“You smell so good,” he growled against her neck as his hand slipped under her sweater and closed possessively over her breast. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? Sitting next to you every night, breathing you in, and not being able to?—”
She kissed him to shut him up. He made a sound caught between a laugh and a moan, hauling her tighter against him until she could feel exactly how affected he was.
Finally,she thought dizzily.Finally, finally, finally.
They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Or rather, they made it to the hallway before he pinned her against the wall, her legs still wrapped around him, his mouth fused to hers. The plaster was cool against her back through the thin fabric of her sweater, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body pressing into her.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped as he yanked her sweater over her head, sending her hairpins scattering across the floor.
He didn’t answer. He was staring at her, at the simple black bra she wore, at the flushed skin of her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. The look in his eyes made her feel more exposed than if she were completely naked—raw hunger and something deeper, something that looked terrifyingly like reverence.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured. Then he dropped to his knees.
Her breath hitched as he lifted her leg over his shoulder, pushing her skirt up as he pressed open-mouthed kisses againstthe sensitive skin of her inner thigh. His claws pricked lightly against her thighs, a thrilling counterpoint to the soft heat of his tongue. She shuddered, her hands bracing against the wall as he worked his way higher, his breath fanning through the thin fabric of her underwear.
“Ben,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He didn’t respond, didn’t stop. He took his time, building a slow, devastating fire with nothing but his mouth and the teasing pressure of his teeth. By the time he finally hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, she was trembling, a fine sheen of sweat covering her skin.
He looked up at her, his eyes burning in the dim hallway light. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” she managed. “God, yes.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. He eased the fabric down her legs, his knuckles brushing against her skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Then he leaned in and licked her, one slow, deliberate stroke that made her vision white out at the edges.
“Ben,” she gasped again, a desperate plea.
He growled against her, a low, possessive sound that vibrated through her entire body. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he explored her with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs. There was nothing tentative about this—he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to make her fall apart with nothing but his tongue and the careful, deliberate pressure of his thumb against her clit.
She tried to stay quiet, tried to maintain some semblance of control, but he was relentless, drawing out sensations she’d never experienced, pushing her higher and higher until she was writhing against the wall, her fingers digging into his shoulders. His grip on her hips tightened, not restraining her, but grounding her, an anchor in the storm of pleasure building inside her.
Oh God. Oh God.
The world narrowed to nothing except the wet heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers, and the rough sound of his breathing.
“Let go, Sara,” he rasped against her, the words barely recognizable. “I’ve got you.”
His name was a sob on her lips as the tension finally snapped, pleasure crashing through her in waves so powerful her knees buckled. He held her up easily, his mouth never leaving her, drawing out every last shudder until she was boneless and spent, collapsed against the wall and gasping for air.
He rose slowly, his body pressing hers against the plaster, the hard length of him against her stomach a potent promise. He braced a hand beside her head, staring down at her with eyes that were still wild, still hungry, but now soft with something that looked like wonder.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. “When you come apart like that.”
She couldn’t form words. All she could do was reach for him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until he brushed her hands away and yanked it over his head. Soft silvery fur stretched taut over muscles that made her breath catch.
“You’re gorgeous,” she breathed.
His ears twitched. “I’m not?—”
“You’re gorgeous and I won’t hear arguments.” She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath her fingers. “Bed. Now.”
He hesitated, and something in his expression made her pause. Desire, yes—that was obvious. But underneath it, a flash of uncertainty. Fear.
“We don’t have to—” he started.
“I know.” She ran her fingers through the soft fur at the nape of his neck, and he shuddered. “I know we don’t have to. But I want to. Unless you’re not ready, in which case?—”
“I’m ready.” His voice was rough. “I just need you to be sure. Because once I have you, Sara… I’m not good at letting go.”
