He wanted more, needed more. Her pure, honest reactions were the most potent of aphrodisiacs, and he craved her. Wanted to explore—to taste—every inch of her.
“Kiss me.”
The demand was little more than a whisper, but he obliged, closing his mouth hard over hers, trying toconvey without words how much he wanted her and how much this night meant to him.
While his tongue danced with hers, his hands skimmed down her body, then back up, grazing the soft skin around her waist, her belly, then kneading her breasts. Gently at first, then rougher as she broke their kiss, urging him on with soft pleas of “more, yes, more.”
“You’re delicious,” he murmured, then trailed his tongue from her navel to her nipple just to prove the point.
“Oh, Michael.” He noticed with pure masculine delight the quiver in her voice. “My knees are weak. The bed?”
He shook his head and pulled himself up. “Not yet.” It had been almost a year since he’d been with a woman, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold back if they were in bed, with her warm and willing under him. But he wanted to maintain control of himself for as long as possible. Wanted the night to last forever. Wanted to take her to the edge and have her desperate for more. For him.
Gently, he urged them backward until her back was pressed against the wall. Then he urged her hands up over her head.
“But I want to touch you.”
He shook his head. “Later. I promise. Right now, just close your eyes.”
Her smile—a combination of pure feminine powerand complete trust—just about did him in. When she obliged, he gently kissed each lid before trailing his fingers down to the knot at her hip.
One simple little knot held her entire skirt on, and naturally it tormented him with its stubbornness. He considered simply pushing the skirt up around her waist, but he wanted to see all of her, every inch. And that meant loosing the damn knot.
“Need a hand?” Barely a whisper, her amused voice drifted over him.
“I’ve got it.” He’d spent every summer of his life before the accident on a sailboat. He knew knots. So it was particularly frustrating that one simple square knot refused to cooperate. Of course, on a boat, he wasn’t delirious from lust.
When he managed to untie it, though, he knew his effort had been worth it. The skirt fell away, pooling on the tile floor at her bare feet. She shifted, pressing her legs together, and he grinned, amused by her attempts at modesty.
With something close to reverence, he traced the outline of her panties. When he cupped his hand over the dark vee, she moaned and arched her back, spreading her legs for him. Stifling a groan, he stroked her through the soft silk that was already damp with the evidence of her desire.
His erection strained painfully against the confines of his jeans, and he shifted to ease the pressure, notwanting to take his hands from her body even long enough to undo his fly.
Slowly, he moved closer, his lips to her cheek, his body against hers. She whimpered, the small sound sending his blood coursing hot through his body. But when she moved her arms down to stroke his hair, he pulled back gently, taking her hands between his own.
“Not yet. Just you. Trust me.”
She nodded as he urged her hands back up the wall. Her body was lithe and firm. Stretched out like that she seemed to offer him an invitation to touch, to explore, and he happily accepted the offer. He kissed her ear, teasing the soft curve, then trailed kisses down her throat, her shoulder, and lower still.
He took her breast in his mouth, tasting, sucking, as his hand trailed lower. Her skin was soft under his fingers, and when he reached the elastic band of her panties, he didn’t stop. He slipped his finger under and stroked the coarse, short hair, and she gasped, sucking in air and tilting her head back.
He teased her nipple with his teeth, and she moved her hips under his hand, urging him lower and lower until his fingers found her slick, sweet center. She was wet and hot and ready, and it thrilled him more than he could have imagined to know that she was ready for him. That she wantedhim.
Taking care to taste every inch of her, he nibbled his way down, flicking his tongue over the curve of herbreast, tasting the salt of her skin, dipping his tongue into her belly button.
She laughed softly. “That tickles.” Then, “Please, I want to touch you.”
“Soon,” he promised.
He knelt slowly, slipping his hands under either side of her panties and dragging them down over her hips. She made another soft noise as they fell to the floor and he urged her legs apart. He felt his back tighten painfully as he urged her closer, but he ignored it, not willing to let anything spoil the moment, wanting only to kneel before her, to breathe in her feminine scent, to taste every single inch of her.
Slipping his hands behind her, he cupped her rear and dipped his head. He wanted to kiss the inside of her thigh, that soft place that drove women wild. And Kyra was no exception. She trembled under his touch, dropping her hands to his head. This time, he didn’t object.
He moved his kisses higher, drunk from the taste of her. And when she knocked his cap off and buried her fingers in his hair, he did the same, burying his tongue deep in her, then teasing her secret feminine places with the tip of his tongue. She writhed under him, her fingers knotting in his hair. A spasm shot through his back, and he pulled her closer, riding out the pain.
“Michael.” Her voice was hoarse, unsteady, and filled with passion. For a fleeting moment, a twinge of sadness caught him. He’d give anything to hear hisreal name on her lips, but that wasn’t possible, and for now—for her—he’d take what he could.
“Please,” she said, cupping his face with her hands, and urging him to look at her, with her eyes glazed from passion. “I want you. Inside me. Now.”
It was, of course, a demand he wouldn’t think of refusing. But with his back screaming in pain, he didn’t know how the hell he could accept.
