"I know that." I step closer, until my knees brush against his. "I want this. I want you. Not because I owe you, but because I can't stand another night of wanting you and not having all of you."
A muscle ticks in his jaw, his control visibly slipping. "I've been holding back because once I have you completely, there's no going back. You'll be mine in every way that matters."
"I already am," I whisper, and the truth of it resonates through me like a struck bell. "I've been yours since the moment you found me in the rain."
Something shatters in his expression—the last remnants of his restraint giving way to naked hunger. He tugs on my wrist, pulling me down until I'm straddling his lap, the thin silk of my nightgown the only barrier between us.
"If we do this," he says, his voice rough with desire, "there's no walking away. No changing your mind. You need to be certain, Cecily."
In answer, I lean forward and press my lips to his. The kiss starts gentle, exploratory, but quickly deepens as Sutton takes control. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head to give him better access as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry I willingly grant.
He tastes of expensive whiskey and barely leashed power, a combination that makes my head spin and my body melt against his. His hands leave my hair to trail down my back, over the curve of my hips, gathering the silk of my nightgown as they go until it's bunched around my waist.
"No underwear," he growls against my mouth as his palms find bare skin. "Were you planning this, little one?"
I can't lie to him. "Yes," I breathe, rocking slightly against the hardness I can feel beneath me. "I've been thinking about it all day."
His eyes darken further, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of brown remains. "Good girl," he praises, and the words send a warm rush of pleasure through me that has nothing to do with physical touch.
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him as if I weigh nothing, and carries me to the leather couch against the far wall. He lays me down with surprising gentleness, stepping back to look at me spread out before him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. "So perfect I can hardly believe you're real. That you're mine."
I watch, mesmerized, as he undresses—the broad expanse of his chest coming into view, the tightly coiled muscles of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband. When he's down to just his boxer briefs, he kneels beside the couch, his hand cupping my cheek with unexpected tenderness.
"I'm going to worship every inch of you," he promises, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Make you feel things you've never imagined."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, the kiss deeper, hungrier than before. His hands find the straps of my nightgown, sliding them down my shoulders until my breasts are exposed to the cool air and his heated gaze.
"Exquisite," he breathes, bending to take one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue makes me arch off the couch, a whimper escaping my throat. His hand finds my other breast, thumb circling the nipple in time with the strokes of his tongue, and pleasure spirals through me, sharp and sweet.
He takes his time, moving between my breasts, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes me clutch at his shoulders in desperate need for more. When he finally continues his journey downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my stomach, my hips, the insides of my thighs, I'm trembling with anticipation.
"Sutton," I gasp as his breath warms the most intimate part of me. "Please."
He looks up at me, his eyes almost black with desire. "Please what, Cecily? Tell me exactly what you want."
"Your mouth," I manage, heat flooding my cheeks at my own boldness. "I want your mouth on me."
His smile is pure male satisfaction. "Good girl," he says again, and then his tongue is on me, finding that bundle of nerves with unerring accuracy.
I cry out, my back arching as pleasure unlike anything I've ever known courses through me. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open for his assault as his tongue works magic against my sensitive flesh. It's too much and not enough all at once, the pressure building inside me until I feel like I might shatter.
"Let go," he murmurs against me, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. "Come for me, Cecily. Let me taste your pleasure."
His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his tongue, send me hurtling over the edge. My vision whites out as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes through me, my body convulsing beneath his skilled mouth.
He works me through it, gentling his touch but not stopping until I'm a boneless, trembling mess on the couch. Only then does he rise, shedding his last piece of clothing, revealing himself fully to my dazed gaze.
"My God," I breathe, taking in the sight of him—all hard muscle and taut skin, magnificently, intimidatingly aroused.
"It's not too late to change your mind," he says, though the strain in his voice makes it clear how much it would cost him to stop now.
In answer, I reach for him, pulling him down until his body covers mine, the weight of him pressing me into the leather. "I want this," I whisper against his lips. "I want you."
He positions himself between my thighs, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance. "Look at me," he commands, waiting until my eyes meet his. "I want to see your face when I make you mine."
He pushes forward slowly, giving me time to adjust to the unfamiliar invasion. There's pain—a burning stretch that makes me gasp—but it's overshadowed by the emotional intensity of the moment, by the look of reverent wonder on Sutton's face as he enters me for the first time.
