of her lower belly, to the place where the soft curls were waiting. She lifted toward him, urging him on.
He touched her, dipping a finger into the feminine heart of her. She was wet. Hot. He explored the silky folds and she encouraged him with tender little moans and sighs, as she lifted her hips, opening her thighs to him, so eager. Hungry for more.
So he gave her more. He kissed his way down her body, sliding her gown even higher, until it was no more than a tangled, satin band around her waist. He kissed her belly, dipped his tongue into her navel, and breathed in the musky, sweet scent of her excitement.
He had to taste her. Now. Immediately. He kissed the silky red-gold curls and lower, putting his mouth where his wet fingers had been.
She was writhing by then, her hands clutching his head, fingers speared in his hair, urging him onward. He ran his tongue along the slick wetness, drinking in the taste of her, driving her higher, finding that it aroused him beyond all reason to be giving her pleasure, to know that she liked it, that she wanted him to kiss her in this most intimate way.
And then, all at once, she was crying out his name. She broke, shuddering. He tasted her completion, felt it pulse against his tongue.
Her satisfaction drove him higher, gave him something so good, so right. Something he had never known he craved, something hot and bright and beautiful. Something good and true.
Who knew it could be like this?
Not Connor.
He had never been what anyone would call an attentive lover. With his wife, the sex didn’t matter anyway, except for the necessity of producing his son. And with the women he’d dated in the past year, he’d been utterly selfish. He saw that now. They gave him pleasure in the form of sexual release. And he took them out to the best restaurants, showered then with pricey gifts.
But with Tori …
Everything was different.
He got pleasure from her pleasure, took satisfaction from knowing she was satisfied.
She sighed, and a little laugh escaped her. “Oh, Connor.” Her fingers, now, were gentle in his hair. “Who knew?” Good question. He certainly hadn’t. She whispered, “Come up here, up here to me …”
One last press of his lips against those wet red-gold curls and he obeyed her, kissing his way up the middle of her body, over her soft, tempting belly, between her small, perfect breasts. He paused to dip his tongue into the groove at the base of her throat. Never would he get enough of the taste of her, sweet and slightly salty now, with the sweat of their lovemaking.
He kissed her throat, her chin, and finally, with a sigh, he settled his mouth over hers and tasted her more deeply. He was aching, aching in a good way, hard and ready, needing her so bad.
She caught his face in her two soft hands. “The drawer, in the nightstand …”
He reached for it, his mouth still locked with hers. Finding the knob, he pulled it open, felt around inside, his fingers closing over a pen, a notepad, a small flashlight. But nothing that felt like the condom he was groping for.
She pushed gently at his shoulders. “Let me,” she suggested.
Reluctantly, he let her up, and sank back against the pillows. He admired the gorgeous curve of her slim back as she got up on her folded knees and slid the drawer all the way open.
“Got it.” She pulled out a box from way in back and swiftly peeled the lid wide, taking out a single sealed pouch. She held it up.
He reached for it.
But she only laughed and snatched it away and looked at him from under her thick lashes. “Let me. Please.”
He settled back against the pillow again and folded his hands behind his head. “Absolutely. Be my guest.” He spoke teasingly, though he wanted only to grab her, roll her under him and bury himself deep in her waiting softness.
She was kind. She didn’t fool around. She had the pouch open and the condom sliding down over him within seconds. The touch of her hand as she guided it into place, snugging it neatly, evenly, at the base, almost undid him.
But not quite. She bent over him, so her lips were no more than a breath away from his. “Good?”
He refused to move. If she wanted to take control, so be it. “Excellent.”
She slid a leg over him and went up on her knees astride him, but away from him. Her eyes weren’t so teasing anymore. They were hungry. Ready.
He resisted the powerful urge to grab her hips and surge up into her.
She bent close, though she didn’t lower herself down onto his waiting hardness. She whispered, “You’re gritting your teeth.”
“And you’re driving me wild.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.” She kissed him, slowly, a brushing kiss that turned deeper—and then deeper still.
“Come down to me, Tori. Now …”
Impossibly, miraculously, she actually obeyed him. He felt her against him—there, where he needed her— and then he slipped inside.
She was wet and hot and, oh, so welcoming. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her then. He took her hips and pulled her down onto him.
She moaned then. So did he.
And she rode him, kissing him, her hips working in a rhythm that shattered him, that broke him into a thousand tiny pieces—and then somehow put him back together again.
At the last minute, as he knew he was losing it, he grabbed her more firmly by the round curves of her bottom and he rolled her, so he was on top. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, holding him, rocking him, murmuring his name.
He muttered, “Tori,” and then again, “Tori,” as the world spun away. He saw utter darkness behind his eyes. And then, at the last possible moment, as she turned him inside out, the darkness turned to shimmering light.
They must have slept.
When he woke, the bedside clock said it was almost five. Tori lay beside him, her face so innocent and sweet in the light of the lamp they’d left on, her strawberry hair bright as sunshine spilled across the pillow.
He tried to slide his arm out from under her head without waking her. But her eyes drifted open.
“Connor …”
“Um?”
“What time …?”
“Five to five.”
“You have to go? “
“Unfortunately.” He bent close, brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Tonight I’m going out to the Douglas Ranch. Caleb invited me to dinner.”
She made a low, knowing sound. “More hush-hush negotiating, huh? “
“We aren’t quite
