Or maybe toward needing to have him naked and on top of me and pounding hard and deep and?—
“Too much?” he rasps as he breaks away and reaches for the buttons on my shirt, undoing one.
“Still not enough.”
His mouth quirks.
Then he undoes another button before dropping his head and flicking out his tongue, tasting me. I shiver, my hands sliding into his hair, holding him against me. But he’s not trying to get away. He’s staying close, slowly undoing the remaining buttons on my shirt, parting the material, tugging it free from my pants.
He pushes it off my shoulders, drags it down my arms, lets it drop to the floor.
“Fuck, Red.” It’s another rasp, one that has heat blooming in my stomach.
Because the way he’s looking at me, the desire in his eyes, the reverent way he traces his fingers over my collar bones, down between my breasts, along my belly, gripping my hips…it’s intoxicating. “Come here, baby,” he orders.
“I’m already here,” I whisper.
He tugs me closer, until our fronts are pressed flush together. “Here,” he says again.
“I—”
A bend and then I’m suddenly in his arms.
He turns and settles me on the mattress. “Christ, you look good there.”
Heat rolls like a wave through me and my legs press together, trying to ease the ache between them. Something he notices if his wicked grin is any indication. He drops a big palm to my thigh, spreading them wide. “Not yet, Red,” he murmurs, leaning over me, kneeling between my legs.
I’ve imagined him coming over the top of me a hundred times, a thousand,moreover the last couple of years.
But this is even better than all of those fantasies.
He’seven better as he snakes a hand beneath me and unclasps my bra, as he kisses me deeply while palming my breasts. Then he’s licking his way along my jaw, down my throat…lower.
“Oh, God!” I cry as he sucks one of my nipples deep, rolling the other between thumb and forefinger.
“Okay?” he murmurs against me.
“Don’t stop!” I arch up into him.
“Better than okay,” he teases, but thankfully, he stops talking and goes back to my nipple, drawing on it, sending pleasure cascading through me, wave after glorious wave. He kisses his way to my other breast, lavishing it with attention.
And it’s like he said, slow and steady and unhurried.
Kissing his way along my belly, flicking open the button on my slacks.
My zipper goes down…then my pants, bunching around my ankles. I kick them to the side but I barely finish before his mouth is working again, this time pressing a line of kisses along the waistband of my underwear. Then drawing the fabric down. One inch and then another and then another and then?—
“Damon!”
He grins wickedly but then repeats what sent a bolt of desire through me—dragging the flat of his tongue along my labia, lapping up the slickness of my need, holding my eyes as he repeats the action.
No hurry.
No rush.
And as each second passes, my pleasure grows. As though he’s wringing out every bit of bliss from my body as he can. As though he’s committing every moment to memory.
And I guess I am too.
