“You’re one of a kind, Ari,” he whispered, as she finally gave him what he wanted and opened the front clasp, letting bra straps slide down her shoulders, the flames in the fire grate reflecting on her skin. The dress protected her back from the room’s chill; her strawberry hair was around her shoulders tangled, disheveled and wild.
“Let’s get you wetter,” he whispered huskily, glad to hear her soft pants as he probed. Her knees squeezed where they banked his thighs and he pushed a middle finger deep, vibrating it near her womb. Moistening his fingers with his mouth, he tasted her, mixing his saliva with her sweet juices, then he teased her every way he could think to, finally pressing into the opening with the pad of his thumb while splaying fingers over her mound. Drawing tantalizing circles on her clit until she cried out, he twined his fingers in the silken hair and tugged until the flesh of her thighs felt like it would never stop quivering.
“You’re still too far away,” he murmured, his voice breathless, his every touch calculated to bring her back to her self, back to him, back to this potent physical thing they shared. His blood quickened as she panted harder. Suddenly, she leaned back, as if to get up. Instinctively, he reached to stop her. “Don’t. Where are you going?”
“The condom.”
“Oh.” His breath catching, he watched her rip the package. Trying to steady himself, he rested his elbows at his sides, determined to let her take control even though he wanted nothing more than to make her submit to his will, too. He wanted her to yield as he plundered. His fingers itched to help as she fumbled with the condom. He was hard and as she rolled it on, his heart squeezed, since each touch made him want to cry out. How could she make the most mundane things, like sheathing him, so incredibly hot?
“Ride me,” he whispered, her warm fingers circling him, the touch a hair-trigger threatening to bring him off. Guiding him into a swimming sea of heat, she sank down, opening for him, taking the shaft, enveloping him, wiping coherent thought from his mind. When she started really moving, he gasped. Lips he’d bruised with kisses parted. Amber eyes that had roved over each nude inch of him glazed and rolled back, half—closing.
Hungry and yearning, he slid both hands around the smooth, quivering skin of her backside, then he tightened his fingers, pulling her closer, pulling her down each inch, his every last nerve dancing. A switch inside turned on and heated jolts pulsed to his groin. Impressions crowded in on him. The soft torture of her palms on his chest. The burning agony as her fingers brushed his nipples. She was grasping his chest hairs by the fistful as she lowered herself, taking him all the way. Suddenly, she leaned, crouching forward, her breasts touching his chest—swaying, grazing, sweeping. Nipples on nipples. He gasped. She was tighter. Wetter. Hotter. About to come. When her internal muscles clutched, he gritted his teeth, fighting not to explode. She was so close.
“Can you get off, Ari?” he managed, his voice barely audible. Maybe she was too lost tonight, her mood not right. “Come on, baby.”
Brushing hair from her face, he clenched the strands, using them to drag her mouth down to his for an all-tongue kiss. “Nobody ever made love to me like this,” he assured, his voice energizing her, quickening her movements. Her thigh muscles rippled, each brush of skin reducing him to carnal need, and yet it wasn’t just lust, but so much more.
He moved to put a foot on the floor, to anchor himself, but he couldn’t. His pants were around his ankles, trapping them. Helpless, he could only lift his hips, pushing his cock deeper. Tilting his chin up, he pressed his head into the armrest, uttering a nonsensical sound, then his hands found her waist. How could he hold back when she gloved him in hot, liquid heaven? Suddenly, she went slack all over, and just as suddenly, convulsed. On a wave of palpitations, the luscious relief of release claimed him, too.
Even more than lust, they’d expended emotion, and he stayed inside her, barely moving, his arms around her back, her legs stretching, twining around his. Laying her cheek on his chest, she steadied her panting breath, and was asleep in minutes. Later, the lights flickered back on, and he awakened. The heat was on, too, so there was no need to stay by the fire, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. He pulled a gray afghan blanket his mother had made around her shoulders and finger-combed the tangled strands of her hair.