More than she’d ever imagined.
He met her eyes and, without breaking their gaze, he took the tip of one breast deep into his warm mouth, worrying the flesh with tongue and teeth before pulling in lush tugs that had her moaning his name and plunging her fingers into his hair.
“Michael . . .” she whispered, afraid that she might break the spell of pleasure. She closed her eyes.
He lifted his head, and she hated him for stopping. “Look at me.” The words were a demand. When she met his gaze once more, his hand slid beneath the pooled fabric of her dress, fingers brushing against curls, and she snapped her thighs shut with a little cry of dismay. He couldn’t possibly . . . not there . . .
But he returned his attention to her breast, kissing and sucking until her inhibitions were lost and her thighs parted, allowing him to slide his fingers between them, resting softly against her but not moving—a wicked, wonderful temptation. She stiffened again but did not refuse him access this time.
“I promise you shall like this. Trust me.”
She gave a shaky laugh as his fingers moved, widening her thighs, gaining access to her core. “Said the lion to the lamb.”
He tongued the soft skin at the underside of her breast before turning to the other, lavishing the same attention there as she writhed beneath him and sighed his name. His fingers were wicked, separating her secret folds with one finger and stroking gently, slowly, until he found the warm, wet entrance to her.
He lifted his head, finding her gaze as he slid one long finger slowly into the heart of her, sending a bolt of unexpected pleasure through her. He pressed a kiss to the skin between her breasts, repeating the motion with his finger before whispering, “You’re already wet for me. Gloriously wet.”
It was impossible to stem her embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed her long and slow, sliding his tongue deep in her mouth as his finger mirrored the action below, before he pulled back, placed his forehead to hers, and said, “It means you want me. It means that, even after all these years, after everything I’ve done, after everything I am, I can make you want me.”
Later, she would reflect on the words, wish that she’d said something to him, but she couldn’t, not when he slid a second finger in with the first, his thumb circling as he whispered at her ear. “I am going to explore you . . . to discover your heat and softness, every bit of your decadence.” He stroked against her, feeling the way she pulsed around him, loving the way she rocked her hips against him as his thumb worked a tight circle at the straining nub of pleasure he had uncovered. “You make my mouth water.”
Her eyes went wide at the words, but he did not give her time to consider them as he moved his hand again, lifting her hips and sliding her gown down, over her legs and off until she was utterly bare, and he was between her legs, parting them slowly, saying the most wicked things as his hands slid along her legs. He stalked her on his knees as he parted them, pressing long, soft, lush kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs just above her stockings. “In fact . . .” He paused, swirling his tongue in a slow, stunning circle. “ . . . I don’t think I can go another moment . . .” Again, on the opposite thigh. “ . . . Without . . .” Slightly higher, closer to the ache. “ . . . Tasting you.”
And then his mouth was on her, his tongue stroking in long, slow licks, curling almost unbearably at the place where pleasure pooled and strained and begged for release. She cried out, sitting up straight before he lifted his head and pressed one large hand to her soft stomach. “Lie back . . . let me taste you. Let me show you how good it can be. Watch. Tell me what you like. What you need.”
And she did, God help her. As he licked and sucked with his perfect tongue and his wicked lips, she whispered her encouragement, learning what she wanted even as she was not sure of the end result.
More, Michael . . .
Her hands slid into his curls, holding him close to her.
Michael, again . . .
Her thighs widened, willing and wanton.
There, Michael . . .
Michael . . .
He was her world. There was nothing beyond this moment.
And then his fingers joined his tongue, and she thought she might die as he pressed more firmly, rubbed more deliberately, giving her everything for which she did not know to ask. Her eyes flew open, his name on a gasp.
His tongue moved faster, circling at the place where she needed him, and she moved, all inhibition gone, lost to the rising, cresting pleasure . . . wanting nothing more than to know what lay beyond.
“Please, don’t stop,” she whispered.
He didn’t.