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“So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. She was exquisite. Dressed, she was fun and flirty with curves in all the right places. Bare-assed naked, she was smoking hot and sexy as hell.
She took hold of his hands and brought them to her lips. Pressing kisses against each of his palms, she held his gaze. “Touch me,” she demanded, then moved his hands to her breasts.
He palmed her fullness, testing the weight of each globe against his hands. When he scraped his thumbs lightly across her tight, pink nipples, she moaned and closed her eyes. Letting her head fall back, she arched her spine, thrusting her breasts more firmly into his hands.
He’d never known a woman so genuinely confident and comfortable in her own skin. Every inch of her was exposed for his pleasure and she didn’t attempt to hide herself from him. She stole his breath and made him forget everything but her.
She braced her hands behind her on the dresser and opened her legs. “More,” she whispered in sexy demand.
He grinned. “Not a problem.” Moving closer, he kissed her again, long and slow and deep, before he moved on to her breasts. When he took one nipple into his mouth, she released a sigh that had his libido soaring even higher. Smoothing his hand down her stomach, he let his fingers brush against the honey-blond curls at the juncture of her thighs. She rolled her hips in response, silently begging for an even more intimate exploration.
He wasn’t about to disappoint her.
She let out a slow hiss of breath as he dipped his fingers deeper into her curls, opening her slick folds, exposing her. She was so hot, so wet, she had him rock hard and aching and struggling to keep his control in place.
He dragged his mouth from one breast to the next, where he caught the tight bud between his lips and suckled her. And still he wanted more. He wanted her on her back, her legs spread wide. He wanted to make her come with his mouth. He wanted the taste of her on his tongue as she cried out his name. He kissed her then, a hungry, scorching kiss. God, would he ever get enough of her? He didn’t think it possible.
Using the pad of his thumb, he applied a slight degree of pressure. He stroked her, teased her already swollen and throbbing clit. She moaned a sexy little whimper into his mouth and thrust her hips against his hand.
There was nothing gentle or tender about the way she kissed him. She demanded and took and that was just ine by him. She was primed and ready and had his entire body burning up with white-hot need.
When she shifted her body, opening her legs even wider and exposing her core, he slid his finger inside her. She gave a deep groan of pleasure and he nearly came right then. She was so tight, so damned hot.
Needing a distraction, he tore his mouth from hers. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice hoarse. He continued to stroke her, easing two fingers inside her slick heat.
She opened her eyes for him, her irises the color of dark sapphires, highlighted by tiny flecks of gold, her lids heavy. “Don’t stop,” she whispered to him before she bit her lip and groaned her pleasure again. With her hands braced on the dresser behind her for support, she lifted her hips to meet the long, slow thrusts of his fingers.
She held him spellbound with the intensity of her gaze. No way was he going anywhere. “Never,” he answered as he slipped his free hand around to her bottom, supporting her weight in his hand.
Her lips parted slightly and he was struck by an urgent desire to see her take his cock into her mouth, to watch her pink swollen lips slide over the length of him. The image haunted him and fueled the passion burning him up inside until he couldn’t stand it another minute.
He let go of her bottom and wrapped his arm around her waist, gently urging her off the dresser. She made a sound of protest when he turned her so she faced the mirror, her back to him.
He braced her hands on the dresser so she was leaning slightly forward. “Spread your legs for me,” he whispered in her ear.
She did, but she closed her eyes. She rubbed her bottom against his erection. Exquisite pleasure roared through him. She was trying to kill him, he was convinced of it.
From behind, he eased his fingers inside her again and pumped, going deep. The low keening moan that escaped her lips was nearly his undoing.
“Watch,” he said roughly when her eyes remained closed. The mirror rested low enough on the dresser, giving them a perfect view of her riding his hand, of her parted lips, of her breasts, her nipples tight buds, begging for his mouth.
When she opened her eyes, he reached around with his other hand and teased her clit. Her moans immediately became sharper, more insistent, escaping with each hard pant of her breath. “I’m going to come,” she rasped with urgency, her voice husky and filled with sex.
“Let it go, babe.” He pushed her, gliding his finger over her sex until her moans became louder and even more insistent.
“Come on my hand,” he whispered in her ear.
Her body tensed around him seconds before she let out a sharp cry of pleasure. She pressed down and rode his hand, her hips thrusting forcefully with the strength of her orgasm.
He held her close while the aftershocks of her climax shoo
k her. Once her breathing returned somewhat to normal, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he gently laid her upon the mattress. He dropped to his knees and carefully positioned her bottom on the edge of the bed, then settled her legs over his shoulders.
He parted her dewy folds and drew his finger over her throbbing clit with agonizing slowness. He leaned over her, kissing her mound, the satiny smooth flesh of her inner thighs. Taking care in her overly sensitive state, he tenderly lapped her.
Her breath exhaled on a long, slow hiss when he circled her clit with his tongue. As he eased a finger inside, her crie and came more frantic, more needy. Her legs trembled. The climax he drove her to grew closer until finally, he pushed her over the edge and she came in a rush of heat on his tongue. She cried out, unintelligible sounds of pleasure intermingled with a name that wasn’t his own.
His passion receded as if she’d tossed a bucket of ice water over his head. Yes, he still wanted her. He didn’t think that would ever change. But that was the problem. He wanted her. Noah Temple. Not “Chas.”
