Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister 1)

“You promised me kissing,” she said. “But it’s later and still I’m kissless.”

“Kissless?” I asked. “Well we wouldn’t want that.” I spun her around to face me, cupped her face, and pressed my lips to hers.

Her hands slid up the sides of my shirt and I held back a shiver. When had a simple touch over my clothes ever had such a visceral effect on me?

I wanted this woman. This woman. Not just sex with a pretty girl. I wanted to undress Stella, to lick and bite every square centimeter of her until I knew her better than I knew myself.

I wanted to devour her.

She sighed under my touch and her hands caught my wrists. I pulled back. “You okay?”

She grinned, her lips reddened with heat. “Absolutely.”

“You know that this is more than kissing tonight?”

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “What did you have planned?”

I circled my arms around her waist and pulled her tight against me. “Naked stuff.”

She laughed. “Such a Casanova.”

The smooth guy I used to be, the one who knew how to seduce a woman, had disappeared. I’d never really understood the concept of being disarmed until Stella London. I bent and kissed her neck. “Not trying to be anyone but me,” I replied, tugging at the buttons a

t the back of her dress.

I stripped her down to her underwear and walked her backward to the bed. I needed to get a grip, to take back control of this situation. I leaned over, pressed a kiss to her soft stomach and let myself breathe her in. Tonight, she’d be mine. Finally.

I hooked my thumbs into her knickers, dragging them off as I pushed her back onto the bed and kneeled at her feet. My dick started to throb at just the thought of what she tasted like. Of how she smelled.

Jesus, what was the matter with me? I was like a teenager leafing through the underwear section of my mother’s catalog.

I pressed a kiss at the juncture of her thigh, and she groaned. Good. It wasn’t just me. She was worked up too—she wanted this. Wanted me.

I made my way up to her perfect hip bone, across to the other side and down, enjoying her warm, smooth expanse of skin, needing to take my time but greedy for all of her all at once.

“Beck,” she groaned, sliding her hands into my hair, the sound vibrating through my body in a way I was sure would register on the Richter scale and gathering in my balls, building my need for her by the second.

I pressed a kiss over her clit. “You’re going to have to be patient.” I said the words as much to myself as to her.

She sighed and I began to lick—slow, dirty strokes, going deeper and deeper. I wanted to bury myself in her. I took a breath, trying to dampen down the starting growl of my orgasm and focus on making the strokes longer and longer. Her hips lifted off the bed, and I pressed one hand on the hot skin of her stomach and the other on her thigh to keep her in place.

“Tell me before you come,” I said.

A gush of wetness spilled out onto my tongue and Stella began to grind against my mouth. “Beck,” she cried.

I moved away. “You close?” I asked.

“Yes. No . . . but . . . Oh God,” she groaned again as I pressed my fingertips into her milky skin—warm like sun-kissed seawater.

For a split second I wondered if Matt had ever gone down on her. I doubt he had any idea of what to do with a woman. I would show Stella that she wasn’t missing anything by not being with him.

I resumed my exploration of Stella, kissing, licking, and sucking, reveling in her sighs and moans, savoring the way she squeezed her eyes tight shut as if trying to block out the pleasure she was feeling. Her body was perfect from this angle, all smooth curves and goose-bumped plains. Her pulse tripped under my tongue, sending sparks of lust right to my cock. She definitely wasn’t far off, and I pulled away to assess her expression.

She was lost. Floating. Her cheeks flushed, her hair spread out on the bed.

I’d never seen her look so beautiful.

“No coming,” I barked.