It felt so decadent and good…too good, possibly…transgressive, likely.
Except…if the body possessed the mechanism to experience this sort of pleasure, where lay the transgression in experiencing it?
And,oh, what an experience it was as his tongue—hissotalented tongue—caressed her…flicked her… Every nerve in her body lit alive with this feeling as if they all ended in the patch of skin where his tongue met her quim.
One hand reached down and tangled in his hair as her hips inelegantly shoved forward, demanding more as a feeling built within her.
A feeling he’d taught her.
Need tore through her, breaking her down into elements, then cells of utter, inexhaustible ache, taunting…teasing…just out of reach, refusing to be sated.
He eased off the pressure against her, just an increment. In doing so, he was denying her what she wanted and giving her what she needed, because,oh, the feeling that taunted and teased now had her in its grip as her body went still and reached for…oh…
A cry tore from her throat as her body broke with release, her quim pulsing against his mouth until the pleasure became too much and she had to ease back from the intensity of feeling.
Her eyes slitted open, and she met his gaze across her body.
“I think we can safely say what sort of woman you are.”
The words were spoken lightly, and she couldn’t help smiling, but she found she couldn’t quite agree. Before this man had entered her life, she’d thought herself a very different woman from the one she was proving to be.
It was as if she’d lost hold of the elements that identified her to herself.
She didn’t know this woman.
A being composed entirely of want.
A wanton.
That was who she was—with him.
She hooked her hand around his neck and tugged. When her mouth met his, she tasted herself on his tongue. Somehow, she’d lost none of her earlier urgency. If anything, her need had had only amplified in feeling.
She might not know who she was in this moment, but she knew what she wanted.
Him…inside her…now.
With a few efficient movements of his fingers his falls were unbuttoned and his manhood freed, its shaft so long and hard and so very ready. He reached under her and grabbed her bottom, pulling her to the edge of the bench so now his length slid along her sex. Oh, the hot, thick feel of him as he pushed into her one slow inch at a time, and she stretched around him to accommodate his demanding girth.
His hands tight around her bottom, he began to move in and out of her, plunging deeper with each stroke. “Sweet Bea, you feel so good.”
Sweet Bea.
She liked the pet name.
That was the truth.
Within this intimate act, there was no room for deception—especially not of the self.
They moved as one, and the coat fell away, unheeded. There was no question of the heat they were creating.
She’d been correct, it seemed.
The only way to prevent this outcome was to stay completely away from this man.
There was no safety in proximity.
They’d gone too far once—and now there was no going back.
