on every last naked inch of her skin. He’d discovered erogeneous zones she didn’t even know she had. Hell, she’d discovered ones she didn’t even know existed.
She’d come so many times she’d lost count. He would let her rest for a while, the lazy stroking never stopping, and then he’d start all over again.
Her body had become one raw, pulsating nerve that had surrendered totally to his will. Her flesh a slave to the rough, insistent strokes of his tongue, the knowing caress of callused, clever fingers.
‘Once more, Madeleine.’ He chuckled. ‘I insist.’
Then he found the hard, wet, swollen nub of her clitoris with his mouth and suckled.
Maddy sobbed, the sound elemental, desperate, as the coil of heat that had been building for an eternity ignited and burst into flames. The raging inferno seared through her body and she screamed, bucking under him, the raw pulsating nerve detonating into a mass of silvery shards that rocketed her over the edge and into the abyss.
‘Madeleine, are you okay?’
Maddy drifted back to consciousness, the warm fuzzy feeling of afterglow making it difficult for her to get annoyed by the wry humour in his tone.
She gave a long, slow sigh, her limbs finally reviving. ‘I’m dead,’ she murmured. ‘Of course I’m not okay.’
Her eyelids fluttered open and a satisfied smile curved her lips to match his. Wow, she’d never had a clue foreplay could be this amazing. And Rye King was a master at it. After the hour she’d spent in his arms she was beginning to realise her past sex life had been nothing short of pathetic.
He kissed her, the taste of her own essence on his lips unbearably erotic. ‘I think you’ll survive,’ he said as he banded his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his embrace.
Resting her cheek against his naked chest, she could hear the pistoning beat of his heart, smell the musty scent of fresh male sweat—and feel the bulge of his erection still pulsing through faded denim. He’d refused point-blank to get completely naked with her, insisting that the rest of the evening was for her, not him. But the guilty flush crept up her neck again anyway.
That had to be painful. He’d been hard for close to an hour. As wonderful as it had been to be the focus of his attention, and on the receiving end of all his hard work, she couldn’t help feeling guilty and unbelievably selfish that he’d had no release.
Placing her palm on his chest, she moved back to peer into his face. ‘Rye, are you sure you don’t want me to …’ the silly blush got worse’ … do something for you? You’ve given me so much.’
He covered her hand, his pensive smile making her heart punch her chest. ‘Maddy, you’ve given me more. Believe me.’
Tenderness blind-sided her at the enigmatic comment. What could she possibly have given him that he hadn’t given her back ten-fold?
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, suddenly desperate to probe beneath the surface. ‘How could I have?’
He stiffened, drew his arm away as he sat up. ‘Forget it. It’s not important,’ he said, his expression shutting her out.
She understood instantly, she’d been dismissed. And struggled to ignore the silly little dart of pain.
She mustn’t start acting like a girl now. This was a purely sexual fling and absolutely nothing more. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for this man. Nothing outside the physical. And he clearly felt nothing for her. That had been understood when they’d jumped into bed together without a thing between them except sexual attraction.
Pulling the sheet back, he got out of bed. ‘I’ll go stick your stuff in the dryer,’ he said, his back to her as he grabbed his T-shirt off the floor and put it on. ‘How about I cook us dinner before I drive you home?’
‘That would be nice. Thanks,’ Maddy said, disorientated by the abrupt change in his manner despite all her careful justifications. She clutched the sheet to her chest as he left the room.
The door closed behind him—and she slumped down into the pillows.
The problem was she had absolutely no experience with this kind of relationship and she didn’t know the rules. While they’d been making love … or, rather, having sex … it had been easy to concentrate on the physical and nothing else. But somehow the intimacy had crept up on her while she wasn’t looking. She absolutely mustn’t start reading things into this that weren’t there.
Ryan King was a handsome, exciting, superbly sexy enigma. And he had to stay that way. Tonight had been about sex. Incredible sex. And nothing else. The man was clearly a veteran of one-night flings. His comprehensive knowledge of female anatomy was proof of that.
She’d just have to take her cue from him. And not let her tendency to over-emotionalise and over-think every little nuance of a relationship get in the way. Clearly, personal, probing questions were not the way to go in this situation.
But, as Maddy walked into the bathroom to wash and then scouted the bedroom for her discarded clothing, all the questions she yearned to ask Rye King about his strangely barren home, about his past, about his present—and the reasons why he’d given her so much and taken so little—crowded into her head like corn kernels popping on a hot stove.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘COULD I ask you a question?’ Maddy kept her eyes on the simple meal of scrambled eggs on toast Rye had rustled up.
She heard the clink of his knife and fork and looked up to find him watching her. She tried not to fidget or feel intimidated. She’d waited a decent amount of time before giving in to her curiosity. But she simply wasn’t enough of a guy to let this one go.
‘Sure,’ he replied, but she could hear the slight edge in his voice. ‘What do you want to know?’
It was hardly a fulsome invitation. The question got caught in her throat.
Spit it out, Mads. You’re entitled to ask one stupid question.
The man had been inside her, for goodness’ sake. He’d licked her to orgasm. More than once. Maybe it was a girl thing, but curiosity didn’t have to be bad. And, frankly, after the silence that had stretched out between them ever since she’d ventured into the kitchen to find him cooking their meal, she wasn’t sure she could swallow another bite until she got at least one piece of popcorn out of her head.
‘Is this your house?’
His eyebrows lifted.
‘It’s just … it doesn’t seem to suit you,’ she rushed on, feeling foolish when his forehead creased. How would she know what suited him?
‘That’s the question?’ He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Seriously?’
‘Well, yes.’ Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. ‘What did you think I was going to ask?’
He leaned back in his chair, stretched his long legs out and drummed the fingers of one hand on the table. The considering look he sent her made her cheeks heat a little. Why did she feel like a particularly rare amoeba
