Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

And, for this moment, totally mine to do with as I pleased.

Anticipation shot through me as I walked over. “Ready?”

“And raring,” he murmured. “You might want to play, but with the scent of your desire riding the air, it’s already taking every ounce of contro

l I have not to haul you into my arms and make love to you.”

I tsked. “All good things come to those who wait.”

“As long as I’m not waiting too long,” he said, his eyes filled with warm amusement when his gaze met mine.

I dolloped oil into my palm, then put the bottle down and started massaging his feet. He made a growly noise and then closed his eyes. I gradually made my way up his legs, letting my thumbs intermittently tease the inside of his thighs and brush across his balls; the growly noises became more constant. Grinning, I stripped off my dress and then sat naked astride his butt.

He groaned. Loudly. “Damn it, woman, are you trying to kill me?”

I laughed and slapped his back lightly. “Hush. I’m working here.”

He muttered something incomprehensible and then closed his eyes and let me continue. I worked my way up his back, pressing my fingers into his muscles until the knots were released and the tension in him gradually eased.

“And now,” I murmured, reaching for the oil again, “we need to do the front—”

He muttered something under his breath and then, after a flurry of movement in which the oil bottle ended up on the other side of the room, I was lying underneath him.

It felt good. More than good.

The glint in his eyes was decidedly wicked. “And now it’s your turn to feel a little torture.”

I raised an eyebrow, amusement teasing my lips. “Given the thick rod of heat currently pulsing against my stomach, I’m thinking the torture won’t be lasting too long.”

“Oh, I do so like a challenge,” he murmured. “Consider it accepted.”

He kissed me softly, tenderly, and then moved down, touching and tasting and kissing, all the while avoiding the one area that ached so badly for his touch. When his tongue did finally flick—ever so briefly—over my clitoris, a moan that was part pleasure, part frustration escaped. He chuckled softly, his breath fiery against my wet skin. “Had enough yet?”

“If you don’t finish what you started, I’m going to—” I cut the sentence off and gasped as his tongue flicked again.

“Going to what?” he murmured.

“Finish it off myself!”

He chuckled again and then complied, his tongue an instrument of utter delight. My orgasm hit hard, and satisfaction rumbled up his throat as I shuddered and shook. The aftershocks had barely eased when he rose above me, his gaze holding mine, his eyes burning with desire and something that was almost proprietary.

Then, with tortuous slowness, he slipped inside me. The feel of him, so hard and hot, penetrated every fiber, enveloping me in a heat that was basic and yet so very powerful. He began to move, gradually at first and then more urgently, until his thrusts were so fierce the entire bed shook. Desire stirred anew, flooding swiftly through me, until every inch ached with desperate need.

“Oh God, Aiden…”

The plea had barely left my lips when the shuddering began and another orgasm hit. He followed me over that abyss, his lips catching mine, kissing me hard until bliss had ebbed and sanity returned.

“That,” he murmured, slipping to one side and then gathering me in his arms, “was glorious.”

“Hmmm,” I murmured, unable to get anything more sensible out.

He laughed softly and planted a kiss on my shoulder. “Isn’t it the male who’s supposed to fall straight asleep after sex?”

“This is an equal opportunity relationship.” I yawned as hugely as he had earlier. “Which means it’s your turn to cook in the morning.”

“Done.” He tucked me a little closer, his body warm against my spine. “Night, gorgeous.”

“Night,” I murmured, and for the first time in days, fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.