It was all the invitation he needed.
He pulled her against him more fully, her small frame making it easy for him to walk them both those few crucial steps to her bedroom.
Her bedroom was a fussy, feminine affair. Lots of purple and white and flowers.
Vincent barely noticed as he dropped her none too gently on the bed and then crawled over her, caging her with his body as he stared down at her.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. The sash of her robe was nearly all the way undone now, her breast inches from exposure. He’d only have to hook one finger beneath the fabric to reveal the soft skin…
Vincent lifted one hand. But instead of drifting down, his hand went up to where her hair was fanned out on the bedspread. He rubbed the blond strands between his fingertips. It felt like silk.
Her eyes drifted closed, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d leaned down and gently, reverently kissed both her closed eyelids before trailing along her high cheekbones, down over her pointy little chin, before brushing against her lips.
“Vincent.”
It was a sigh—his name was a sigh on her lips, and that’s all it took. That one simple sound, and he was lost.
His hand slid down her neck, his fingertips brushing gently against the hollow of her neck, until one finger was hooked under the lapel of her robe.
He eased slightly to his left until he was on his side, his leg still draped over both of hers, pinning her as his finger slowly pulled her robe down millimeter by millimeter, exposing her pale skin to his gaze.
Vincent paused when he neared the peak, his eyes locking on hers. Holding her gaze as he slowly, deliberately pulled the robe that last crucial inch, letting the back of his index finger graze her nipple as he exposed her all the way.
Jill cried out at the touch, and Vin’s cock got even harder at the sound.
Curious if she was always that sensitive, he repeated the motion, moving his finger back up, brushing her again.
She gasped.
He grinned evilly then. Six years trying to figure out how to get the upper hand on this woman, and this was all it took.
Vincent rested the pad of his thumb on the tip of her breast, barely touching her—torturing her.
She arched her back up into him and he pulled his hand away. Again and again they repeated the motion, her desperate to have his hand on her, him just as determined to make her wait.
Only when she was cursing him, sounding very much like, well, her, did he give her what she wanted.
He captured her nipple between this thumb and forefinger, idly rolling it as he watched her pant. Vincent let the edge of his thumbnail scrape her just slightly and she nearly came off the bed.
“Ah, Jill,” he said reverently. And then when he couldn’t help himself any longer, his own control at the brink, he scooted down and brought his mouth to her breast.
He started with the tip of his tongue, flicking her nipple just lightly, before lapping at her in rhythmic strokes.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, clasping her to him as he drew her into his mouth, sucking the sweet puckered tip into his mouth.
His hand slid across her chest, shoving the robe aside to reveal her other breast, repeating the same torturous process on that side until she was sobbing with need.
Vincent’s hand slid down her belly, his fingertips tracing over the soft curve of her lower belly until sliding down farther and finding the elastic band of her panties.
He used one finger to trace all around the elastic, starting with the tip before lifting his hand and repeating the slow process at the sensitive crease of her inner thighs.
Jill’s hips arched up and he pulled his hand away.
“I hate you,” she gasped.
He merely grinned and repeated the motion all over again, this time accidentally on purpose letting his finger slip beneath the fabric.
Vincent moved upward slightly, waiting until she turned her face to his before kissing her, long and deep.
He let one finger roam over the front of her underwear then, and he groaned in satisfaction when he found her wet.
“Damn it, Jill.”
In response she pulled his mouth more firmly against hers with one hand as the other drifted down to the front of his jeans. He growled in response, his hand pulling hers away and pinning it above her head.
“Think you’re in control, do you?” she asked.
In response, Vincent slipped one finger under the elastic of her panties.
She gasped.
“I don’t know,” he said as he gently explored her folds. “Am I in control?”
“I hate you,” she said again, this time around a moan.
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like hate, darling.”
“It is. It definitely is,” she said, her voice a little rough.
“Well then, I guess you want me to stop,” he said, sliding his hand away from her, smiling when she whimpered in protest.
“Please,” she said, her wrists twisting under his grip.
“Please what?” he said, his lips fastening once more on her nipple.