But still he held back.
Her breasts ached. She longed to feel him caress them—to both soothe and set on fire. As for his mouth, the kind of luscious lips that overly wealthy housewives paid thousands for. The perfect Cupid’s bow. She wanted that everywhere. Where was he? Panic gripped her—he hadn’t changed his mind?
Then he spoke, that low sound of temptation personified. ‘I can’t quite decide where to touch and whether to use my hands or mouth.’
‘How about both? Everywhere.’
She heard his puff of amusement and his low murmur. ‘Sienna the Siren.’
At last he touched her, his hands settling on her waist as his lips sought hers. Back to the beginning—but it wasn’t a beginner’s kind of kiss. Deeper, long, lush kisses followed—lasting for ever. His hands moved, played up her back, and then slipped round her front, his fingers seeking her softness. The ache in her breasts intensified, wanting more.
He spoke her desire aloud. ‘I want to touch you. How do I get this off?’ He tugged at the material.
‘It’s complicated. I…’
His groan sounded half smothered. ‘Later, we’ll get rid of it later.’
Regret whistled through her. There would be no later. But the thought was wiped from her mind as his hands encircled her braless breasts, and his mouth found her nipple with killer precision.
Raw need ricocheted through her. She felt the pull in every limb. Her brain forcing her entire body to attend to the sensation in her nipples. Never had she felt so desired. Never had her breasts received such attention. Such deliberate and devastating touches. Lovers were usually distracted by then—by the scar. Tonight, despite the thin, slippery fabric covering her, she could feel his desire, the wet heat of his mouth as he caressed her with a physical want she knew would wane if he ever saw her in entirety.
She rocked her pelvis against him—an unconscious desire to soothe the ache that had sprung there. Then she realised her body, her very sex, was demanding the same kind of attention her breasts were receiving. The essence of her wanted his fingers, his lips, his tongue to delve and devour the way they were her rounded flesh.
She wanted everything he had. All of his body. All of his strength.
The scent of the room, the sound of her, the softness of her skin and the heady darkness all combined to give Rhys the feeling he’d left this earth and entered some sort of heaven. He ran his hands over her breasts and back, partly wanting to pull her into him, partly wanting her on a pedestal so he could worship each delicious bit of her.
He was spinning so far out of control. He needed to step back. Regroup a little. Hell, he couldn’t even remember if he had a condom in his wallet. Did he have one? Think, brain. Think. But she was kissing him again and rational thought was becoming impossible. In this darkness, the cool room wasn’t that cool at all. Her long hair tickled his skin and he found himself weaving his hands into it again and again. Running fingers through its silky softness as she kissed his chest, her hands firmly smoothing down his abs. And suddenly he could see it—there was nothing in his mind but the bright, burning gold. Flaxen flames. A gorgeous mess that was so striking and so seductive. He pulled her close for another deep kiss, couldn’t keep away any longer, wanting to touch her most intimate space. From the way her hips writhed against his he knew she wasn’t about to say no.
He bent his knees so he could place a palm on each leg, halfway up her thighs. He heard her breathing hitch. He kissed her softly, kept close so he could catch every nuance of her reaction as he slowly slid his hands towards home. Her legs were slim but he could feel their supple strength. As he traced up towards where they gently curved together he saw them in his mind’s eye—a heaven-sent pillow. After this, when they were in his bed, he would rest his head there and explore the treasure at the top—at length. Right now, his fingers were sending him the images, his ears supplying the audio. Her shallow snatches of air accelerated as he neared his destination. Little gulps turned into little groans and he was seized by the desire to hear her sounds as she came. He’d make sure that happened very, very soon.
He reached the curve of her bottom, the cleft of her sex. And his pleasure in assessing her reaction was totally toppled by the realisation she wasn’t wearing any underwear. He had complete access. His mind blanked. But his body knew what to do—make use of it. He traced through her wet warmth, and the scent of her secret space slipped out, filling him, tempting him. He had to taste her. He had to take her. He’d plunge deep into this woman, no matter what.
He was so busy concentrating, so busy deciding, he didn’t really register she’d been fiddling at his waist, not until he felt his belt pulled away. How she got his zip down he didn’t know but it was blessed relief as his erection sprang free from the denim prison.
With surprising strength she placed one hand on the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss while the other grasped his straining penis. Her hand was warm and firm and she was stroking him and he choked a growl into her mouth. He needed to pull back for a moment or it would be all over in a few more seconds.
And then she jumped. Literally jumped into his arms. Instantly, instinctively, he moved, righting his balance, spreading his legs wide so he could bear both his weight and hers. He had no choice but to have his hands under her bottom, supporting her as she wrapped around him.
God, it felt good. He felt her wetness right on him. Agonisingly close. Then she shifted. He heard the little noise—a cross between a sigh and a cry—as she wriggled and slid onto him. Right down, naturally adjusting her angle so she took him in to the hilt. Her legs locked around him.
Oh, yes!
Sudden. Shocking. And so incredibly satisfying he almost came right away.
Not yet! Not yet! Not yet!
Sucking in air, he fought it. Holding back with an effort sure to shave a few years off his life. His heart thundered. She was so hot, so wet and so wanting. But he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t indulge immediately. His breath calmed as control returned to him—although he knew it wouldn’t be for long.
‘You OK?’
Hell, he’d wanted to ensure she was really ready for him, had half planned not to do this until they were in a bed rather than some tiny cupboard at the back of a bar.
But there was no way he could stop now and here she was the one asking if he was coping all right.
‘Too fast?’
‘A little.’ Answering honestly, he pushed out some air. ‘But I’ve got you now.’
He sure did. Hot and sweet. He kissed every inch of her he could reach, squeezed her sweet rounded bottom as he supported her. He wanted this to go a little slower but she was riding him, pressing him home to victory in a way he couldn’t resist for much longer. He groaned. Reminded himself this was just the appetiser. The prelude to a fantastic evening ahead where they would lie and roll in a bed over and over, again and again. A room where he would rip the clothing from her if he had to so he could see her as well as feel her, hear her without the backdrop of noise from an overcrowded bar in full party mode. And with that thought relieving him he gave in to the desire to simply take what she was offering. To plunge in deeper and harder and hold her so he could claim her with all his strength.
Her legs curled tighter around him, vice-like she gripped him. Her whimpers of delight turned into cries of celebration as her tension snapped. He felt the waves washing over her, radiating out to him, threatening to swamp him.
And incredibly he didn’t explode. Instead he found himself in a new phase, even more intense, where he had even more energy, strength to keep holding her, supporting her while she contracted around him again and again. He pushed inside, further and further, the heated silk of her body absorbing him, the strokes of pleasure almost sending him out of his mind.
More, more, more!
She was coiling tighter again, uttering soft, broken murmurs that sounded like screams to him, they pierced him so intensely. He wanted them louder, wanted her harder.
&
nbsp; He growled as he adjusted his stance, tightening his fingers on her, no longer able to keep from bruising, just needing with a kind of possessive and primal instinct that was as foreign to him as it was raw.
He switched his hold, freeing one hand so he could grasp her by her hair, pulling her mouth to his, taking it in a kiss that was hard and hungry and utterly unrestrained.
She gave as good as she got. Her tongue came out—eagerly searching, tasting deep into him, and as he released her from the kiss she came after him, her tongue seeking his lips, tracing their curve and then nipping at them. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging, holding him so he couldn’t escape the heat of her kiss. She took all his breath and demanded more. She was devouring him—raw, relentlessly seeking and giving pure physical pleasure.
And he could fight it no longer. Gave her what she sought. A male body, aroused beyond control, possessively thrusting, pulsating with pleasure, pouring in everything he had until he was utterly, utterly spent.
The bright, burning gold light exploded in his head.
And then there was blackness.
Her weight was no longer his sweet burden. Her legs were gone from his waist. His hands hung, unusually useless, as he tried and failed to get his body working again. He whistled air into his burning lungs—rough and ragged.
He felt her fingers on his neck as she pulled his head down to hers. He felt her warm breath in his ear. He heard the jerky whisper.
‘Thank you.’