‘I can’t get enough of you,’ he mumbled as he moved to lavish the same attention on her other breast.
She choked something out, but it was almost incoherent to him, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop long enough to ask her to repeat it.
His hands glided over her body, acquainting himself with every contour, every feature. Imprinting them into his head. Maybe into his very soul.
Every now and then he allowed his fingers to dip lower, but never for long. And never where she wanted him most, if her soft moans and body rolls were anything to go by. But Louis suddenly found he had his own battle to win. He wanted to make this first time last, to make it perfect for her, but his own body—up until now always well within his expert command—was threatening to spin out of his control. Every time she arched her body into him, brushing against his sex in a silent plea, he had to fight the carnal urge to pick her up, throw her on the bed and bury himself inside her until she was crying out his name and neither of them knew where each of them ended and the other began.
Almost feverish with lust, Louis dipped his head again, his teeth grazing the hollow of her neck with just enough pressure to make her gasp. To make her hips rock against him in another silent plea.
‘Tell me you want me,’ he commanded, the faintly salty taste of her skin teasing the end of his tongue. But he forced himself to stop, to put a gossamer-fine layer of air between them.
She could barely answer.
‘What are you doing?’
She twisted to get back into his arms. He held her away.
‘Say the words,’ he rasped, pausing but not lifting his head.
He was reckless, and abraded, and pounding.
‘I want you,’ she managed to choke out. Then, as if she felt bolder, the assertion came again. More confident this time. ‘I want you.’
‘Where?’
A crimson stain spread over her lovely cheeks.
‘You know where.’
‘Tell me,’ he ordered.
He needed there to be no doubt, no ambiguity. He knew what she thought of his morals to date. He had to hear her say what she wanted. For her to know she’d said it.
Shakily, she took hold of his wrist; moved his hand to the heat at the top of her legs, her whisper so quiet he had to strain to hear it.
‘Here.’
‘Here?’ he enquired casually, as though it wasn’t killing him to restrain himself.
She bit her lip, a jerk of a nod.
‘There.’
‘Better.’ He didn’t even try to disguise the naked need in his voice.
But it didn’t matter. He had what he needed.
He nudged her over to sit on the edge of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of her, his hand lifting one of her legs over his shoulder, Louis hooked the flimsy scrap of lace aside and pressed his mouth to the centre of her hot, honeyed need, drinking her in at last.
* * *
Alex heard herself cry out. A low, husky sound, and then nothing. She couldn’t. She could barely even catch her breath.
Every single nerve in her body reacted as he licked into her core where she’d felt heavy, so heavy; yearning for him with a need that was almost crippling.
He muttered in French, but Alex didn’t need to understand the words to know it was fierce, thick with desire. For the first time she felt desirable and wanton. Just as provocative, as sexual as the women he usually dated. Except that she wasn’t, and she wasn’t sure if there was something she should be doing for him. If there was something important she was forgetting.
‘Louis...’ She lifted herself slightly onto one elbow and tried to shift away from him for a moment.