Daff watched him move lower and lower, her hands cupped around the back of his head.
“Please,” she begged when he dragged his tongue lightly over the rippled seam of her areola. “Oh please, Spencer . . .” When his mouth finally closed over her nipple, she writhed beneath him, bucking wildly against his erection. His mouth remained so incredibly gentle, using just the lightest of suckling motions, before he raised his head to blow on the wet tip.
She sobbed, trying to pull his head back down, but he was working his way to the other breast, and he was soon driving her crazy with another one of those sweet, tender kisses. Done with that breast, he moved down, still using only his lips and tongue, his soft kisses leaving a scorching trail over her torso, then her stomach—where he spent a moment, tracing the shape of her belly button with his tongue—and then down over her abdomen. The loosely knotted belt proved no obstacle for him, as with just one tug of his teeth, he had it undone with nothing between her nudity and his scrutiny at all. He took a moment to appreciate the display before smiling and going back to work.
Daff’s legs went slack when his objective became clear, and she watched in disbelief as he knelt in front of her. His hands still on the countertop, he looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze scorching hot while his panting breath fanned out over her delicate flesh, and she shuddered at the delicious sensation.
“Put your feet on my shoulders, please,” he murmured. She had a moment’s doubt—this was so far beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. Were they moving too fast? Probably. Was that going to stop her? Probably not.
Embarrassed to be on such lewd display when he was essentially fully dressed, she swallowed nervously. If not for his half-mast eyes, his uneven breathing, and the rampant hard-on tenting the fabric of those pajama bottoms, she would have wondered if he was turned on at all. He seemed completely in control, and it was . . . unnerving.
But still . . . she was so hot and so close to orgasm that a strong breeze would probably set her off right now. She lifted her legs and slotted the arches of her feet neatly over the curves of his shoulders. He grunted his approval and gave a long appreciative look at what she had just revealed to him before leaning forward and closing his mouth over her hard, aching clit.
She gasped, then sucked in and held another breath when her back arched and her palms slammed down onto the counter beside his hands.
“Uhhhh!”
The suction of his mouth was relentless but not strong enough to make her come—it was driving her insane. His tongue soon joined the party, and Daff cried out again while he kept her on edge with his soft little butterfly licks and tender suckling. Because he never ramped up the intensity, she just remained hovering on the brink. Her feet pushed down against his shoulders, her back flat on the countertop by now, her head tilted over the other end, while her arms spread out on either side of her and gripped the edge.
“Oh God, oh please,” she begged, opening her eyes to stare fixedly at the upside-down cabinets on the other side of the room. His hands finally came into play, one splayed flat over her abdomen to hold her still when she tried to push herself closer to his mouth and the other curved over her right thigh, spreading her a little wider.
The pressure of each suctioning kiss was starting to intensify; the licking got a little more purposeful. He was finally giving her more, and it was wrecking her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it for much longer, but he continued to take his time, savoring her taste in the same way he had enjoyed every morsel of the haute cuisine they’d been served at dinner, with little sighs and appreciative groans.
He kept her balanced on a knife edge while he toyed with her relentlessly . . . until eventually he drew her hypersensitive, extremely swollen clitoris into his mouth and sucked . . . hard. Daff’s entire body convulsed, her back and shoulders leaving the counter as her body bowed beneath the intense, wrenching pleasure of her climax. She cried out, the sound loud and piercing and unexpected, and covered her face with both hands as her bones and muscles turned to warm liquid as she melted back onto the counter in a messy puddle.
She felt undone, like Spencer Carlisle had systematically taken her apart and left off important pieces when he put her back together.
Spencer got to his feet and watched the small, vulnerable woman crying on his kitchen counter. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have sent her off to bed in one of the spare rooms and they could have discussed the matter again in the morning. He truly hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
It was supposed to have been a kiss only. But she’d been so receptive and then so damned shocked by every gentle caress that he found himself both unwilling and unable to stop. Now she looked fucking ruined, and he felt like an asshole.
He moved quickly, scooping her up into his arms, where she drew up her legs and curled her arms around his neck, burying her wet, weeping face in his chest. Not sure what to do, he carried her to his bedroom and laid her down under the covers of his unmade bed before crawling in behind her and tugging her into his arms. She turned so that she was facing him and again buried her face in his chest, still crying.
He stroked her back soothingly, not asking questions, not saying anything, just holding her until her trembling abated and her tears stopped. He leaned back and reached for a tissue from the box he kept on the nightstand, and she took it gratefully.
“You’re probably the only man I know who keeps tissues next to his bed.”
“I’m sure there are quite a few guys who keep tissues at their bedside, for a myriad of reasons,” he said inanely, relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice.
“I’m sorry for turning into a gooey mess on you.”
“There you go, apologizing again.”
“Then allow me to thank you.”
“For?” he asked, baffled.
“Seriously? You don’t know? You couldn’t tell?”
“No, what?”
“That was the first time . . .” She paused and he frowned. “That was the first time anybody has ever done that for me.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
“What kind of fucking morons have you been dating?”
“Selfish ones,” she said, her voice slurring a bit. Her hand reached down between them, dipped beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms and found his throbbing cock with unerring accuracy. He sucked in a startled breath, releasing it again with a soft groan. “You didn’t finish.”
“Because I never started,” he said, not sure if the words made sense at all—nothing currently made sense to him except that firm grip on his hot, painful erection. She slid her hand up to the sensitive tip and then all the way back down to his aching balls. He allowed her a few more strokes—he was only human, after all—before his hand closed over hers, tightening for a brief moment, and he relished the feel of the tighter grip on his shaft. He pulled her hand away gently, lifting it out from beneath the covers and dropping a kiss into her palm. “We’re both exhausted, darling. Go to sleep.”
“But I want to make you feel good, too,” she whispered, sounding exhausted but a little vexed at the same time.
“I appreciate that, but what would make me feel good right now is sleep. Just sleep. With you in my arms. Okay?”
“This is just sex, Spencer,” she felt obligated to remind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning to switch off the bedside lamp. He quickly gathered her back into his arms and she settled into them with a happy sigh.
“Just sex. Got it.” Over his dead body.
“I like it when you call me that.” She sounded all but gone by now.
“What?”
“Darling. I like that. It’s old-fashioned and sweet.”
“Good. Because I like calling you that, and I’m not about to stop.”
She yawned.
“Good night, Spencer.”
“Daff?”
“Hmm?”
“No regrets, okay?”
“No regrets.” He kissed the top of her head and, ignoring his angry, demanding penis, settled down to sleep.
Of course, she had regrets, big-time regrets. They hit the second she opened her eyes just three hours later. She was alone in the king-size bed, but Spencer’s side of it still retained some of his body heat, and she sighed softly before stretching languorously.
Her mind was screaming, oh fuck what have I done! while her body was purring, hmm more, yes please! It was confusing, and she wasn’t exactly certain how she felt this morning. All she knew was that it was seven in the morning, she’d allowed Spencer certain intimate liberties just a few hours ago, and she had to get out of here and get ready for work. Preferably before the whole town woke up and saw her do the drive of shame from Spencer’s place back to her home.
She looked around for the robe she’d been wearing but couldn’t find it anywhere and then blushed hotly when she recalled that it had come off while she lay sprawled on Spencer’s kitchen counter. She had been naked when he carried her to his bedroom. She saw his discarded pajamas at the foot of the bed and dragged the top on. It fell to just above her knees and the sleeves ended well below her fingertips. But it smelled of his spicy, masculine scent, and she tugged the collar to her nose to inhale deeply. Okay, so maybe the regrets were waning a bit—there were definite positives to this situation.