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And she was seductive. Not only now but in a business suit. Or a wet T-shirt and shorts. Or a sundress and panties. Since meeting him she’d seduced him with whatever she wore. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, she merely shrugged her shoulders and it dropped to the floor.
He had seen numerous women in sexy lingerie, but none had made his heart feel as if it would jump from his chest. Or his breath rush out. Or his knees almost buckle. And maybe it wasn’t the lingerie as much as the body inside. Her breasts were small but perfect, offered up like two scoops of vanilla ice cream in a bowl of purple velvet. Her torso, encased in velvet and crisscrossed ribbon, curved down to a small waist before flaring out over shapely hips. Silver binding lined the scalloped edges like a curtain framing the thin strip of hair a shade darker than the golden waves that fell around Olivia’s face. He allowed his eyes a long moment of worship before he lifted his gaze.
“So what do you think?” she said in that breathless voice that made him want to devour her.
He pushed away from the door, hoping his knees would hold. “I think we need to up our order.” He reached out and lifted an end of the ribbon, rubbing it between his fingers. “What’s the population of men in the world?”
“A couple billion, but women are our buyers.”
“Believe me, men are going to buy this.” He took the end of the ribbon and brushed it over the top of one breast, then dipped into the cleavage before stroking the other breast. He went back and forth until her eyes closed and she swayed on her heels. Then he dropped the ribbon and scooped out her breasts. He gently squeezed and watched with heavy lids as her deep rose-colored nipples puckered up like twin sets of lips. Unable to resist the invitation, he lowered his head and kissed first one and then the other.
Olivia’s head lolled back, and her hands grasped his shoulders as if she were falling. He knew how she felt. He felt as if he were falling—free-falling. And while the thrill was like nothing he’d ever experienced, he couldn’t help but be concerned about the landing. But not enough to release what he held in his hands. Or what he wanted to hold.
While he deepened his nipple-kisses, his hand slipped down her cinched waist, over the crossed ribbon, to the strip of her hair. He traced the plump seam with one finger before dipping into the heat beneath. Lifting his mouth from her breast, he kissed his way up her arched neck as his finger traveled her hot, moist folds. Then, unable to resist the temptation a moment longer, he slid his finger inside, where she was wet and slick and more velvety than the material of the corset.
Her breath caught and held as he worked his thumb over her clitoris and slowly thrust his finger inside. When she was whimpering, he added another finger. Then one more. Her hands tightened into fists on his shirt, and she tugged as if demanding release. He flicked his thumb faster until her body tightened, including the muscles around his fingers. The only sound she made when she hit orgasm was a startled puff of air. He waited for her to sag against him before he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the desk. He set her on the edge. Then, with one swipe, cleared it off.
He expected her to comment; instead she remained silent—the only sound her labored breathing. She watched with hooded eyes as he slipped off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. When he dropped the shirt to the floor and reached for his belt buckle, he realized that he’d never stripped for a woman before. They usually stripped him. It was exciting and a little disconcerting. He’d never cared how a woman viewed his body. But damned if he didn’t care now. And when he was completely naked, with the condom he’d taken from his wallet in hand, he was surprised how much he cared.
Deacon stood before her like a green kid with a fragile ego, waiting for one word of praise.
He didn’t get it.
