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That leap of desire he could bring out of her with a look, a touch, hot as candle flame. And she was doing it.
He was over her, then, but not in the way she’d have thought. Kissing and touching his way down her spine, the way he’d told her he would, way back when. His hand tracing its way down until he was at the base of her spine, his fingertips drumming there, and her back was arching, her mouth opening.
He kept his hand going while his other hand explored her bottom. Over the curves of it and back up again like he couldn’t get enough.
When his hand went under the strap of the thong, she tensed. And when he bit her, she jumped.
It didn’t hurt. Not exactly. It was just a … ashock.
He was kissing the spot now, and his hand was diving down. Right under that strap and around. And not landing. Tracing the edges of the V-shaped thong, almost there, and not there at all.
He’d barely touched her, and she was already rocking.
She said, “Beckett.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But I had an idea.”
“O-oh?” It was a little hard to talk with the way his fingers kept up that slow tracing, just under the edge of the fabric and not nearly close enough.
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought, as you’re so pretty, that I’d lube you up, put this little vibrator inside, and sodomize you with it while I fuck all this wetness. Because, sorry, but that’s what I do to butterflies.”
* * *
It took her a minute.
“Oh,” she said. “OK.” And swallowed. He could feel it, because he had a hand on her face now, tracing down her throat. He was also harder than he could remember being in his life.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Uh … yeah,” she said. “But I’m a little …” Another swallow. “Scared.”
He kissed her, now. On her spine, which was one of his favorite parts on a woman. That curve where her waist nipped in, then where her hips flared out—there was nothing better than that.
Well, almost nothing.
His heart was going like it was time to call the ambos. His legs were nearly shaking. That was how much he wanted it. But he needed her to remember it. He needed her toneedit.
Her start of surprise when the cold lube first hit her, when his finger circled. The buzz of the little vibrating plug, and the way all her muscles tensed when he slid the tip of it inside. How did you stand that? And the way her whole body started to tremble when the thing was inside her. The“Oh”of surprise that she couldn’t hold back. Still on her hands and knees.
He caressed her arse a couple more times and said, “Be right back.”
“Wh-what?” It was a gasp.
“Washing my hands,” he said. “Hygiene matters.” He didn’t get anything back, just another gasp.
In her bathroom, with the antique clawfoot tub, silver-framed mirror, and wooden vanity that were such a delicious hint at the woman beneath the competent surface, lathering his hands, looking at his face in the mirror, thinking,Make it good for her, mate.And back in there again, standing behind her, pulling out the final thing he’d brought, putting it on his finger, and switching it on.
When he put it to her, she jumped. More. She jumped more, and then she was gasping for real. Which was when he shoved her hips down and drove inside.
Yeah. He was giving it to her three ways. And she was loving it.
* * *
She couldn’t gether breath. She couldn’t getaway.The sensation was … it was too much. Beckett’s buzzing finger circling around her, right there at the spot and then, teasingly, away again. And the friction everywhere else. His driving hips pushing the other plug in deeper, then letting it slide out again as he retreated.
The power.
The force.
