Wicked Sexy

25

I moisten my lips. She watches the motion of my tongue with a flush creeping over her cheeks, but no other sign of emotion.

I drop her other boot to the floor and then stand motionless, holding myself in check with sheer force of will.

She says, “Well, if you don’t want to f**k me, maybe you could just kiss me. Since I went to the trouble to break into your room.”

Hearing her say the words “f**k me” makes my c**k twitch. Slowly, she smiles. It’s ruthless, satisfied, and now I recognize the game.

Payback. For everything I’ve done, and made her feel, so far.

But I’m not having it. I’m not playing. With anyone else, at any other time, this would be fun. A lark. But not with this woman. Not tonight.

Tonight, she’s mine.

For real, or not at all.

I slowly lower myself to my knees on the bed, between her spread legs. Unmoving, she watches me. Her breathing is coming faster and her pupils have dilated, but she makes no effort to do anything other than lie still as I crawl up her body until I’m hovering over her, our noses inches apart.

Looking into her eyes I say, “All right. I’ll kiss you. I’ll give you the kiss I should’ve given you the first time. And depending on how well you kiss me back, we’ll see what happens next.”

I watch her face change, feel the tension invade her body, watch as she struggles to keep control of her breathing, and am so satisfied with all of that, I almost smile. Instead, I lower my head and gently, ever so softly, press my mouth to hers.

Her lips yield, opening.

Outside, a distant rumble of thunder echoes over the mountains.

I’m careful, oh so careful not to rush. I want to remember this moment, every second of it, every slight restless shift in her body, every telling flush on her skin. She takes my tongue into her mouth with a hesitancy that’s so sweet it’s heady, because I know that beneath her veneer of calm, she’s exactly as affected as I am by what it feels like when we touch.

I take my time, exploring her mouth, letting my tongue learn the shape of her lips, how much pressure and suction will elicit that soft, feminine sound in her throat that I crave. When she finally makes it, inhaling and arching but then almost instantly suppressing her reaction, I feel like I’ve won a victory.

I take her wrist, press it above her head to the pillow, hold it there, captive. She flexes against my hold, but doesn’t break away. Her other hand lightly rests against my shoulder. Her fingertips are five points of fire on my skin. I’m aware of her leg drawn up against my hip, of the heat of her body beneath mine, the feel of leather against my bare skin, and purposefully restrain myself from giving in to the drumbeat of yes more deeper that has begun to pound inside my head.

When I draw back, it takes a moment before Tabby opens her eyes. She’s breathing erratically, gentle, ragged breaths that match my own. Her fingers on my shoulder slide to my neck, slip into my hair. She pulls me down to kiss her again.

This time it isn’t quite as gentle. Need—both hers and mine—is growing, and it’s much more difficult to hold myself back. My c**k is trapped between us, stiff against her thigh, and when she subtly shifts her hips, it twitches in reaction, an unmistakable pulse that makes Tabby smile.

“Is he always this eager?” she murmurs against my mouth.

“No,” I say, letting her hear the raw honesty in my voice. “No, only with you.”

We gaze at each other in silence as another boom of thunder rolls over the valley outside. Then her lashes lower. She whispers, “I’m wondering whether it would be possible…to ask you to…kiss me anywhere else?”

Her cheeks turn scarlet.

An invisible hand takes hold of my heart and squeezes to a fist. I’m shaken with a sudden certainty that there isn’t anything this woman could ask me, s****l or otherwise, that I could or would refuse. It surprises me and scares me in equal measure, because it’s new. And extremely dangerous.

I turn her face to mine. Flushed and faintly trembling, she opens her eyes.

“Give yourself to me, Tabby. All of you. I want everything. If we’re gonna do this and I only get one night, I want it to count. No holding back. No games.”

She swallows. “I…I’m…” Her eyes close again. Her voice comes out small. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

My heart threatens to burst inside my chest. “My God,” I breathe, “how could you possibly disappoint me? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sounding miserable, she says, “I don’t think I’m very good in bed.”

I resist the urge to laugh in disbelief, because I know it would be mistaken for mocking, and I know how excruciating that admission must have been for her. I can’t imagine where she could have gotten the idea that she’s not desirable or perfect just the way she is, but it’s obvious the nonconcordance she mentioned earlier has been a major problem in the past with other men.

But now isn’t the time for psychoanalysis. Or for making her tell me who those idiots might be so I can break their skulls.

Now is the time to make her feel as beautiful as she is.