Gently, so gently, the tips of his fingers skimmed up her arms and slipped beneath the thin straps of her dress, sliding them down. Instead of pulling her dress down as she expected, those fingers trailed back up over her shoulders, tracing her collarbones, which felt so delicate beneath his big hands. His eyes lit on the tiny pink heart tattoo she had at the edge of her right clavicle, barely any bigger than a freckle. It had no outline; she'd wanted it to look like a natural part of her skin.
"Jesus," he rasped, his fingertips circling it. "That's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."
Somehow she found it within her to laugh, but it came out a mere gust of air. "That?" As if to show her how much he meant it, his mouth went to where his fingers had been, and her head fell back, her legs tightening around him.
"Mm-hmm."
"You'll be happy to know, then, that I have three more just like that one. I'll leave it to you to find them."
His rough growl vibrated against her skin and his hands went to her waist, fisting on the fabric of her dress. She feared he might rip it, then decided she didn't give a damn. "Is that a little game you like to play?"
"Sometimes."
"What do I get if I win?"
Oh, if only he knew. "I'll tell you if you win," she said breathlessly.
"I think the reward might just be in the playing."
That too. For his delectable mouth and big hands to explore her entire body . . . she shivered with the promise of it.
When his grip relaxed at last, his hands slid up her torso, thumbs brushing just at the outer curves of her breasts. All the while he rained worshipful kisses over her shoulders, her neck, her jaw, while she allowed her hands to roam the breadth of his back and tried not to squirm too wantonly against the rough press of his jeans between her thighs. When he finally touched her he was going to find her embarrassingly wet, but thinking about it only made her wetter, made her throb harder, made her squirm more.
His hands returned to her waist, gathering the fabric of her dress. Without her straps to hold it in place, the bodice crept downward. He watched its progression as her breath heaved, his eyes full of naked need, hunger. Greed. She licked her lips as the ruched edge reached the top of her areola, barely revealing its dusky rose hue before his mouth was there and the protection of her dress was completely gone. "I stand corrected," he murmured against her, then her nipple was in his wet, sucking mouth, and she cried out, clutching his head to her.
When he found sexy things, he liked to kiss them. Good to know. As he leaned into her, she let her legs ride higher on his waist, feeling her dress slip farther up her thighs. Barred only by the thinness of her panties, the scent of her own arousal bloomed around them. It must have gone to his head; he cursed and ground his hips into hers, moving his mouth to give her other nipple the same thorough treatment as the first. His tongue swirled tantalizing patterns, his mouth sucked her to an aching peak, his teeth gave tiny nips that made her whimper. She had always considered herself smallish in the boob department, but they had never felt so heavy and feverish, sending arcs of pleasure like gentle lightning between her legs where she clenched on emptiness she was near begging for him to fill.
And at last, just as she was beginning to ponder if orgasm from nipple stimulation alone was a possibility for her, his mouth came back to hers. "Didn't find it," he said. "Need to keep looking."
She couldn't gather her wits enough to reply, only giving him a helpless nod.
With her arms and legs wound tight around him, her naked chest held tight against him, he strode through the dimly lit house into the darkness of a bedroom. She tipped dizzily and her back sank into a pillow-top mattress covered with a thick, soft comforter. He moved away, and after a moment soft light filled the room from a lamp in one corner. Enough to see, dim enough to conceal. Her gaze never left him as he reached behind his head and pulled his shirt off, then crawled up the bed toward her. Savannah's hands immediately flew to his body, desperate to feel the heat and smoothness of his skin, trace the dips and lines of his muscles. Never, ever had she been with someone built like him. She wanted to know every inch of him before the night was over.
Every inch.
The breath shuddered out of him at her touch. That she held power over such a powerful specimen gave her a surge of confidence, and she allowed her questing fingers to ride the ridges of his abdominal muscles down to his fly, seeking, finding-Oh, Jesus-the thick bulge pressing against the denim. His entire body jerked when she caressed it, and his hand went to hers, squeezing hard for a moment. "Let me," she cajoled, sitting up to steal a kiss from his lips. With a groan, he pulled her questing fingers away and pinned her wrist to the mattress, denying her while his naked chest heaved over her.
"Not yet," he whispered in her ear, then kissed a path down from her neck. His mouth sought and found her right nipple, his tongue teased it, and it hardened to the point of pain again for him. His hand found the other, and she fleetingly wished she had more to fill his big palm with, but he damn sure didn't seem to mind. With lips and gentle nips of his teeth, he worked her into a toe-curling frenzy, her thighs writhing against the jeans still covering his hips. She began trying to shove those down and out of her way despite his earlier protest, but it was no use.
Her own thighs were spread around his narrow hips, her dress bunched around her waist, the thin lacy panties she wore the only thing separating her from his touch. They were drenched with her need, rasping against her sensitized flesh, and she wanted them gone. She ground her hips against him, trying to entice him to do something about that before she had to. No sooner had she thought it than one of his hands fisted the delicate scrap at her hip.
"Rip it," she pleaded, needing to know his strength, gasping at the painful snap when he did so. His mouth found hers again in a frenzy of lips, teeth, tongue. The shock of cool air circulating over her inflamed center made her moan. When the edge of his fingers scorched her there, though, gliding easily through her slickness, she feared she might draw blood from his lip caught between her teeth.
"Fuck, Savannah," he groaned, his touch strong and rough and almost too much in her heightened state of sensitivity. She jerked and squirmed, her clit throbbing, everything a fevered, liquid ache. He had a way of gently working his fingertips independently of each other over her clit that damn near shot her into space right there.
"Michael, please . . ." He teased lower, sought, found, slipped inside. She clenched his finger, relishing the sound that tore from his throat. Another joined it then, stretching her, burning. Yes. And then he went down, kissing a path over her stomach while his fingers set up a slow rhythm, in and out, so thick. His tongue slid over her folds, teasing between them to her clit, so hot, melting her. She panted, tilting up to meet him, spreading wider when he sucked hard on her, only adding to the maelstrom of sensation and emotion buffeting her. Her body involuntarily twisted in agony when he slowed his strokes. Fists crammed to her mouth, she fought not to come yet and fought to come very hard right now . . .
He pulled his mouth away. She bit down on a frustrated scream. "I see one," he murmured, the fingers of his free hand alighting on the pink heart below her left hip bone. "Two down."
Oh, fuck that tattoo. Better yet, fuck me! "Michael," she said as patiently as she could, "there's a certain urgent matter requiring your attention."
"I think I should keep looking for the third one. I'm trying to win a game here."
"I can't keep this going. Please, just make me come."
His chuckle was a burst of warm air over her superheated flesh. In her heightened state, it was almost enough to set her off. Glancing down, she watched him trail kisses up her inner thigh, watched him stare between her legs. Every one of her senses focused on him. His fingers in her pussy. His eyes. His breathing. The taste of him still in her mouth. The scent of smoke that still clung to him.
"I stand corrected again," he murmured, dropping his head back to her while she wanted to shout hallelujah.
Because oh, shit, he was good at that. Firm and sure of himself, and right in the middle of her poor frazzled mind throwing another not yet! at her needy nether regions, she was lost. Her hips wrenched hard off the bed, but he was immovable, holding her steady so that she couldn't throw him off his task of wringing her of every drop of pleasure, every joyous cry of release. When she finally did come back to earth from her trip through the stars, she'd nearly pulled the comforter off the sides of the bed and he was hovering over her, looking into her eyes. In her raw state, his gaze was even more penetrating than usual. She shook all over.