“That’s what I thought. Not much there, but what there is, is nice.”
She slapped at his hands, but he secured her wrists in one manacling hold. She shrank away from his touch when he cupped the underside of her breast and pushed it up. His thumb whisked across the sensitive tip. When it responded, he laughed gloatingly. Again and again he dragged his thumb across the beaded crest, sometimes with agonizing leisure, sometimes with a quick fanning motion, sometimes raking it gently with his thumbnail, until it was quite stiff.
“Very nice,” he said hoarsely. “At least to look at, play with. How do you taste?”
Her back arched off the blanket at the first deft brush of his tongue. “No, no,” she groaned, rolling her head from side to side.
“I’m not convinced you mean that, Kerry.” He spoke directly above her, so that even as he formed the words with his lips, they moved against the aching, throbbing flesh of her nipple.
She made a murmur of protest and had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out, not in outrage or fear or disgust, but from pleasure. It was exquisite, the touch of his warm, wet tongue against her breast. He licked her until she was wet and glistening, then let the wind dry her while he treated the other breast to the same torturous pleasure.
“Please, no more,” she begged.
“A lot more.”
She gave an agonized cry when he took her nipple between his lips and held it within the satin heat of his mouth. He tugged on her gently; she made soft moaning sounds with each squeezing, milking motion of his mouth.
“Please, stop,” she gasped.
He raised his head. “What do you want?” His tongue moved capriciously over the raised center of her breast.
“For you to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I hate it. Hate you.”
“You might hate me. In fact, I’m sure you do. But you don’t hate this.” Again he touched her with the tip of his tongue. “Do you?” He repeated the question, each time nudging her with his tongue or sipping at her with his lips.
“Yes,” she said, shivering with need.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“Ye...no, no, no.” A sobbing sound tore through her throat.
“I didn’t think so.”
He lowered his head and kissed her stomach, while he struggled to open the fly of her slacks. Breathlessly, Kerry gasped for air. She was barely conscious of what his hands were doing. All her concentration was centered on his lips as they moved over her flesh, seeming to touch everywhere at once.
She actually raised her hips and aided him when he worked her slacks down. He kissed her protuberant hip bone, swung his head around and kissed the other. His lips brushed her navel, his tongue danced around it and probed it provocatively. He kissed her mound through her panties.
Kerry gave a startled cry and struggled to free her hands. When she succeeded, she didn’t fight him. Instead she mindlessly entangled her fingers in his hair. He went on kissing her, leaving her flesh fevered and damp where his mouth had been.
“I thought about this that night you slept in my arms.” Linc could barely speak, and even then it was a hoarse whisper. “Your breasts beneath my mouth. Your thighs opening to me.”
She didn’t remember his getting her panties off, but she suddenly realized that his eyes were hungrily moving over her nakedness. She should have been terrified of his ravenous gaze, but, oddly, she wasn’t. Her single thought was that she hoped he was pleased with her.
His fingers sifted through the dark cloud of hair between her thighs. Reflexively her knees came up. He parted them. Then he lowered his head and placed his mouth where she most wanted to feel him.
When his lips touched her, she cried his name. When his tongue touched her, she died a little. Holding her hips between his strong hands, Linc gave her pleasure with the same dedication with which he did everything else.
He stopped short of bringing her to climax, though he brought her to the threshold time and again. Her face was dewy with perspiration when he bent over it. “Tell me you want me.”