She’d instinctively braced herself for the feel of him nestling between her legs, knowing, just knowing that that scant inch he’d lifted her would put that sweet hard-on of his right where she needed to feel it the most.
But instead of pulling her back up against him, he kept sliding her forward. And there was no sweet pressure. She whimpered before she could stop herself.
“You keep thinking I’m going to do what you expect me to do,” he said quietly.
She said nothing, bit her lip to keep from cursing him, realizing it would just give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. But whatever temper he might have roused fled an instant later when he slid his hands over her backside, holding her on the island, with the edge hitting her midthigh. She couldn’t kick him, couldn’t get any leverage, as her elbows were now hanging off the far side.
When he spoke, his lips were pressed against the small spot at the base of her spine. “Now, this I learned at the academy. However, I’ve never used restraint and control methods for quite this purpose.”
He paused and she knew damn well he was waiting for her to say the magic word. Well, she wasn’t going to give up so easily. But neither was she going to give in.
Which he probably also expected. Dammit. She hated being predictable. She was never that mundane. And yet her choices here were the proverbial rock…and the hard place.
She grinned, knowing he couldn’t see it. It was precisely that hard place she was after. And damn if she wasn’t going to get it. She kept silent.
But not for long. Just as he pressed his lips to that sensitive spot of skin, he slid his fingers from her backside to her inner thighs. One quick stroke of his finger along the center seam of her pants had her hips jerking…and her moaning.
“If you’d just stop plotting and planning long enough to relax and simply enjoy this…”
She had to bite her lip this time. Though she wasn’t sure if it was to keep from swearing at him for tweaking her, or to stop herself from begging him to slide those fingers down there one more time. And slowly, please.
She would do neither.
She fought the shuddering response when he lightly drew a blunt fingertip along the back of one knee, then the other, before slowly following the inside seam of her pants. Pants she wished she could blink away. If he caught the scent of her, he wouldn’t be taking so much goddamn time tormenting her.
The finger slid the opposite way and the heated epithet slipped out before she could catch it.
He chuckled softly. “You relax, you get what you want.”
“I’m relaxed,” she practically growled.
He simply sighed. “I’m thinking you don’t know the meaning of the word.” He started his finger’s journey back up again, then stopped. “See, right there. You tense up the instant your brain kicks into gear. Do you ever let go? Completely, totally let go?”
“I’m not aware of my partners complaining at any lack of enthusiasm or focus on my part.”
“Which is not at all what I asked.”
She paused, smiling despite herself. “Which I’m fully aware of.”
He laughed. “You take the term ‘high maintenance’ to a whole new level.”
“Just give me what I want and you’ll find I’m very easy to…maintain.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Liza—” He broke off, then laughed again. “By the way, what is the last name of the woman currently sprawled half-naked on my kitchen counter, anyway?”
“Is it important?”
“You know mine.”
“Sanguinetti.”
“Ah.”
She tried to pull her elbows underneath her to lever her torso up, but the shirt and bra straps twined around them hampered her movements. One slick slide of his finger between her thighs had her jerking flat again…and twitching with pleasure at the sudden shock of contact.
When she thought she could speak without begging him to finish her now—please God, now!—she said, “What, ah?”
“Italian women. Passionate, stubborn.” He brushed his fingers along her inner leg, from knee to thigh. “Interesting combination.”
“Glad you think so,” she managed to say through clenched teeth. Now do me for God’s sake. No man had ever played with her this way. This infuriatingly calm, controlled way.
Then she felt him tugging at the thin zipper that ran up the center of the back of her pants. Finally, she thought, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Slowly, torturously, he slid the tab down, and she smiled against the cold tabletop, anticipating his reaction at what he would find.
“Well, that would explain the lack of panty lines in these fine white pants of yours,” he said approvingly, but didn’t touch the thin strip of white spandex that slid down between her cheeks.
“I find them functional,” she said, ever so calmly. And men find them erotic and hopelessly inviting, she thought wickedly. Close, she was so close to having him where she wanted him.
He peeled her capri pants down and off, making her hiss as more of her came into contact with more of the island top. He moved between her legs, then nudged them just a bit wider.
She smiled and shivered in anticipation. It was wetly arousing, not being able to see him, to gauge his reaction to her as she revealed herself to him. But rather than pushing against that part of her that so badly required attention, he hitched his hips up on the table between her legs—facing away from her and all that she so gloriously had to offer him!—and lifted up, almost lazily, one of her feet.
“I—um,” was as far as she got in her planned protest when his fingers started kneading the sole of her foot. In fact, she groaned and let her head drop back on her arm. “That feels amazingly good.”
“Standing on those toothpicks like you do, I thought you might enjoy this.”
She wanted to argue about what they could be enjoying right now. She wanted to pout and push her hips up at him, remind him of just how close she was and how easily he could take care of her real needs. But then he pressed his thumbs into her arch and the pleasure that radiated all the way up her calf was too damn distracting.
When he had that foot good and limp, he picked up the other. “This feels…almost better than sex,” she said drowsily. “Almost.”
It wasn’t until he let her foot go and slid off the table that she realized just how relaxed she’d become. Boneless, that’s how she felt. She hadn’t thought of doing anything other than lying there and letting him work on her for a full ten minutes. Which, she also realized, was likely his plan.
“So who’s sneaky now?” she murmured, not really able to work up a good mad. Who knew a decent foot massage could be so drugging? If managers of all the fancy spas she’d spent time in only knew about this, she thought, they could whittle their menu down to foot massages and make millions.
“Still plotting,” he said idly, working those incredibly talented fingers into her calves.
“Not about you this time,” she mumbled. “Spas should clone you. Make a fortune.”
“Ah.”
“Mmm. Ah.” That last part ended up a long, satisfied groan as he deepened the massage on her legs. “On second thought, I want you all to myself.” She smiled against her arm as he worked higher. “I’m greedy.”
“Greedy can be good,” he said, his voice a deep purr as his clever fingers continued kneading her flesh.
Drifting. For all that she was on a cold, hard slab, she could have been on a cloud. She’d had no idea how tense she’d been. Sabbaticals were a bitch, she thought, a smile curving her lips as her breathing deepened.
When she felt something warm and wet touch her between her thighs, she didn’t even flinch. Tensing up was beyond her. The only thing she could plot or plan was feeling more of whatever he was doing now. It moved away and her hips lifted of their own accord, searching, wanting.
“Dylan—”
“Shh. Just lie there and feel. No thinking.”
It sounded so easy, so wonderful. No thinking, no being in control, no worrying about her own agenda. Somewhere in the back of her mind, latent self-protective instincts tried to rear their drowsy heads, but then the warmth was back and this time it was sliding all the way between her legs. Closer to—sweet Jesus. She moaned and pushed, or tried to.
It disappeared again.
She frowned, but her body still felt so wonderfully pliable, it was too much work to make it move. The instant she released her breath, the warmth was back. Harder this time, pushing, probing.
She swiftly realized that as long as she didn’t fight it, didn’t try to force things, the sweet, tantalizing pressure would stay. And if it just stayed long enough—
“Ohhh, God!” She bucked hard off the table when his finger slipped beneath the thong strap and slid easily inside her. One slick slide and she went screaming right to the edge of a powerful climax, but hovered there when he did nothing more.
“Don’t move,” he commanded quietly.
She could only growl in response. But she held her hips completely still.
“You are so tight,” he said, keeping his finger maddeningly still. “Hot and wet. But so damn tight.”
“Mmm.” It was all she dared say. Another syllable and she’d be begging him. She’d do what he said to get what she wanted, but she’d be damned if he’d make her beg for it.