Firelight flickered over his sinfully handsome features, his male admiration making her heart hammer against her ribs. No man had ever looked at her thus. As if she were the only thing worth looking at in the world. As if she belonged to him. As if, standing exposed in her own skin before him, she was the safest she’d ever been.
His eyes locked on hers, he cupped her cheek, and she shuddered at the contact. He touched her as if she were a fine instrument he was playing for the first time. His caress was not tentative but exploring. He stroked his fingertips over her lips, her chin, the leap of her throat as she swallowed.
“Sit on the edge of the bed for me,” he said. “Up you go.”
When she perched on the mattress, her legs dangled above the ground. He stood between them, spreading her further. He took his time, looking his fill before he touched her again. Her pulse quickened as he traced the slope of her collarbone, brushing his knuckles against the swell of her breast. When he drew his thumb over one throbbing nipple, she couldn’t hold back a needy whimper.
“Beautiful.”
His approval melted her insides.
“Touch me,” she whispered. “Please.”
His eyes holding hers, he brought his thumb to his mouth and moistened it.
I might lick my thumb, so it feels like a tongue working over your engorged little bud.
Then he was doing it, rubbing his damp thumb over her nipple, sending sizzles of bliss through her veins. He smothered her moan with his mouth, kissing her as he played with her breasts. He cupped and molded them, teasing the tender tips. She’d talked about this with strangers, even done this to herself…but it had never felt like this. This was no fantasy but the real thing.
With Ethan, the pleasure was more than physical. The sense of belonging she felt was intoxicating and unraveled her inhibitions. She squirmed against the mattress, desperate for relief. He wedged his thigh deeper, pressing against her throbbing pussy.
“Go ahead, Xenia,” he said thickly. “Rub yourself against me.”
Shamelessly, she took him up on his offer, sliding her mound against his sinewy limb. The friction sent heat blazing through her limbs. She was so slick that she made embarrassing sounds, but he urged her on with hot eyes and even hotter words.
“Such a lovely wet pussy,” he crooned. “Come on my leg, there’s my good girl.”
He pinched her nipple, twisting it. The sensation pushed her over the edge, and she came with a gasp, the pleasure intense and bone-meltingly sweet. Breathlessly, she sank onto the bed and watched dreamily as he shed his clothes. In her line of work, she’d seen naked men, but Lord Ethan Harrington was in a class of his own.
Muscles rippled as he tossed aside his shirt. The taut skin of his broad shoulders gleamed, and his chest was a stack of chiseled blocks with a sprinkling of dark hair. Pushing down his trousers, he revealed narrow hips topped with a sinewy vee, long, muscular legs, and…
Oh, my.
His cock was big. As magnificent as the rest of him. Long and girded with veins, the thick shaft jutted from a dense black nest, the rosy swell of his stones visible beneath.
“You are beautiful,” she said wistfully.
He swept a possessive gaze over her, lingering unabashedly between her legs.
“And you,” he said with a wicked smile, “are a true redhead.”
The mattress dipped as he put a knee on the bed. Then he was on top of her, and they both inhaled sharply at the feel of skin against skin. She couldn’t have guessed how much this would arouse her, the sensation of a lover’s body against her own. Since he was supporting himself on one arm, she wasn’t taking all his weight, yet the feel of him pressing her into the mattress thrilled her. He kissed her mouth, her ear, her neck. His hard chest abraded her nipples, setting off sparks of pleasure.
She couldn’t believe that this glorious man washerlover. She felt as if she were in a sweets shop and didn’t know what to sample first. She ran her palms over his wide shoulders, the flexing expanse of his back, marveling at his honed strength. When she reached the high, hard swell of his arse, she gave him a greedy squeeze, trailing her fingertips along the tight crevice between.
“If you are done playing,” he muttered, “it’s my turn.”
He closed his mouth over her nipple. The things he did with his tongue made her gasp and arch her spine. He flicked and teased and sucked on her aching bud. She felt a corresponding pull between her legs as he drew on her nipple. The pulsing ache in her pussy grew and grew.
“Oh, please,” she begged. “I need you to touch me.”
“Where, pet? You know the word for it.”
Truth be told, she knew a great many words for it. But she gave him the one he’d used.
“My pussy,” she said obediently. “Please touch my pussy.”
She didn’t know what was more wicked: the glint in his indigo eyes or the curve of his smile.
