Stirring Attraction(37)

She stripped off her drawstring shorts and pale pink underwear. Naked from the waist down, she sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Here?” he asked as he lowered down to his knees.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the man kneeling in her living room. His self-­imposed uniform only told half the story. Beneath his black cargo shorts and the grey T-­shirt that read “ARMY” across the chest, he still possessed the powerhouse body she’d watched on the football field years ago.

But her high school love had always appeared in control. The bearded warrior kneeling at her feet looked as if he’d parted ways with restraint. His hair fell past his chin. And his green eyes held a hint of wicked promise.

“Spread your legs, honey.”

And let me show you how much I love you.

The words floated in on a memory from a time when she’d loved the hero, the high school star determined to join the army, to serve . . . But she quickly pushed it away. Falling in love with that man again? Impossible. He didn’t exist. He’d been replaced with the hardened man who seemed to hold his fear close to the heart, just like she did.

But she still lay back and allowed her knees to drift apart.

His hands ran up her inner thighs and she closed her eyes. When his fingers reached their destination, his thumbs stroked down her center, and then spread her further. She waited for his lips to brush over her.

“Dominic?” she said softly.

His hands pressed against her legs in response. But if he didn’t lick her soon . . .

“It’s been a long time, Lily. Let me look.”

“Dominic,” she growled as she wiggled her hips. It had been a long time for her too. And her body hummed with need. Looking wasn’t going to cut it. She needed his hands, his mouth.

He let out a low laugh. “Impatient?”

But he didn’t wait for her response. His hand wrapped around her waist and he pulled her bottom off the table’s edge.

“What?” she exclaimed as he cupped one cheek in each hand. Then he lowered his mouth, his large body bent over her as if preparing to worship . . . and then he did. He ran his tongue over her, back and forth.

She let everything go. She didn’t need to cry out for him to move a little higher, or dip lower at just . . . the right . . . moment. He remembered. She relaxed into the pleasure, completely at his mercy. His fingers teased her backside, offering a thrill that rocketed forward as his tongue pressed against her, then drew back.

“You still like that,” he murmured.

“I like everything,” she whispered, trying to rock her hips. But he held her steady, maintaining control of every touch, every taste . . .

“Do you like this?” he asked.

His tongue lifted and was briefly replaced with a brush of his beard, tickling her folds. She squirmed, but he held her bottom tight.

“Oh . . . my . . .” she moaned.

Then his tongue swept over her, moving back and forth with quick, firm stokes. Her body rose to the edge, and he drew back. His beard brushed over her increasingly sensitive skin. One swift pass over her and then fast strokes reminiscent of a vibrator returned.

“Dominic!”

The pleasure peaked as if it had been waiting for her to call his name. And he continued to lick and stroke, holding her tight, offering another gentle press of his fingers to draw out the . . .

“Oh,” she groaned as the pitch-­perfect feeling faded.

He released her and she lay with her lower body hanging off the edge of her coffee table and her upper half melting into the wood.

“You did it wrong,” she murmured. “The table is still in one piece.”

He laughed. Then she heard movement and sat up, sliding off the coffee table and onto the floor. He looked ready to push off the ground. She reached out, clasping his wrist. “Where are you going? It’s your turn.”

He glanced over her shoulder. “What time did my sister need you at the bar for inventory?”

“Ten.”

He nodded to her mother’s old clock hung on the living room’s far wall. “It’s nine forty-­five. You slept in while I was setting up your lights.”

“Slept in?”

“That’s what happens when you start sleeping again. You can’t stop. Or so I’ve heard. You’d better get dressed now. I’ll drop you off on my way to breakfast. And I’ll have my dad cook you up something so you don’t go hungry.”

She turned and flashed a wide grin. “That was my breakfast. It was called ‘Oh . . . My . . . Dominic.’ ”

He shook his head. “Breakfast of champions.”

“Don’t worry,” she called as she raced to her room. “You’ll get yours after my shift.”