The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011(151)

But she wouldn’t let him slow down. She pulled his head down to her breast and ground her hips against him as, at first gently, then with a steadier pressure, he began to suckle at her sweet flesh. He felt her body wind tighter and tighter, until she bowed against him, her head thrown back in supplication. He tilted his pelvis against her, pressing his aching shaft against the apex of her thighs, against the dampness and heat that shimmered from her core.

He lifted himself away from her before he lost control completely and gently slid his thumb inside the elastic leg of her panties and further until the pad of his thumb rested against the heat of her soft hood of flesh. Slick with her wetness, his thumb swept a lazy circle around her, increasing in pressure as he decreased the tiny spiralling journey.

He laved his tongue again around one nipple before closing around the taut peak and pulling it gently past his teeth and deeper into his mouth. He felt the ripples of climax begin from deep within her, radiating out until she shattered against him before collapsing back into the mattress. Alive. Real.

He released her nipple from his mouth and pressed gentle kisses against her rib cage, trailing down to her waist, her belly. The skirt had to go. It was entirely too much clothing for what he needed now. He dispensed with the zip fastening and slid the black fabric from her and pulled her panties away from her limp body, throwing them both to the floor in a heap.

If he never saw her wear black again it would be too soon.

He pulled up onto his knees and wrenched his shirt off, sending buttons flying in his haste to bare his skin, to feel hers. In seconds he’d discarded the last of his clothing, freed at last. She lay still on the bed. Her eyes glazed, not with tears but with satiation. Her skin flushed a soft delicate pink.

Holly’s heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. Her entire body zinged with energy. With life. Connor had rent open the floodgates of feeling, of need and desire, and she wanted more—she wanted him.

She watched as he ripped away his clothing with little attention to care. She pushed herself upright and onto her knees and shrugged off her blouse and bra, letting them slide off the side of the bed to the floor. She didn’t want to think. She simply wanted.

Holly reached out and trailed her fingers across the expanse of his chest, intrigued to watch the muscles beneath the surface of his bronzed skin ripple and tighten in answer to her touch. His reaction lent her power. She did this to him. She governed how hard, or soft, she touched him.

She let her nails scrape across his nipples, at first gently, then stronger, harder. At his sharply indrawn breath she looked up, the expression on his face reminding her he was a man, not merely a body. Their eyes linked as she circled his nipples with her nails, bearing closer and closer to the tender, puckered discs. He held his arms rigid at his sides, and she sensed the restraint he employed in keeping them there. In allowing her this discovery of him.

She parted her lips and ran her tongue first along the bottom, then the top. Then slowly, deliberately, she leaned forward and pressed them, swollen, hot and wet, against him. She felt his reaction in the tremors he fought to control. She dropped her hands to his fists, gently imprisoning them against his hips while she kissed his nipples and trailed a moist line of heat down the crease between his rib cage, then lower to his belly.

The dark hair that circled his belly button matted under the onslaught of her lips and her tongue, and again she felt that surge of power, of energy, of life. Reluctantly she pulled away and dropped one leg over the edge of the bed, bearing her weight on it before sliding the other to the soft carpet on the floor.

“Lie down,” she commanded. Was that her voice? That husky, sultry, sexy demand. Desire arrowed sharp and true to her centre and radiated out starbursts of fire.

To her surprise he did so without argument, and she climbed back onto the bed, placing one knee on either side of his thighs. A tiny burst of insecurity bloomed inside her. What was she doing behaving like a wanton?

His dark eyes narrowed to slits, and he watched her as she hesitated, his sensual lips immobile as she gazed upon his body. The mute challenge in his eyes dared her to go further, to touch and take him as she wanted to. Without severing visual contact she arched her back and lifted her arms to loose the final strands of hair that remained caught in the twist she’d restrained them in.

The long, dark length of silk swung free, and she leaned forward, letting the strands stroke along the inside of his thighs and higher to where his arousal jutted hungrily. Lowering her head, she caught a hank of hair, wound it softly around his shaft and pulled gently upwards watching, intrigued, as the hair tightened around his swollen head before sliding, teasingly over the tip. She repeated the action, suddenly feeling more wanton and far more aroused than ever before.