She gave a soft laugh. “You make me want to relax.”
“Win-win, baby. Now hold still so I don’t cut you.” It was just a matter of slicing down the one sleeve, then letting her slip out of the other, and Lizette was free of the bloodied fabric, her black lace bra displaying her small breasts damn well. She had a slender body, and the skirt she was wearing accentuated her narrow waist. Johnny had never thought he had a particular type with women—if he did, it was for big-breasted, ballsy blondes. But Lizette was nothing like that, and yet, there was something so intensely feminine about her that he decided she was definitely the most beautiful woman he had ever met. The delicacy of the bra, the hourglass waist, the smooth pale arms, and the red nails that matched her red lips, it was all turning him on a whole hell of a lot.
Time seemed to be standing still, and there were no distractions, no noises from outside, no light to take away his focus from her. There was just a moonlit room and a beautiful woman who was crazy enough to get it on with him. One who was not wearing panties, if he remembered correctly.
As they kissed again, he let his hands wander, up her soft back, over her shoulder, to where he peeled her bra strap off, then back down to her waist. The hands that were still cuffed together were clasped, fingers interwoven for ease, and her free hand splayed across his chest. She seemed as intrigued about exploring his body as he was about hers, though neither of them was in a particular rush. Johnny didn’t want to wham-bam her. He wanted to take his time, ensure she was enjoying herself, stretch it out as long as possible so that he would really have something to remember her by.
Once Lizette went back to Paris, he most likely would never see her again, and he wanted to savor the moment. He stripped his T-shirt off as much as their cuffs would allow and let it dangle, wanting his skin on hers, wanting to be as close to her as possible.
It felt like they were dancing, Lizette thought. Like they were engaged in a sensual tango in a dank basement a hundred years ago. Though she would have never done something like that. Since the death of Jean-Baptiste, she may have had sex rarely, but she had never been intimate. She had never taken the physical and the emotional exploration of a man and blended them together the way she had Johnny were doing here. His eyes were glassy in the moonlight, and he looked at her like he thought she was beautiful. She felt beautiful. She felt not reckless, but confident in her capitulation. Maybe it was lack of quality sleep, or having been drugged and the knowledge that she had already slept with Johnny even if she didn’t remember it, but she didn’t feel nervous. She didn’t feel tense or awkward.
She felt aroused, eager, languid. It was a glorious feeling, and as his hands wandered over her flesh, she explored his as well, admiring the muscles in his chest, his shoulders, his biceps. There was evidence in the muscular strength of his mortal days spent in the boxing ring, and she tried to imagine him sweaty and intense, bouncing on his feet. Never would she have imagined she would be attracted by that thought, but she was, and she had been intrigued when she’d read his history in the VA dossier. Running down his arms, she gripped the belt loops of his jeans as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to mate with hers. The thrust and retreat made the warm ache between her thighs grow more urgent, and she shifted restlessly, well aware of her lack of panties. There was no protective barrier between her desires and the cool rush of air-conditioned air.
Johnny seemed to pick up on her subtle nonverbal cue, because suddenly his hand was strolling up her leg beneath her skirt as he kissed her, and she instinctively turned her knee out to give him access. It was forward for her, but she never even hesitated. If she were going to have sex with a case subject in an apartment he was not allowed access to, she was damn well going to make the most of that decision. That way, when she removed herself from the case, she would at least have gotten the pleasure for the pain of stepping down.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his hand pausing on her inner thigh, charming her with the thoughtfulness of his question.
He clearly wanted to make sure they stopped before the point of no return if she wasn’t sure, and she appreciated that. But she had no intention of denying herself at this point.
“Yes, please continue.” Lizette tilted her head back, then gave a little moan when he simultaneously cupped her sex while nipping at her ear. It wasn’t a bite to draw blood. It was a questing, teasing gesture, possibly to test her tolerance, or maybe just because he wanted to play. Whatever the reason, Lizette enjoyed the foreplay, her body humming with anticipation, moisture deep within her spreading over Johnny’s finger as he stroked inside her.