When he slid his hands under her and cupped her breasts, she sank her fingers into the bedspread and tried not to beg.
“Still good to go?”
She didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded.
He rolled her over, and his eyes locked on hers. Slowly, purposefully, they slid down her body. His fingertips followed, gliding along her throat before trailing down her arms to draw the bra off. He popped the button on her jeans. The rasp of her zipper filled the room, and then he stood and tugged her jeans and underwear off.
Next came his shirt, and if he hadn’t already rendered her speechless, the sight of shadows and light playing over every hard-etched curve and angle of chest and abs would have done the trick. She folded her arms behind her head and waited for him to remove his jeans. He unbuttoned the fly, but didn’t take them off. Instead he knelt between her parted legs and kissed the inside of her knee. The scrape of whiskers contrasted with the soft kiss, and everything north of his lips started to tingle.
She levered herself up onto her elbows. “I appreciate the effort you’re putting in here, but it’s not necessary. I believe I mentioned my condition?”
He kissed the other leg, a little higher, and then deliberately ran his chin along her thigh until she shivered. “The lady blue balls?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve got the cure.” He moved to the other side and kissed her again, very high. She dropped back onto the mattress and sank a hand into his hair.
“I might not survive your cure.”
His laugh tickled her skin, and then he hitched her legs into his arms and forced them wider. “You’re safe with me.”
She braced for what came next, anticipating his hot mouth, his lips, teeth, and tongue driving her straight into a fast, hard orgasm. But he lied. She wasn’t safe at all, because he lowered his head and danced his tongue over her. Slowly, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world and nothing more important to do than savor every second it took to reduce her to a trembling mass of need.
She tightened her fingers in his hair—probably too tight, but the urgency didn’t allow for manners. “Oh God.”
He came back for another pass. Her body tensed. Nerve endings caught fire. She blindly chased his tongue, which only made him tighten his hold to keep her hips still.
“Let me take care of you.” His plea caressed her, as torturously light as his touch. Then his lips closed over the part of her most in need of care and bestowed a featherlight kiss. Followed by another, and another. She rocked into him, as much as his hold on her hips would permit, while the need built into something crushing.
“Beau,” she breathed, but he didn’t increase the pressure or the pace, just kept driving her insane with those slow, unbearably gentle kisses. Even the smallest move of his jaw brought his whiskers into contact with oversensitized flesh, to the point she literally itched for more.
Did he understand what he was doing to her? He slid a hand up her body, over her stomach, her torso, to come to rest between her breasts. On either side of his wide hand, her nipples throbbed in time to the slow, steady pull of his lips between her legs. She closed her eyes and waited for him to touch the aching peaks. It took several seconds before she realized he wasn’t going to. No, he expected her to come like that, with his hand on her heart and his mouth slowly, patiently drawing the orgasm out of her.
“I can’t. I can’t…”
She sucked in a breath for a third denial, and that’s when he proved her wrong. She could. She did, with devastating intensity. All the more devastating because he stayed with her, using increasingly light strokes to prolong every wave of pleasure. When he finally eased away, even she couldn’t identify the sound that came out of her—some kind of moan.
Eventually she found her powers of speech. And her manners. “Thank you.”
“Premature. I’m not done.”
His words had her opening her eyes in time to see him drag his jeans off. He stood there for a moment, like some living, breathing masterpiece of masculine power and beauty, and every sated inch of her suddenly hungered for more. For him.
He leaned over her and kissed her stomach, her heart, and then slid his arm around her waist and hauled her up until he had her stretched out across the bed. The hot, hard weight of his erection branded her thigh. His mouth grazed hers. Retreated. Came back for another brief kiss.
This man was going to wreck her. She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him in, fused her mouth to his. He braced himself on his forearms and gave her what she silently demanded. The pressure of his mouth forced hers open wider. He took full advantage, delving deep, laying claim. His tongue filled her mouth, and left her desperately aware of a frustratingly empty part of her. She raised her knees and fluttered her thighs against his hips, not caring if she came across as impatient. The move nudged the smooth, wide head of his cock closer to the target, and her inner muscles quivered.
He extended his arms, breaking the kiss as he levered his upper body above hers. Her hands slid down to the small of his back. She blinked her eyes open and looked up at him.
“Still good to go, Savannah?”
She parted her thighs wider, opened herself for the first deep, driving thrust. “Go.”
Except apparently tonight he preferred to torture her slowly. He sank into her inch by inch. She flattened her palms against his ass, urging him down, but he wouldn’t be rushed. The angle of his hips pinned hers to the bed, thwarting any decent effort she might make to hurry him along. His shoulders shook. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples, but still he took his sweet time. His eyes never left her face.
“How long can you keep this up?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, but still he managed a tight grin. “As long as it takes.”