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Flame-hot green eyes lit the match inside me, and oh God, his lips, tongue, and teeth worked miracles.
No wonder he was a doctor.
Wordlessly, I trembled underneath him. Every time I tried to say something, he shushed me and resumed his task, laving first one nipple then the other. Over and over. In between, the sweet pinch of his fingers centered me even as I shifted against the cushions and wished I could make my stupid tights and binding skirt disappear.
I was burning up, my skin on the verge of flaying off my body. I needed air. I needed to come.
“Clint,” I whispered urgently.
“I know, baby. I know.” He lifted his mouth to mine and angled his body to drop down between my legs just where I needed the extra friction—
I came. Hard. While my body shook under his, he continued to twist my nipples and gently thrust his tongue into my mouth, making me ache down deep.
I’d just come yet my body still yearned for him.
He eased back from me and smiled, his expression soft and proud in the cutest way. “Good?”
Suddenly shy, I looked somewhere over his shoulder. “It was okay.”
He laughed and kissed me, one hand still caressing my breast while the other found its way into my hair. His fingertips massaged my scalp as I strained against him, needing to be naked. All the way naked with this near-stranger when, with other guys in the past, sex had always progressed in stages with the lights off.
My lights were all very much on tonight.
Between kisses, he oh so casually gripped my wrists and tugged them up over my head. Thrills shivered through me, sparking in my still-hard nipples and pulsing in my clit.
“You’re at my mercy,” he murmured, flexing his hold on me to show how loose it was.
“Then make it count.” I heard myself answer him and couldn’t make sense of the words.
Or that he’d lowered his head to suck on my breasts again, this time with a hint of aggression he’d kept banked before. I twisted beneath him, trapped by my skirt and my tights and the need I couldn’t seem to slake.
“Can I take the rest off?” he rumbled against my nipple, the sound another sensation when I was overwhelmed by them.
“You can try.”
He shot me a puzzled look and then released my wrists to make quick work of my skirt, tossing it over the back of the sofa as if he couldn’t wait to have me.
Dear God, for this instant, I felt as if I’d stepped into my own romance novel.
“Hurry up,” I begged as he faced down my tights and my boots.
“Trying,” he muttered, unzipping my boots and yanking mightily. But they were kind of a tight fit—wide calves are a bitch—and then with the whole tights thing…
Well, it was a process. But he gritted his teeth through it and got the boots off. Slowly. With a lot of grunting.
Though I didn’t much mind because I focused on those sweatpants. All that gyrating was not a bad thing from where I was reclining.
Then I remembered I was not exactly…prepared for him.
“Um, I’m half Irish, half Greek.”
“Okay. Great.” He continued to struggle with my tights, clearly concerned he’d rip them.
“I didn’t think we’d have sex. In fact, I wore this stuff to keep you out.”
That dark eyebrow winged up. “You did a good job.”
I had to laugh. “I’m just saying I’m not prepared for…intimacy.”
