“Touch,” she answered in a whisper, and unthinkingly, her hands went to his shoulders. With his mouth on her cheek, Flynn shrugged out of his suit coat and dropped it, then pushed the coat from her shoulders, too.
“Touch,” he repeated, slipping his arm around her waist, drawing her into him “Any sort of touch? One touch? A series of touches? A slap, a bump, or hopefully, a poke?”
“Well,” she said, bending her neck a little to accommodate his seeking mouth. “There are many types of touches. For example, the blind man’s touch, you know, where one or the other closes their eyes and sees their partner through the fingertips,” she said, her voice faltering a little as he slid a hand up her rib cage to the side of her breast.
“Sounds bloody fabulous,” he muttered against her skin. “Go on.”
“And massage,” she said as she impulsively buried her face in his neck, inhaling the spicy scent of his aftershave, the clean smell of soap and shampoo from his collar.
“Ah, the massage,” he said in a very seductive voice as his hand wandered down her side, to her hip and squeezed it.
“And then, there is, the ah . . . oh,” she whispered as he filled his free hand with her breast.
“The what?”
“The use of the, ah . . . mouth,” she said, and felt the desire percolating beneath her skin as she motioned vaguely to her lips. “You know, the mouth can be a very nice tool for, ah . . . touching.”
“Indeed?” His laugh was a throaty chuckle as he slid his hand down her arm until he caught her hand. “Then I will opt for the mouth . . . and tongue . . . and every inch of your lovely flesh,” he murmured.
Rachel sighed dreamily as he artfully moved her into the darkened bedroom and leaned her up against the wall. He braced his arms on either side of her, leaned in to kiss her, his tongue sweeping fully into her mouth, his lips firm and pliant on hers.
And just when she thought she would melt all over the carpet, he lifted his head. “Stay right where you are.” He pushed away from the wall, walked to somewhere near the bed, and after a moment of fumbling about, the soothing sound of a piano filled the small room. He turned toward her, and in the light that spilled in from the adjoining room, she could see his face as he walked back to her, loosening his tie. It was an expression that sent the deepest of shivers of anticipation through her.
As he reached her, he casually put a finger under her chin, tilted her face up to his, and tenderly kissed her lips, soft and long, carefully shaping them, and desire began to pool in her groin. “I should very much like to explore a bit of the Tantra with you, Rachel,” he murmured. “You inspire that sort of thing in me . . . among other things.”
The sentiment was so unexpected and sweet that Rachel caught a breath in her throat as he stood there, admiring her body. It was the sort of sentiment she had heard expressed on the silver screen, on those nights she would sit alone in the family’s little theater, watching romance movies alone while her sisters were out with their dates, leaving her to dream of someone to say those things to her.
This time, it was really happening to her. She had the gorgeous guy, and he had the words, and she had never in her life felt more emboldened or sexy or just plain horny as she did then.
And Rachel suddenly kissed him for it, flinging her arms around his neck, crushing up against him. Flynn caught her, put his arms around her, and held her tightly. She was vaguely aware that something in her had snapped; all the inhibitions, all the insecurities, went floating away on a cloud of lavender, and she no longer worried how she appeared, because she felt beautiful and desirable and sexy. She could think of nothing but Flynn, could see nothing, taste nothing, feel nothing but him. Her hands went to his face, her fingers light on the five o’clock shadow, then spreading, to his ears, and the hair brushing his collar.
Flynn grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from his face and pressed his lips to her palm, then began to pull her, while he walked backward, to the bed in the middle of the room. Rachel followed mindlessly, moving carelessly across the carpet, not really conscious of anything but Flynn, and hardly even noticing when she bumped up against the bed.
She laughed, lifted her face again, and touched her lips to the corner of his mouth.
Flynn’s hands were at her back, fumbling with the zipper of her dress. Rachel laughed against his mouth as he released her zipper. It was a strange sensation, to feel the cold air on her back at the very same time something had detonated white hot inside her.
His hands slipped inside her dress, big hands on the smooth skin of her back, a finger tracing the path of her spine. “I think I rather like the Tantra thing,” he said into her hair.