Her position stretches her body, lifting her breasts, accentuating the narrowness of her waist, the gentle curve of her hips. She’s completely exposed. Utterly vulnerable.
I shrug my blazer off and toss it over the couch then start to unbutton my shirt. Her gaze is fixed on my hands, on the slow, deliberate reveal of my chest, my stomach.
My body is a map of a life lived hard. A faint scar on my ribs from a knife fight that went wrong. Another, older one on my shoulder from a bullet that grazed me. These are marks of my world. Marks only ever glimpsed beneath my expensive suits.
Her breath catches as my shirt falls open. I shrug it off, letting it join the blazer.
Her eyes are wide, taking me in.
I move to the bed, sitting on the edge, not touching her. The mattress dips with my weight, her body shifting slightly towards me.
My gaze drops to her breasts, to the hard, rosy peaks. I reach out, my fingers tracing the soft curve of the underside. Her breath hitches, her back arching slightly.
I lean down, my breath warm against her skin, but I don’t touch her with my lips. I let the anticipation build, let her feel the ghost of a kiss before it comes.
Then I flick my tongue against her nipple.
A soft gasp escapes her. Her body bows off the bed, her hands tightening on the headboard. I do it again, a slow, deliberate circle. Her breath comes out in a ragged rush.
I close my lips around her, sucking gently, my tongue swirling over the sensitive peak. Her whimper is soft, broken. Her hips shift restlessly on the bed.
I lavish attention on one breast, then the other, learning her responses, cataloging every gasp, every shiver, every involuntary arch of her back. Her body is a language I’m beginning to understand, and I’m a fast learner.
I press a soft kiss in the valley between her breasts, my lips tracing a path up her sternum, to the hollow of her throat. I can feel the frantic, fluttering beat of her pulse against my lips. Her skin is soft, fragrant, tasting of her own fear and something else, something sweeter.
My hands explore her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips. Her skin is smooth, warm. Goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. She’s shivering, a constant, fine tremor that runs through her entire body.
My lips find hers.
This isn’t a soft, tentative kiss. This is a claim, claiming what I paid for. I slant my mouth over hers, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then opens for me with a soft sigh.
My tongue delves inside, tasting her, exploring her. Her tongue meets mine, hesitant at first, then with a growing urgency that surprises me. She’s kissing me back, her body arching into mine, a soft, needy sound escaping her lips.
My hand slides up her thigh, my fingers tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her legs part slightly; a silent invitation I have no intention of refusing.
My fingers brush against her wet folds. She’s soaked. Her arousal is a slick, undeniable proof of her surrender.
A choked sob escapes her, a sound of shame and pleasure and frustration. She turns her head, breaking the kiss, her face turned away from me.
“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I murmur, my fingers still tracing her slick heat. “Don’t stop? Or don’t make you feel good?”
“Both,” she whispers, her voice raw with emotion. “Just… get it over with.”
My fingers pause. The plea hangs in the air between us, a fragile, desperate thing.
I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear.
“Oh, Erica,” I murmur, my voice a low, dark rumble. “Did you really think it would be that easy?" I chuckle in her ear, making her shiver. "You can't hide from me. I'm going to learn every one of your secrets."
I straighten, my gaze sweeping over her. She’s a mess of tangled limbs and raw emotion. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her knuckles white where she grips the headboard. She’s trying so hard to hold on to a piece of herself, to deny the pleasure that’s flooding her body.
It’s a battle I intend to win.
My fingers resume their exploration, tracing her slick folds, circling her clit without touching it directly. Her hips buck, a desperate, instinctual movement seeking more friction.
She can't know what she looks like. The innocent virgin laid out like a feast, all for me and me only. Tonight, I'll be the one going where no man has gone before.
