She fisted her hands, fighting the desire to reach out and capture the scorching flame that engulfed her every time he came near. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she barely felt the first trickle of dampness on her cheeks.
“Helena,” his voice brooked no argument and her lashes lifted, tears falling freely. The trembling in her fingers seemed to vibrate through every bone until even her hair seemed to shiver from the assault on her senses. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
The words wouldn’t come. How could she explain the riots breaking out all over her body? Her breasts ached. Her wet sex clenched. Her toes curled insider her shoes. She shook with the force of the torrent racing through her blood. She tasted the food, but it was the flavor of him that lingered.
How could she explain how she never wanted these moments to end? How could words ever adequately describe the waves of emotion that swelled and dragged at her, tumbling over every practical objection her mind stuttered to produce?
He set aside the knife and fork. His hands cradling her cheeks as he brushed away the tears she couldn’t even work up the embarrassment to hide as they slipped, one after another, out of her control.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” his voice trembled low and deep. The dark hair shaping his face was thick, barely long enough to graze the tops of his ears. His perfectly shaped ears, with their gentle whorls and lobes that looked ripe enough to graze with her teeth, to lap at with her tongue until he shivered.
His broad forehead crinkled with the frown drawing his dark brows together over his sensuously lit blue eyes. She’d called them bedroom eyes when she’d first glimpsed them, but they were so much more. They pushed past every barrier she erected, dodging her defenses or simply dismissing them. She wanted to drown in those eyes, sink into the sea of sumptuous pleasure they promised.
Swallowing past the lump filling her throat, she whispered, “You.”
The admission cost her, it took every ounce of her strength to shape the word, nails digging into her palms as the quivers in her belly continued to ripple outwards, gaining in strength. The riptide of sensation jerked her under and she didn’t want to fight it anymore.
“It would be my pleasure,” he murmured. His mouth slanted over hers and robbed her of the need to say anything else. The world tilted and she surged forward, wrapping her arms and hopes around him, a tempest exploding within her as he lifted her out of the chair and into his lap.
Chapter Five
Damon stroked his thumbs down her cheeks, urging her mouth to open wider for him. The silken heat of her bottom pressed against his raging hard on. He deepened the kiss. His tongue slid against the rough ridges of flesh behind her teeth and then up to tangle with hers. It was an altogether satisfying kiss, but he wanted more.
Her greedy little fingers fisted on his shirt. He nuzzled a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth to taste the salty tears that continued to slip from her eyes. Raising his head, he waited for her lashes to flutter open, for the glistening warmth of her autumn brown eyes. Darker than wine, her pupils dilated as though the black sought to swallow up every last drop of light.
“When we built Lagniappe’s, we added six apartments upstairs.” He caressed one hand along the column of her throat to the silk of the gray blouse, smoothing the fabric over her shoulder until he reached the bare, warm flesh of her bicep. He wanted to touch every inch of her smooth skin.
She rolled her hips, her tight, round bottom rubbing the length of his erection, shredding his barely contained control.
Apprehension tensed her sweet, soft lips. He braced himself for her objections, her rejection. If she would spend the rest of her night sitting in his lap, he could get drunk off her hot, wet kisses and he would find a way to handle it.
“I’m not very good at it.”
The confession reined in his raging libido and he tipped her chin up. Hints of shame clouded her damp, desire-filled eyes. Tears trembled on her lashes. Her chest rose and fell matching the ragged pant of her breaths.
“Not very good at what, sweetheart?” Because she was one hell of a responsive kisser, meeting him thrust for thrust, coaxing a wild heat in him that he was having a damn hard time keeping banked to even have the conversation. If not for the whisper of bodies beyond the privacy curtain, he’d lay her out on the table in front of him, peel up her skirt and feast on the sweet delicacy of her sex until he’d satisfied his craving to know every sound she could make.
His cock twitched, thoroughly encouraged by that game plan.
“Sex.” The corner of her mouth turned down and her lashes dipped, hiding her eyes. “I tried it a few times in college.”