chided gently, as though he himself weren’t so perilously close to the edge.
But then Anouk looped her arms around his neck and her legs around his body and shot him a daring, cheeky grin.
‘Are you quite sure about that?’
Before he could answer, she lifted her hips and drew him inside her, as taut, scorching need knotted in his belly.
