Burying his face between her breasts, he gnawed at the tiny bow at the center of her bra. She felt the unmistakable graze of his teeth on her skin. He used them to scrape the top swell of her breast and a very startling whimper escaped her.
His mouth shifted to the peak, pointy and obvious under the fabric, and he licked her. The hot dampness of his tongue seeped into her skin. She shuddered. A thrilling heat fanned out from her center.
He reached around her and unhooked her bra. When he peeled it off her, she instinctively covered herself with her palms.
“I want to see.” He pried her hands away and placed them on his shoulders. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes regarded each of her breasts with interest. His breath fanned across one exposed nipple. “So pretty.”
She drew in a ragged breath as he brushed the little bud with the pad of his thumb. It puckered under his finger. I
f possible, his eyes darkened even more. “Do you want my mouth here?”
“I d-don’t know.”
He swiped his tongue across the tip. “Yes, you do.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled her with his nose. “Do you want my mouth here?”
“Yes.”
He licked gently. “Like that.”
“Yes.”
He grazed with his teeth. “Or like that.”
She squeezed his shoulders, staring to shiver. “B-both.”
He nibbled using his lips then drew her fully into his mouth. “Hmm. Like a raspberry.”
Her eyes shut tight. The sensation of being devoured entirely by his mouth had her melting.
Could he say something wrong, please? Could he not lick her…like that? Could his hands be smaller, less thorough, less hot, less knowing?
Turning to suckle her other breast, he delved one hand between her legs and slipped into her panties. “I want my mouth here, too,” he murmured, searching her pliant folds with strong, deft fingers.
She gasped and thrashed her head, seized by a mix of shame and pleasure as he unerringly found, opened, invaded that most intimate part of her. “N-no…no mouth there.”
“But I can touch?”
Quivering and warm, she sensed him watching her as he gently eased one finger into that moist, swollen place that craved him.
She gulped back an enormous clog of emotion. “Yes.”
“Chiquita.” It was a reverent whisper, full of wonder as he stretched her. “Chiquita mia.”
She arched, shamelessly offering herself. As he continued his foray inside her, a marvelous pressure gathered at her core.
His nostrils flared. “One minute,” he rasped as he searched under her dress for the silken string of her panties. She was weightless on the bed when he tugged them off her legs. “And I put us both out of our misery.”
His chest gleamed bare when he leaned over her, his shoulders bunched with tension as he grasped her calves. He stared into her eyes, his expression tight as he guided her legs around his hips. “Hold on to me. Don’t let me go.”
The way he asked to be held made her think she’d never let him go, she’d make him love her, she’d hold on to him.
He pulled her to his hips and she felt him, hot and thick and rigid, pressing into where she was pliant and damp. A wildness raged inside her when he ducked his head to suckle a breast—suckle hard the instant he pushed in. She bucked up to receive him, urging him in with her hands and legs.
They moaned in unison when he entered, their breaths mingling as he angled his head to hers, their lips so close that all he had to do was bend his head an inch to capture her mouth and the whimper that followed when he was fully inside her.
“Yes,” he growled.
“Yes,” she breathed.