“You feel amazing,” she said.
“You’re killing me.”
She glanced at the front of his jeans. Whoa.
Her hands skimmed down to his belt buckle, and she worked the leather loose from the loop slowly, allowing her fingers to brush against the ridge of his erection.
Hard.
She traced the shape of him with one finger, and he sucked in a deep inhalation through his nose.
“So big,” she said.
A strained smile. “Music to my ears.”
Amber palmed him. So hard. “What do you call it?”
“Honey, if you don’t know what it’s called—”
He stopped talking when she stroked up and down, and she watched the pleasurable agony overtake him, barely able to believe she had this much power. “I want to know what you call it.”
“My dick, I guess.”
“Is that what you want me to call it?”
A light squeeze, and his eyes closed. He looked like he was dying. “No,” he gasped. “I want you to say ‘cock.’ ”
A more forbidden word. She should have guessed. The more forbidden it was, the more pleasure he got from coaxing her into the transgression.
“So if I say I want to touch your cock …”
He groaned.
“Or that I want your cock inside me—”
He thrust into her hand, a quick, sharp motion that matched the escalation in his breathing.
“—that turns you on?”
“You have no idea.”
He sounded terrible and wonderful. A torture victim.
“Give me a little credit. I have some idea. I do understand that if I tell you I want your cock in my mouth, you’ll probably—”
He knocked her hand away, and the towel came off, and his lips came down on hers, hard.
She stumbled into the kiss, unsure how to respond to the urgency she felt in him. His tongue slicked over her lip, asking for entry, and when she opened her mouth his hand came up to cup her face, and he poured all the desire she’d made him feel back into her. It was like that, like being drenched in longing, one sudden, shocking wave of need that knocked into her and made all her muscles weak, so she had to cling to his arms and try to remember to breathe.
He touched her everywhere he could reach, her hip, her waist, her breast, her butt, while his other hand anchored her in place, steady and practiced in the way he used it to angle her head where he wanted it, to push the kiss deeper, darker.
His thumb brushed over her nipple, eliciting a brazen pulse directly between her legs.
She couldn’t stand up. Not when she was drowning like this.
When she started to sink toward the floor, his arm came around her waist, and he lifted her up and deposited her on the bed. Somehow her hands had found his head and the back of his neck; her fingers speared in his hair to hold him close. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her. When he tried to pull away, she made a mewling sound of dismay.
“Just for a second. I need to get my pants off, or it won’t be very comfortable to have me lying on top of you.”