The Playboy's Baby(50)
When the tremors began to ease, he stood and pulled her against him for a kiss. Then he swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. Once there, he lay her on the bed. His eyes smoldered at her. He shed his clothing and joined her, lying against her side. He claimed her mouth, his kiss slow, hungry, and needy. His hands slid down her body to her hips, and he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, until she lay on top of him, along his length.
She straddled his waist and bracing her hands on his chest, pushed upright and sat back on his thighs. He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small foil package, his mouth curling into that heart-stopping grin when he handed it to her.
“Be gentle.” His voice drifted low, husky and suggestive in the space between them, and an answering smile spread when she took the package from him.
Her gaze locked on his. She leaned forward and dragged the tips of her nails lightly down his chest, delighting in the way his body trembled beneath her touch. His breath caught, his chest rising and falling at an increasing pace. When she skimmed her nails along the skin just above where she knew he wanted her to touch him, his stomach muscles jumped, his hips rocking forward beneath her.
She closed her hand around him, delighting in the feel of him, the soft, silky skin. She loved watching his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. He looked like he was in agony and it made her desire that much headier and drew her own out to a feverish pitch. It gave her a delicious sense of freedom, of feminine power, to know she had that much affect on him, that she did to him what he did to her.
All too quickly, his eyes popped open and his hands shackled her wrists. His heavy-lidded eyes blazed at her. “You keep that up, and it’ll be all over before it even starts.”
Grinning, she tore open the foil package and sheathed him, pleased beyond measure when his eyes slid shut again, then she moved up his body. The tip of him nudged her heat, but she held herself out of reach, rolling her hips, teasing him.
Mischief danced in his eyes. His soft hands caressed up her thighs to the juncture in between, then dipped in, finding her center. He massaged her, drew her need out to a feverish pitch, and she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and let him take her. Just when she reached that fine, sweet edge, he stopped, his fingers skimming away, circling around the aching bundle of nerves, deliberately not stroking her. He left her trembling on that precarious, sweet edge.
“Dillon…” His name left her lips on a needy moan. “Please.”
His hands seized her waist and his hips rocked forward. At the same time, he pulled her down onto him, burying himself within her in one swift stroke. The pleasure engulfed her, and she shattered, gasping for breath. He began to move within her, his fingers resuming their gentle stroke over her sensitive nub, drawing her climax out to near unbearable heights. She came apart in his hands. On some vague plane, she heard his name roll off her tongue on a desperate needy cry.
They spent the next several hours wrapped around each other, feasting on each other. Dillon’s patience awed her. He indulged her, allowed her the luxury of exploring every inch of his body, letting her take her time. She luxuriated in his reactions, the way he responded to her touch.
Not once did he ever rush her. He merely gave himself over to her, made love to her slowly, bringing her to heights she was once sure only couples in romance novels ever experienced. The soft, gentle side of him set her at ease, told her without a doubt she wasn’t wrong about him, and a piece of him stole inside, a piece she knew would be there forever.
* * *
The following night, Dillon entered his bedroom, yanking his shirt off over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. Four a.m. Saturday no, make that Sunday morning. It had been a long busy night, mostly spent trying not to look forward to seeing Emma when he came home. The woman consumed him. He wanted nothing more than to go crawl in bed with her in the guest room. He fell asleep wrapped in her arms the night before and he had to admit he found it an addicting place to be.
All of which left him tied in knots. It was only supposed to be sex. Albeit phenomenal sex, but just sex, nonetheless.
Except a sense of closeness grew between them he couldn’t ignore. He was closer to her than anyone else. She soothed something deep inside of him, filled a place within he’d forgotten about over the years. Laying with her, holding her, he felt at peace with himself.
A fact that told him without a doubt he’d gotten in way over his head. He couldn’t resist her. She had a hold on him nobody had had in a long time.
Shaking off the onerous thoughts, he pulled off his khakis and tossed them with his shirt. They landed with a quiet shush half in and half out of the hamper.