He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. “We’ll go slow.”
She smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Don’t you remember? I like speed.”
His grin flashed in the firelight, cocky and sure. He pushed her back on the couch and moved down on her body, his hot mouth trailing heat over her belly. “So beautiful,” he murmured. Paris spread her legs. He settled down, and used his tongue to take what he wanted, teasing her into a boiling frenzy of need.
She’d never had anyone want her body the way he seemed to right now. She trembled as he licked and tasted her. A flush of fire washed over her. His tongue plunged into her and then skirted over the throbbing bud and traced around her outside lips. He licked and lightly sucked. She never wanted him to stop.
The trembling started from deep inside, a place that had never been reached by anyone else. His tongue connected with the most sensitive part of her, and he pushed his finger inside. She arched her back hard. He kissed her clitoris. Light exploded before her eyes as her body squeezed and clenched every drop of energy out of her.
Moving up he covered her body with his again. “You’re so beautiful. Glistening. Ready to come again.” He kissed her and she tasted her arousal on his lips. Pulling back, he smiled. “Let me take you to heaven.”
Paris ran her hands through his hair. “I never knew how good that would be.”
He kissed again and pushed into her. “I’m going to fuck you now, Paris. Fuck you like you should be.”
A jolt of need shook her. She nodded.
He pulled out and pushed in again. She gripped his hips with her hands, wanting more, clawing at his arms, his sides anything to bring him inside her faster. With one forward thrust he entered her fully. She gasped. Again, he pulled out and pushed in again with hard, long strokes. The more he gave her the more she wanted. The leather squeaked under her.
She wrapped her legs around him and held him tight. The pressure built inside her. He growled in her ear, “No one else fucks you. No one. You’re mine.”
Pleasure swept into her, blinding, a fracture of eternity. Gasping, she held him, but she felt as if she had fractured. As if she had splintered into a million pieces. It was like the best ski run ever. Like a downhill rush. He cradled her body in his arms. Slowly, his breathing eased. He shifted so that he lay on the couch and she lay next to him, still in his arms. Her skin sweaty and cooling.
The fire crackled at her back. She didn’t know if he’d meant what he’d said about her being his—but right now she didn’t care. Her muscles felt stretched and beautifully used. She smiled. “That was…I’ve never felt this alive.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I thought you’d been married?” She gave a hum. “Not much of a husband? Some old dude?”
>
She giggled. “Jack was…Jack. I swear he got off more on a perfect ledger or a big bank balance than he ever did with a woman. Not old, at least to look at but, not…well, not you.”
It was his turn to give a soft hum. She propped herself up on an elbow. “I…I feel like an idiot saying this, but I…I wasn’t sure if it was me.”
He folded an arm behind his head. “You? You thought you were frigid?”
She traced a finger over the hair on his chest. “It was possible. I…I tried having casual sex before. And…well, I bailed. Both times. That was before I met and married Jack.”
Catching a strand of her hair, he brushed the tip of it over her cheek. “I can tell you right now, it wasn’t your fault. And…and now I’m feeling honored that you let me, well, be the one to you know…make you…”
Paris had to laugh. He sounded so clueless. “Make me come like a freight train? You definitely succeeded there. Must be the artist’s touch.”
Rolling off the couch, she grabbed for her sweatshirt.
Dominic reached for her hand. “You’re not the only one who had…Paris, my life hasn’t been lot of fun, ever. So…thank you. And, please, don’t ever settle for anything less than just what you want. Don’t ever think you’re not worth the world.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dominic woke in his own bed—and alone. He reached for Paris before he remembered she hadn’t come to bed with him. Damn. Sitting up, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced around.
The sun streamed in through the open drapes. He’d left his window open last night and the air had a tang of crisp cold in it—a hint that winter was on its way even if it was taking its own sweet time.
Getting up, he showered. And kept stretching. He worked out on a regular basis—he was not dying of a heart attack at fifty—but he was starting to see that weight lifting was a whole different animal from playing around with man-made snow and mud. He grinned, thinking about Paris, her laughter, her smile. Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off and dressed.
Downstairs, the lobby and lounge still carried a hint of last night’s fire—the rooms smelled of wood smoke. Someone—Paris or Michael—had cleaned up the dishes from last night and the popcorn.
He decided he really should at least act like an artist. He found a pad and pencil behind the check-in desk, grabbed them and headed for the kitchen. If he was going to fake sketching, he needed coffee.
He poured a mug of dark brew and headed to the front porch. The shade still clung to its chill so Dominic dragged a chair to a sunny corner and sat down. He stared at the blank pad and sipped his coffee—and thought about Paris.