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Only, she didn’t have pink, she had virgin white or midnight black. He’d die if he saw the black. Simply fall flat at her feet at the sexy bustier and thong.
The white, though…for some reason, the white seemed sultrier. Wicked in its innocence. The kind of underclothes that satisfied propriety while at the same time flouting it.
Kind of like Mick.
Deciding, she drew on the white push-up bra and the silky garter belt. Then came the white lace panties, cut high on the thigh. And finally, white stockings.
“Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh,” she whispered as she reached for the door handle. Putting on stockings seemed terribly ridiculous at the end of the night.
Gulping for courage, she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom. At first, she didn’t see Mick. He wasn’t on the bed, nor standing by the champagne bottle. Then a slight movement caught her eye and she glanced toward the window overlooking the downtown street.
Mick stood there, facing away from her, staring down at the twinkling lights of the traffic twenty stories below. His arms were raised above his head, his palms flat on the walls on either side of the window. The soft lighting in the room cast lines and shadows across his thickly muscled arms, his bare shoulders, then down his back and across his lean waist. She closed her eyes and grabbed the door frame, thinking again that she’d never seen a more perfectly made man in her life.
Even those two tiny, wicked pointed ears rising above the low-riding waistband of his pants didn’t bother her tonight. They challenged her. They would challenge any woman to step closer, to take on the Big Bad Wolf, right in his own lair, and live to tell the tale.
Oh, she wanted to take him on. She wanted to touch every bit and taste every inch of him.
She crossed silently over the carpet, then slipped her arms around his waist and pressed against his back. He leaned back, until his head nearly rested on her shoulder and their cheeks touched.
“I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep in the tub.”
“Just took my time deciding.”
“Deciding what?” he asked as he reached back and caught her hand in his. The touch was electric, and Caro shook in reaction, which made their bodies come that much closer.
“I was trying to decide,” she said, moving back so she could press a moist kiss on the nape of his neck, “where I wanted to kiss you first.”
He moaned as she continued her oral exploration of his shoulders, his neck and his spine. “I guess you decided.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled as she moved lower, lower, until she was kneeling and kissing the small of his back. Then she moved her mouth over and traced her tongue over those wicked little ear points. “I’ve grown rather fond of him,” she whispered.
She reached around his waist and found the tab of his zipper, drawing it down slowly, letting her hand brush against him through the fabric.
He hissed in response and tried to turn around. Caro wasn’t ready for that. The moment he saw her, she knew the focus would change. That was fine with her. But first, she wanted to be in charge. She wanted to be the one makinghimcrazy with need.
She tugged the pants and boxer-briefs down, revealing more of the wolf’s face, then his wicked, salacious smile. She tasted every bit of the figure, pausing here to nibble Mick’s hip, and there to kiss the small of his back again.
His clothes dropped to the floor, and she began to rise, kissing her way up his body, loving the hot, salty taste of him as his skin grew slick with sweat.
She’d made him sweat. How utterly perfect.
“You’re killing me. Let me turn around.”
“Not just yet.” When she was standing, she pressed against him again, letting him feel the jut of her nipples against his back. Their skin was separated only by the thinnest wisp of lace. She curved her hips forward in invitation.
Only after he groaned did she reach around his body and begin to caress his chest. His stomach. Lower.
“Oh, my God,” he cried when she encircled him in her hand.
He was thick and hard. Caro’s mouth grew dry, and her breathing rasped. She could feel his pulse throbbing against her, feel his blood roaring through his veins, and she squeezed him tighter. She continued to stroke him, using his body’s own moisture to slicken her palm and slide it up and down his shaft while she kept kissing, biting and licking his shoulders and neck.
“I hope to God nobody has a pair of binoculars trained on this window,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and thick.
She peeked over his shoulder and saw that yes, they were fully visible in the high-rise window, their images reflecting in the smoked glass.
She’d never seen a more erotic sight. She couldn’t pull her stare away, focused on the reflection of her hand encircling him, stroking back and forth against all that smooth male skin. His head was back, his eyes closed, a look of pure physical pleasure on his face. Then he opened his eyes and met her reflected stare.
She thought there’d never been a hungrier look on Mick’s face than the one he wore right now. It made her nearly incoherent with sudden, driving need. Need for more than just her hand surrounding his throbbing erection.
