against her. “I could eat you up alive, Monica.”
Oh, God, she really wanted him to. She was restless against him, unable to feel such proximity to
him without seeking closer contact. Her voice was barely audible, airless with lust as she discreetly
bent to lick the hollow under his neck. “Tell me that you’re hard, too.”
He tensed every muscle, dropping his head. “I’m hard as hell, and it’s all for you.”
Pleasure shot across her nerve endings at his words, making her struggle to stifle a shudder. She
tilted her pelvis anxiously upward. “Let me feel you.”
He shifted so his erection nestled at the apex between her legs, and her panties got instantly damp
with a surge of wet heat. A shiver of pure feminine delight ran through her, and she closed her eyes
and dug her nails into his back, her other hand sliding around him to improve her grip on him, her hip
moving timidly up to him, seeking … “What did they tell you to do to me?”
“Wow! Holy guacamole, that is so damned good! That is so damned good! Whatever it is, don’t
stop!”
“Hold you,” he murmured, and his eyes blazed on her mouth so fiercely that she could remember
every one of his kisses from last night, his face stark with need as he gently nudged her pelvis with
his. “But I’m primed to do so much more than that.”
She bit back a moan and buried it against his collarbone, smelling him, then she went to his ear.
“Will you?”
“What?”
“Do something more to me?”
He groaned and turned to whisper back, his lips bumping her earlobe, curling her toes. “I’ll stop by
tonight. To deflower my little Ice Maiden again.”
“Shit, this is crazy! Crazy! All right now look at me past his shoulder, Ms. Davenport, lift your eyes
and let me see what’s in them. Yes! Like that!”
Monica pressed her nose into his collarbone, her eyes lifting to the camera, shamelessly looking
into the lens as his heat whirled and spun in a dizzying swirl around her. She could almost feel him.
Filling her up. Making her feel completed and absolute. Powerless and powerful.
Her nails bit into his flesh as she tried to get closer, her lips pressing to his skin so that she could
almost feel her teeth gnaw at him.
“All right, now leave her alone with the cashmere, sir! Don’t lose it, Ms. Davenport. Look at me
just like that!” Chris instructed.
Daniel shuddered as he stood, and Monica belatedly realized they had used his sex appeal to their
advantage. They’d used her reactions to him to set her loose, and now she lay there, dazed and cloudy,
watching him tuck her under the blanket almost like he’d tucked her in her own bed the night before.
She watched helplessly as he grabbed his clothes and stalked around to the back, and suddenly she
knew the time from now until tonight would feel like a century. Waiting for tonight would be torture.
Tonight was too far away and she was going to disintegrate to ashes if he didn’t touch her before then.
She stared deeply into the camera, anxious to finish, to follow him, to take him in her, in her mouth,
in her sex. Yes. I want him. I really, desperately want him. So? was all she thought as she gazed at the
camera.
She told that to the lens, to the world, to herself.
A thousand women slept with a thousand men they cared even less about, who were less than
friends. Why couldn’t Monica?
Chris screamed, “Yes, that’s it! That is so it!”
She was so hot she was almost perspiring, clutching the cashmere with aching fingers, never in her
life having felt like this, staring with eyes that were exposed and open, straight at the camera, feeling
both vulnerable and powerful, needy and needed.
When he finally told her it was a “wrap-up,” Monica wound the cashmere around her and tucked it
under her arms as she slowly padded to the back, trembling, feeling like her body had been taken over
by a stranger, by someone who was starved and didn’t care about anything but gorging on what it
wanted. She found him in the changing room. He sat with his elbows to his knees, head hung low,
breathing fast.
His head snapped upward when he heard the door open and close.
His eyes looked about as lost as hers. And a little wild.
Their gazes clung desperately to each other and an avalanche of emotions crashed over her, and she
knew deep in her gut that none of these emotions was normal; they couldn’t be. They were both too
aroused, too stimulated, while staring at each other, almost sensing what the other was feeling,
wanting, needing.
He stood and pulled the throw loose from around her and it pooled at her feet, and once again, he
was lifting her in the air, sucking her nipples almost voraciously. She cried as he tried the other, and