‘Come here.’
It was the second time he had beckoned her, the second time he had summoned her, and Tabitha knew the interlude was over—knew this time when she went to him exactly how the scene would end.
Tabitha had never been promiscuous; to date her relationships had always been taken seriously. She wasn’t a woman who could be bought with meals and flowers, her heart wasn’t something to be given away lightly, but as she crossed the room, as she took that tentative step off the cliff-edge and into areas unknown, her mind was whirring, her love-life passing before her eyes in those fateful final moments before passion completely took over.
With blinding realisation she knew why she was doing this—or, more importantly, why she wanted to do this. Meals, flowers—they all made her feel wanted, feminine, sexy. Zavier Chambers had done in a few hours what most men took months to achieve. He had made her feel completely a woman.
He stood absolutely still as she crossed the room, drawing her towards him with an animal magnetism, but as she drew nearer his arms shot up, pulling her close, dragging her from her cliff-edge as if one split second was too long to be apart.
The weight of his lips on hers was explosive, hungry. She almost cried out at the impact of him against her, her lips parting as he probed her with his tongue. She could taste the lingering traces of whisky, the sharp scent of his maleness filling her senses.
His hair was thick and silken under her fingers, his thighs hard and solid as he pulled her nearer, and she could feel his arousal, urgent and solid. Pulling at her hairclips, he threw them almost angrily to the floor, his fingers spilling her Titian curls, coaxing them around her face. Pushing her head back, he let his lips explore her neck, scratching the soft skin with his chin as his sensual mouth located the flickering pulse there.#p#分页标题#e#
He pulled away. ‘Are you sure?’
His voice was thick, rasping, and the question was thoughtful. But she was beyond any rationale. The whys and wherefores would have to wait; for now only the moment mattered. She stood quivering, only his arms holding her up. The only thing she was sure about was that if he stopped kissing her now, stopped ravishing her, adoring her with his body, she would die with frustration. Her voice came out gasping, unsteady. ‘Please,’ she urged, ‘don’t stop.’
For the first time since their lips had met she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his pupils dilated, desire burning in every facet of his being.
‘Don’t stop,’ she urged again.
It was all the affirmation he needed to continue and, swooping her into his embrace, Zavier carried her towards the bedroom. Ripping back the smooth counterpane, he laid her on the huge bed.
What Tabitha had expected she had no idea—for him to tear at her clothes, for her to rip at his shirt? But the animal passion that had gripped them in the lounge suite dimmed a notch, replaced instead by a sensual hum, an almost reverent admiration as he slowly pulled down her zipper, savouring each first glimpse of her exposed flesh.
Planting slow, deep kisses on her shoulders, he pulled down her straps, exploring her clavicle with his tongue. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the chiffon slipped over her breasts. Her pink nipples begged for the coolness of his tongue, flicking each taut nipple until it was swollen and aching, dancing to his probing attendance. Down ever down, he moved, across the white hollow of her stomach to the glistening silken Titian curls hiding her amber treasure box, which he opened with wonder, his tongue working its magic again, making her gasp as he brought her ever nearer to the brink of oblivion. Then, abating slightly, leaving her hovering on the brink, on the edge of the universe, he worked slowly on the delicately freckled expanse of flesh that spilled out over her sheer stockings.
With cat-like grace he stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he undid his shirt, and though the music had stopped long ago his hips gyrated slowly to a beat of their own. Only his eyes were still, watching her reaction at the first glimpse of the ebony mat of hair on his chest, inking down over his flat stomach. She heard his zipper slide down, followed the plane of ebony as his trousers slid down his solid thighs, revealing the first heady glimpse of his manhood, trapped and writhing in his underwear. She reached towards him, her trembling hand aching, desperate to touch him, but Zavier shook his head, taunting her a while longer as he slowly took off the last remnants of clothing.
It was the most sensual thing she had ever witnessed, a teasing ritual that whetted her appetite. What she had expected from his lovemaking she hadn’t dared even imagine. A cool aloofness, perhaps, a distance despite their closeness? Not this teasing disrobing for her benefit, this naked display of sensuality, this sheer, delicious decadence. He pushed her gently back onto the bed, the rough hair on his thighs scratching through the silk of her stockings as he parted her legs, diving into her with such precision and force that she cried out in abandonment, her legs coiling around his waist, whilst her coral-painted nails dug into his taut buttocks.