He tosses me a smug smile. “I was right. You called my name.”
“You’re the worst,” I mutter, feeling a little silly since I’m naked in bed, and wet and horny.
And yet I’m totally intrigued as he pops out of bed. He’s still dressed in a gray T-shirt and shorts. They’re tented beyond my wildest dreams. The compass of his erection is bigger than it was this morning, I swear.
He strides across the room to the vase and snags a sprig of Provence lavender. When he returns to me, he runs a big hand down my hair, a tender, caring gesture. “I promise I’ll give you everything you asked for.”
Heat sparks in me from the promise. He drops his mouth to my ear, tugs on the lobe with his teeth. “But let me try something first.”
Anticipation rushes through as I nod against him. “Anything.”
He rises up, holding the lavender, then lowering the flower end to my neck. He coasts the tiny blooms down the side of my throat. I gasp. He sweeps it along my collarbone. I moan. Then he slowly, deliciously, dusts it down my chest, between my breasts, and along my belly.
I shudder as wild sensations whip through me. This man is touching me in brand-new ways. In ways I never dreamed of. He’s turning me on with my own flowers, and as he travels down my legs, tracing my thighs, my calves, my ankles with the lavender buds, I grow hotter, needier, and more aroused.
“Banks, please,” I gasp as he brushes the flowers back up me, then over my belly button.
“Please what?” he asks, innocently.
I can’t even taunt him, I’m so needy right now. So achy. “Now. I want younow.”
With a wicked smile, he tosses the lavender onto the nightstand. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’ve been the one holding out.”
He runs the back of his knuckles against my cheek. “You’re even sexier like this. When you want it more. When you’re hungrier for my cock every single second.”
My breath comes in a rush. “Then, stop taking so long.”
But he doesn’t match my tease. His expression is serious. Seconds later, my arms are above my head, and my hands are gripping the slats. “Don’t let go,” he says, a warning.
“I won’t.”
He runs his palms down my body. I’m spread out before him.
Correction: he’s spreading me out.
He’s kneeling between my legs, adjusting my hips, then he slides down between my thighs, pressing them open. An appreciative rumble falls from his lips. I smile in heady anticipation, waiting for his next move. And he makes it as he reaches a hand to the back of his shirt, then tugs it off. “Now, where were we?”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, I wonder.”
“If memory serves,” he says, and right when I think he’s going to slide between my thighs again, he straddles me instead. He pushes down his shorts halfway, runs his palm over his hard cock, then shoves his shorts down, his dick springing free.
It’s hard, thick, and hungry for me, with a drop of liquid beading at the tip.
My mouth waters. “Please,” I breathe out hard, staring at his cock, then his hungry eyes.
“Love the way you beg for it,” he says, then climbs off me, sheds his shorts, and grabs a condom from the nightstand.
“Did you just have those handy?”
“Bought them today,” he says.
“So you knew?” I ask as he moves over me again.
“That I couldn’t resist you?”
“Yes.”
