And she loved the feel of it.
She stroked to his chest, his hard shoulders, then down again to the clenched abs to where he’d only managed to free the button that held his slacks closed.
Lifting his head from where his lips had been caressing the shell of her ear, Rule eased further above her, his weight held with unconscious strength on his powerful arms.
“Your pace,” he swore, though his voice was hard, tight. “I swear it, Gypsy. Anything, everything you want. All at your pace.”
All at her pace?
Anything, everything she wanted?
Did she even know exactly what she did want from him past this pleasure, his touch, the warmth of him—
He watched her as she stroked his shoulders again, then lifted her hand to brush over his lips.
She hadn’t seen him enjoying the small chocolate and peppermint hard candies tonight, but she had tasted the sweet essence of them in his kiss.
And she craved more of it.
She was going to do this.
Hunger and fear flashed through her, running side by side as a part of her mind watched in horror, unable to believe the wanton he was drawing out.
Her fingers found the zipper of his slacks and began to slide it free, loosening the material over the straining flesh of his cock.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Couldn’t believe she was actually throwing away her chance for redemption, for forgiveness—she was throwing it away for this Breed and a pleasure unlike anything she had known before.
“Gypsy, baby, do you know what you’re doing?” he asked as her fingers moved from the zipper to the heavy length of iron-hard flesh that rose from between his thighs.
“I told you, I haven’t done it before,” she whispered, stroking her fingers along the throbbing, heavily veined shaft.
From the wide, silken knob to the pulsing crest, then to the tightly drawn sac beneath. Every inch of him was so hard, heated and insistent for her touch.
She couldn’t encircle the heavy width with the fingers of one hand, so she contented herself with stroking him from base to tip, feeling the flesh clench and pound beneath her touch as she felt her entire body beginning to burn for his possession of her, for her possession of him.
She lifted her head and laid her lips against his chest, her tongue peeking out to taste. And she craved so much more.
Pulling back, her hands flattening against his chest as she pushed at him.
“I want to touch you.” That wasn’t her voice, so low and echoing with a pleasure that bordered pain.
“Gypsy, baby,” he groaned, but he moved.
Rising from the bed, he quickly discarded his pants and his socks before completely surprising her. Kneeling on the mattress with one knee, Rule wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to him, lowering the zipper of her dress as he stared intently into her eyes.
What had happened to her touching him? To him lying back for her? And why wasn’t she protesting?
He removed her dress slowly, satisfaction filling his expression as he pulled it from her, then tossed it carelessly over a nearby chair. Clad now in nothing but French-cut white lace panties and the black stockings with the iridescent emerald green thread sparkling within them, Gypsy felt the need burning inside her heating further.
His fingers hooked in the band of her panties, and a second later they were falling forgotten to the floor as Rule stared down at her, his face flushing, becoming heavy with erotic need as he knelt beside her.
Once again, the engorged length of his cock drew her touch, her hunger. There were things she had imagined doing to him, had never believed she would have the chance she now had. She didn’t want to watch it slip past her and somehow lose the chance to ever do it again.
“I need to touch you,” she whispered, rising until she was kneeling on the bed in front of him, her hand stroking down his chest. “Just for a little bit.”
He caught her hair in the fingers of one broad hand, a tight, brooding grimace pulling at his lips as she moved to taste him.
Her tongue lapped at the hard muscle of his chest, her teeth scraping over it as she felt his body tense further. He moved one hand between them to grip the base of the heavy shaft tightly as the thick crest pulsed in demand.