Taming the Lone Wolff(79)

                “About what?”

                Larkin untied the small bow at the back of her neck and pulled the bodice of the dress to her waist. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

                When he bent his head and took one of her nipples between his teeth, pleasure sparked through her veins and her knees wobbled. He caught her up against him with one strong arm across her back, kissing her wildly. She sensed a change in him, an urgency that went beyond mere passion.

                Breaking free for a moment, she smoothed a hand over his cheek. “Wrong about what?”

                “Marital bliss. Turns out it is contagious.” His eyes were dark, his expression more so.

                “You’re not making sense,” she said, waiting impatiently for him to finish removing her dress.

                When she was down to nothing but her French-cut panties, he stopped and stared. “We have to talk.”

                Her nipples peaked, aching and hot. “About what?” The ferocity of his molten azure gaze might as well have been a physical caress. The tactile examination ran from her face to her belly and below. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Between her legs, her sex dampened, swelled, readied for him.

                “I’m confused, but everything is getting clearer.”

                Nothing he said made sense. But she understood without words what he wanted. And the erection tenting the front of his slacks reinforced her conclusion.

                “One of us is lagging behind.” She was getting better at undressing him, but her fingers fumbled with the buttons at the cuffs of his dress shirt. He finally helped her and removed the rest of his clothing in an impatient one-footed dance.

                Winnie clasped her hands between her breasts, trying to keep her heart from punching through her chest. Larkin was the gorgeous one.

                He took her hand. “Do you trust me, Winnie? To always tell you the truth?”

                “I do.” The sound of the vow made her wince inwardly, but Larkin didn’t seem to notice.

                He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “I can’t wait, baby. I’m sorry. We’ll take the edge off and start all over again.” Not bothering to peel back the sumptuous covers, he deposited her on the mattress and came down beside her, pausing only to take care of protection. As he moved between her legs, she arched into his thrust, groaning as he filled her completely. The sense of connection, of utter rightness, stole her breath.

                His skin was damp against hers, the muscles in his arms cording as he held his weight on his hands. Moving his hips first lazily, then with more force, he took her further and faster than before. She wanted to savor the moment. To tuck it away and remember it in the days ahead when he would no longer be part of her everyday life.

                But there was no time for reflection, no opportunity for even a fleeting rational thought. Larkin had learned what pleased her, and he used the knowledge to advantage. Again and again he drove her to the edge, taking her close, but never letting her fall.

                It was agony and perfection. Torture and bliss.

                His eyes were closed now, unwittingly shutting her out. With his skin drawn tightly across sharp cheekbones, he breathed harshly, raggedly. He was completely in control, his strength and power present in every thrust.

                She wrapped her legs around his waist, driving him deeper still. And then it was upon them…without warning…a spine-numbing, breath-stealing surge of release that left her with no recourse but to grip his slick, powerful shoulders and hold on until the end.