I continue my exploration of her back, my lips and tongue tasting, teasing, worshipping. I can feel her body responding, her breathing growing ragged, her muscles tensing with anticipation.
I want to take her again, right here, right now. I want to bury myself inside her and lose myself in her, to forget everything else but the feel of her skin against mine, the sound of her moans in my ears, the taste of her on my tongue.
But I know I can't. Not yet.
I pull away, and she makes a small sound of protest, but I force myself to my feet. "Come on. Let's get you fed."
I go to the drawer and pull out a pair of silk pajama bottoms, the cool fabric a welcome relief against my overheated skin. I pull out the matching shirtand hand it to her.
"As much as it pains me to cover a work of art such as this," I say, gesturing to her naked form, "we probably should put on some clothes."
She looks at the shirt in her hand, then back at me, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face. "Why?"
I groan, my body already responding to her challenge. "I don't think room service would appreciate the show as much as I do. Then again, they probably would. Then I'd have to kill them."
She tips her head back and laughs, sending those beautiful breasts dancing. "Elsa, if you keep looking like that, we're never leaving this bed."
"Promises, promises," she says, her voice a husky, teasing purr. But she puts the shirt on, and I almost regret it. The white silk is a stark contrast against her tanned skin, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that's almost more tantalizing than her being completely naked.
"What do you want?" I ask, my eyes feasting on her.
"Surprise me," she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Ah, a challenge," I say. "I like a challenge."
I pick up the phone and order enough food for a small army, a feast of local delicacies and international favorites, a celebration, a tribute, an offering to the goddess in my bed.
While we wait, I pour her a glass of water from the minibar and watch her drink it. Her throat moves as she swallows,and I have to fight the urge to trace the path of the water with my tongue.
"How's that?" I ask, my voice husky.
"Better," she says, setting the glass down. "I was... thirsty."
"I bet you were."
She blushes again, a delicate pink that creeps up her neck and stains her cheeks. I find it endearing, a glimpse of vulnerability beneath the cool, composed exterior she presents to the world.
I take her hand and pull her toward the sitting area. "Come on. Let's get comfortable before the food arrives."
I sit on the sofa and pull her down next to me, settling her against my side. She fits perfectly, her head on my shoulder, her body warm and soft against mine. I wrap my arm around her, my fingers tracing a pattern on her arm.
This. This is what I've been missing. Not just the sex, not just the physical release, but this. The quiet intimacy, the easy companionship, the feeling of coming home.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, her voice a soft murmur against my chest.
I smile. "I'm thinking that you're dangerous."
"Dangerous?" she repeats, tilting her head to look at me. "How so?"
"You make me want things I shouldn't want," I say, my fingers toying with the ends of her hair.
"Like what?"
"Like this," I say, my voice low. "Like you. Again."
She shifts, turning to face me, her knees pressing against my thigh. "Then why are you resisting?"
"Because I'm trying to be a gentleman," I say, but the words sound weak, even to my own ears.
