Devin choked on air, his hands flying to her hips and squeezing. For a moment, she was absolutely still.
He didn’t attempt to push her further or to move her as she accepted the idea that this was really happening. This wasn’t just a kiss, this was an intimate exploration of places normally secretive and hidden. She had looked through books and illustrations with Lydia, so she knew the basics. But a lady was not supposed to know what was in a man’s trousers, let alone that grinding against it created the most amazing friction that radiated an even more intense pleasure than his kiss or his hands on her breasts.
It was intoxicating.
She ground her hips into him again.
Devin’s head fell backward as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. His fingers squeezed hard enough to bruise. The sound of him unraveling egged her on, confirming that this was pleasurable for both of them. She continued to rock and adjust until she found the rhythm her body needed.
“Shit...” His voice was rough, strained. And delightfully erotic. His hands left her hips, clawing over his own face as he kept his head back, facing the ceiling instead of her. He was still holding back.
“I won’t break,” she breathed.
“I know that,” he whined, desire and restraint smothering the smooth, confident air he always boasted. “You’re fucking incredible and restraint iskillingme.”
“Then don’t use restraint,” she ordered as she continued her even, rhythmic movements.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, as he bit down on his tongue. “I could ruin you or worse. I could hurt you or scare you or push you too far without realizing…There are so many ways…” His hands skimmed her hips. He locked them behind his head. “I want to…” His gaze aligned with her chest,watching her breasts sway up and down from the corner of his eye before he snapped them shut. His breathing grew ragged.
Miranda liked it. Watching him struggle to keep his hands away from her,wantingher with such intensity yet resisting was its own thrill.
His words were stilted, said between breaths, “And, Miranda, my control is wearing very thin,” he swallowed, opening his eyes again, but avoiding the temptation of her chest to glare up at her face. “Very…very thin.”
She bit her lip, excited by the idea that she might make him lose that control. Perhaps it was her turn to be the irrepressible rake. She leaned down so that her hair fell over her shoulder in a gentle wave, never ceasing the slow rock of her hips. “I am literally throwing myself against you,” she ground her hips harder before adding in a sultry whisper, “And now you’re going to disappoint me, Devin?”
With a growl his hand snaked behind her head, fingers tense on her neck as they speared through her hair and positioned her head to kiss her roughly, both of them desperately balancing lips and tongues and gasps for air.
She hooked her own hands around the back of his head to steady herself against his aggressive assault of her mouth. She couldn’t name why his ferocity echoed through her, heightening the friction where she was grinding against him. Or why the harsh crash of his mouth bordered on painful, but she would have killed him if he stopped. She was chasing something that she couldn’t name, desperate to reach it.
“I’m so close,” she whispered, not knowing what other words to use.
“Fucking hell.” He ripped away from her lips and drew his tongue over her exposed nipple.
“Holy fuck—“ All at once, the sensations overwhelmed her. Her eyes shot open, unable to speak or think beyond the pleasure thrummingeverywhere.
Her arms began to shake, her eyes wide open but she saw nothing as every single sense she possessed was consumed by the erotic combination of the rough scrape of his mouth against her sensitive skin and the movement of her hips. Her grip tightened, dragging him closer until he couldn’t move his head away if he wanted. A muffled moan was her only indication that he was okay with her use of force.
She was clinging to him, her entire body unmoored except for where he touched her.
His tongue worked over the tender skin, lapping at her nipple until it was suddenly too much. She was about to shatter into pieces. The couch creaked and protested, the wood frame splintering.
And then she was there, finally, riding waves of pleasure somehow even more powerful than anything before. Her movements turned erratic, stuttering. Her nails dragged through his hair and down his neck to grasp for the support of his strong shoulders. Only as the last tendrils of pleasure stole from her limbs did she begin to loosen her grip.
She leaned on him more. The caress of fabric was electric on her heated skin and she adjusted so she was no longer in danger of brushing against his still hard erection.
Her hair fanned around her as she finally leaned toward him, her forehead resting on his.
She couldn’t see his face, her eyes closed in lazy stupor. She feared she’d see a smirk of victory if she dared look.
“Are you alright?” He asked, when she had been silent for too long.
She opened an eye.
No smirk. His irises were still more black than blue, desire lingered in his gaze, but the rest of him was thoughtful, almost serious. Not what she expected. Maybe gloating, but not reservation.
“I…” She found it almost funny, humor taking over her mouth and threatening to make her laugh—not with derision, but with genuine mirth. “I suppose I understand the draw of coupling now. It’s quite addicting.”
He did laugh, but she didn’t feel mocked. “That, was merely foreplay. A taste of the possibilities.” He used a finger to sweep some of her hair behind her ear. It was an oddly sweet gesture, completely unfitting the brash rogue he often exemplified. “Had I not found my last shred of decency I’d show you exactly what could be accomplished if, for a start, I stripped you of every piece of these cumbersome garments.”
