One Night with Morelli(41)

                In control like now, mocked the voice in her head.

                She squeezed her eyes closed in an effort to close down the thoughts and felt the touch of his lips on her eyelids light as a breeze.

                Hands framing her face, he lifted his eyes and watched as her hair succumbed to gravity and the weight of the shiny coils slid downwards in slow motion to settle against her narrow back.

                His hissing breath caused her eyes to open. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she felt light, as though she were floating; it was surreal.

                ‘This feels really strange.’

                He bared his teeth in a smile that made her shiver. ‘It’s meant to feel good.’

                She swallowed and, eyes huge on his face, whispered thickly, ‘It d-does.’

                ‘Sexy stutter.’

                Stutters weren’t sexy, but she let the comment stand; it was more empowering than she would have believed possible to have this gorgeous man telling her she was sexy.

                Again he replied as though she’d voiced her doubts. ‘It is sexy.’

                He kissed her then, slowly, deeply, his hands framing her face, his long fingers stroking her scalp. Her lips parted under the pressure and he sank deep into her mouth, taking his time, drinking her in, savouring the taste of her. The possessive thrust of his tongue made the heat that had been slowly building inside her spark and explode like a firework display.

                She wanted him more than she had wanted anything in her life. Blinded by sheer need, her control a thing of the past, Eve reached for him, rising up on her toes.

                This is so not you, Eve.

                The voice in her head was wrong because it was her and they were her fingers wrapping themselves into the fabric of his shirt and she was the one kissing him back with a wildness and ferocity that he answered with equally wild, head-spinning passion. He wrapped one hand in her hair, the other, like an iron band, he placed around her waist, lifting her off the ground as he plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth, drawing a soft mewling cry from her throat as he withdrew and repeated the process.

                She was barely conscious that they had been moving all the time, moving, walking, stumbling, kissing, his mouth on hers, his lips moving, his hands on her body sliding over fabric, under fabric, over skin, everything fuelling the wild desperation that pounded through Eve. The only thing stopping her from falling as she blindly allowed herself to be steered down the wide hallways was her grip on the fabric of his shirt at waist level. There was no underlying softness to grab as his belly was corrugated with hard muscle. When they hit a pedestal displaying a Chinese urn, the piece of porcelain went flying.

                ‘No!’ A finger on her cheek stopped her turning her head towards the smashing sound. ‘It’s nothing,’ he rasped, desperate not to break the mood. She stared up at him, the urgency in his voice echoed in the starkly beautiful, strained lines of his face and the molten heat burning in his heavy-lidded, half-closed eyes.

                She stopped thinking about broken china; she forgot thinking about everything except the here and now. Her entire world was here, his face, his heat, and if the ceiling had fallen on their heads she wouldn’t have noticed. She’d have just carried on looking and wanting.

                She wanted to touch him, taste him… She was quivering with need, shaking from head to toe.

                The grip of fingers in her hair was tight but not as tight as the grip of his dark, glowing stare.