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She caught her breath and realized he’d gotten the point after all.
He made a leisurely circle in the soft skin behind her knee, then another, then a slow figure eight with the very tip of his fingernail, then a comma.
Oh, my . . . She let her knees separate, silently encouraging him to go on with his tactile hieroglyphics by giving him a larger writing surface.
Abruptly, he withdrew and sighed. “This isn’t where I was. I know how much you like everything in order, so I guess I’d better start all over again.”
She whimpered. She couldn’t help it.
The corners of his mouth curled with satisfaction.
And then he started all over. . . . More deep, lazy kisses; slow strokes with his tongue; feather touches on pulse points she hadn’t known she possessed. Even her awful tattoo wasn’t spared his attentions.
It felt as if decades passed before he finally nudged her robe open and touched the very tip of one nipple with the point of his tongue. His chest heaved and his shirt was damp beneath her hands, but he still hadn’t undressed. She heard his hot breath, felt his fragile hold on self-control, wondered when he would break. Hoped . . .
He dabbled with his tongue at the needy peak. Her head thrashed to the side and her body arched on the bed. She was dewy and wet, silken and throbbing. She wanted more. Her thoughts were disembodied as she clung to the edges of an enormous cataclysm.
His mouth settled around the hard pebble of her nipple. Sucked hard. Twice. Three times. More.
With a cry, she dissolved.
He stiffened. Drew her into his arms. Held her against his chest until she stopped trembling.
Gently, he lay her back on the pillow and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. “Did you just come?” he whispered.
She gulped. Nodded. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t pay attention!”
Instead of being properly chastised, his mouth curved in a smile that was filled with pleasure. “My sweet Lady E. You are really something special.”
“I hope you’re satisfied,” she mumbled, no longer quite so upset.
“Not yet.”
Without any warning, he pushed away the front of her robe and slid his hand between her parted thighs. She gasped as he opened the swollen folds, then gently inserted one finger deeply inside her.
“Not yet,” he whispered again.
Her breath caught on a tiny hiss. Watching her intently, he slid his finger out, then back in. Dimly, she saw how flushed he was, noted the cords of strain at the side of his neck. Felt the clenching deep inside.
She gave a strangled scream and convulsed.
Once more he held her, then drew her to his chest and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”
As she caught her breath, he rose to shed his clothes, and by the time she found her voice again, he was naked. Lord, but he was beautiful, every part of him taut flesh and steely muscle. She dropped her gaze. Every single part of him.
She rose and sank back on her heels. He moved closer to her. She leaned forward, tilted her head, and licked his belly.
This time he was the one who groaned. She took a tender nip at the hard muscle that ran in a diagonal across one side of his abdomen, let her fingers trail up his inner thigh, nuzzled into a hollow by his groin. She was ready to play all day.
His strangled words let her know that wouldn’t happen. “Tell me I’m not going to have to tie you down.”
She hesitated only for a moment before she lay back, raised her arms until her hands touched the headboard, and smiled. “No need.”
She couldn’t imagine why she trusted him so much or why she was willing to put up with his ridiculous rules. She only knew that she felt safe. Safe and—despite two orgasms—unbelievably aroused.
He sat on the bed, covered her knees with the palms of his hands, and pushed them apart. Then he knelt between them and looked down at her, open and glistening, swollen. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.
As he observed her, she drank in the sight of his body. Now, that was beauty. Marble and steel. She yearned to touch him—had to touch—reached out her hand.
