He licked into her, finding the pulsating center of all her raw desire for him. She was so sensitive there, where he had brought her to a crashing crescendo with his fingers. He flicked his tongue over her, then sucked her into his mouth. When the gentle abrasion of his teeth worked the most responsive part of her, she moaned.
Her hips lifted from the desk. She shamelessly ground herself against his face, seeking more. More. She was desperate, so close. On the edge already. After the last time with him, she understood now what pleasure was. How easily it could be reached. And she knew she was almost there.
He sucked again.
She sank her teeth into her lower lip, doing her utmost to keep from crying out. His tongue flicked over her again, traveling along her slit, then sinking lower, to another, equally sensitive place. To the place that ached with the need to be filled. He sank his tongue inside her.
She could no longer control herself. Her nails bit into her skirts, which she still held pinned to her waist, and she rocked into his face.
“Oh dear, sweet heaven,” she whispered on a strangled moan.
“Mmm,” he murmured against her fevered flesh. “This is the closest to heaven I have ever been. You taste so sweet, like the finest dessert. I could lick you forever. Tell me what you like, sweetheart.”
She could not find words. Indeed, she did not know precisely what it was he was doing to her. All she did know was that she wanted—nay,needed—more.
“Everything,” she said on a gasp as his tongue slid inside her once more. “I like everything. Do not stop.”
The anguish inside her grew to the same delicious crescendo as it had before. She ought to be ashamed of herself, sitting on his desk as he pleasured her. Some dim part of her mind knew this was wrong and wicked. But nothing had ever felt more right. There was something about the sight of this great man on his knees before her, golden head bent, as if he were a slave to his desire, that undid her.
He returned to the responsive bud, flicking his tongue over her in long strokes, then alternating between licking and sucking. When he delivered a playful nip with his teeth, her hips jerked. She lost herself. Bliss rippled from her center, radiating through her body in white-hot waves. She gasped his name.
Still, Benedict was relentless. He stayed with her, lapping at her, his gaze fastened on hers as he devoured her. She could not look away. She was his willing prisoner, held captive by need. Hers for him, his for her.
When the last swell of desire rolled through her, he stood. Cool air replaced the humid heat of his lips and tongue. He settled himself between her legs, aligning the prominent ridge in his trousers with her aching core, and thrust against her.
Another gasp escaped. A new need burned. She should be shocked. He had just loved her quite thoroughly, and now another, more demanding part of his anatomy was glancing over the flesh he had tormented. But she writhed against him instead, seeking more. She wanted his bare skin on hers, without the barrier of his trousers.
His gaze was fiery and intense, the slash of his jaw tensed with restraint. He cupped her face. “I want you, Isabella. So bloody much.”
She released her hold on her skirts and reached for him, clutching his shoulders. “Yes.”
He rocked against her, his hardness brushing over her in a way that made her moan. She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her closer. But it was still not enough.
“Damn it,” he growled, thrusting again, lowering his forehead to hers. “I cannot take you on a desk.”
She did not want to hear his denial. She wanted action. She wanted him. Inside her. Filling her. Nothing else mattered. She had crossed a divide. On one side lay the scattered remnants of her good intentions. On the other, freedom.
Isabella kissed him then, determined to convince him in the only way she knew how. His lips were slick, warm, furious. He angled his mouth over hers, held her face in his hands, and kissed her mercilessly, taking charge. He tasted different now, the sweetness of tea blended with the musk of her essence. She ought to have been repulsed, but she felt strangely elated instead.
Needy sounds tore from her. Her tongue danced against his. He ground into her again, and a new pressure began to build. Her legs clasped him tighter, and she arched into him. Still not enough.
He bit her lower lip, kissed her nose, her chin, her cheek. When his mouth settled on her ear, she shivered.
“I want you in my bed the first time.” His voice was hot, dark, decadent.
She kissed his cheekbone, the sharp blade of his jaw. Her fingers were in his hair now, sifting through the thick, silken strands. His scent mingled with hers, and he felt so big and strong against her body. He made her feel small and powerful all at once.
“Take me now,” she whispered.
She did not know what she was saying. Not exactly. Nor did she know the particulars of what to expect. All she did know was that she was on fire for him. Desperate for him. Only he could quell the feverish hunger.
He groaned, rolling his hips. “I cannot.”
Frustration surged, along with desire. She moved against him, rubbing herself shamelessly over his trousers. The friction only increased the ache inside her. She felt unlike herself, as if she were inhabited by a beast. A beast which could only be sated in one fashion.
She kissed his ear, then bit it, gratified when he growled. “Take me, Benedict.”
He froze. “Damn it, Isabella. I do not want to hurt you.”
