body wrapping itself around his own, her mouth desperately seeking his.
The same urgency was a fire inside him. A pounding drum in his bloodstream, a stroke of lightning that he couldn’t shake. That he didn’t want to shake.
All he wanted was her.
It was a shocking revelation, and a humbling one. He loved women, loved everything about them and always had. But this driving desire for Desi, this craving to have her any and every way he could, was something new. Something as unexpected as it was exciting.
Keeping his mouth on hers and his lips open so she could delve inside him the same way he had explored her, Nic turned them until her back was against the outside wall of the ballroom. She moaned softly as her bare skin came in contact with the building and he shifted back, so that he could slide an arm between her and the rough, cold stone.
“Please,” she whimpered, pressing her pelvis against his as her hands clutched his shirt, pulling and tugging at it in a frantic need that mirrored his own.
To help her—and to get her hands on his bare skin faster—he pulled away slightly and ripped his shirt straight down in a practiced move that had the studs giving way to his impatience. Desi sighed then, her hands sliding beneath the parted fabric to caress his ribs, his back, his abdomen.
Her fingers felt so good—she felt so good—that for long seconds he did nothing but stand there, letting her explore him as he longed to explore her. But in the end, his need got the better of him and he took control, pulling the top of her dress down so he could see and touch and kiss her.
“Hey!” she protested breathlessly. “I wasn’t done yet.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her as he gazed at the sun-kissed skin he had revealed. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but then she didn’t need one. Her breasts were small and high and perfect, tipped with pale pink nipples he was dying to taste. “I promise, you can touch me anywhere you want. Later. Right now, I have to—” His voice trailed off as he pressed hot, openmouthed kisses to her neck, her collarbone and the slope of her shoulder before moving on to her breasts.
Her skin was as soft and fragrant as he’d imagined it would be, and as he pulled her nipple into his mouth, as he circled her areola with his tongue and sucked just hard enough to have her crying out as she buried her hands in his hair, he felt as if he would die if he didn’t have her. Soon.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled against her breast.
“Yes,” she gasped, her hands sliding from his hair to his shoulders, then down his chest to his waist, where she began fumbling with his belt buckle. “Now.”
They were the two most beautiful words he’d ever heard.
He slipped a hand under the silky blue skirt of her dress, then slid his fingers up her thigh until he found her underwear—and more important, her sex. He traced the elastic leg of her panties for a few seconds, reveling in the feel of her. Soft. Wet. Hot. So hot that it took all his self-control not to plunge inside her right then.
Still, he couldn’t resist slipping two fingers inside the lace.
Couldn’t resist petting and stroking her until her knees buckled and she grabbed at him for support.
Couldn’t resist slipping first one finger and then another into her tight, silky heat and pressing deep.
“Nic!” It was part command, part plea and in those moments he wanted—needed—nothing more than to give her what she was demanding of him. But first—
He ripped the fragile lace away from her body with one strong tug, then dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Oh, yes,” she cried, her hands grabbing him as he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and, in doing so, opened her completely to his eyes and hands and mouth. Then he leaned forward and blew a long, slow, steady stream of air right against her most sensitive spot.
She cried out then, a high-pitched strangled sound that made his own need skyrocket. But this wasn’t just about him, wasn’t some quick, anonymous screw. Not to him anyway. And though he didn’t yet know what it was about Desi that intrigued him, he did know that he wanted to see her again. Did know that he wanted to get to know more about her than what color her nipples were or how hot and wet and tight she felt around his finger.
Although he was good with knowing all that, too. More than good, he admitted to himself as he worked his way across her flat stomach, kissing and licking and sucking every inch of her skin.
Her hands moved from his shoulders to his head, her fingers tangling in his hair with a sharpness that only turned him on more. Pleasure coursed through him and he groaned at the sensation before nipping sharply at her hip bone in retaliation.
She cried out again, wobbled a little, then grabbed on to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she fought to stay upright. Her obvious arousal fed his, and he gently bit her a second time. A third time. Then he laved the little stings and explored more of her soft, gorgeous skin. As he did, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d left marks. If she would look in the mirror tomorrow and see tiny bruises on her hips, her stomach, her thighs, and think of him as he knew—even now—that he’d be thinking of her.
“Please, please, please,” she whimpered in the sexiest mantra he’d ever heard. He laughed in response, then kissed his way back across her stomach, then lower, so that his tongue traced along the very edges of her sex.
She was shaking, her body and arms curving around him as much for support as to hold him to her. He loved the feel of her wrapped around him, loved the fact that she was as affected by what was happening between them as he was.
In answer to her silent pleas, he moved closer, pressed her legs apart a little more as he trailed his mouth lower. In response, she stroked her fingers down his face, rubbed the stubble on his jaw. She played with it for long seconds, and her fingers felt so good he felt his resolve crumble. He wanted to be inside her, needed to be inside her with a desperation that bordered on insanity.
But he wanted this more. It was a driving compulsion, this need to watch her while she came. To know what she looked like, sounded like, tasted like when he took her to the edge and then flung her over.
With that thought a beacon shining through his own dark and desperate need, he leaned forward and put his mouth on her. Then he nearly lost it as Desi pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle her scream.
She was in sensory overload, her every nerve popping with pleasure at the feel of Nic touching her. At the feel of his arm around her waist, his big, calloused hand kneading her backside. At the feel of his fingers still buried deep inside her. At the feel and sound and sight of his mouth moving against her sex.
It was so good, so good, that she couldn’t stop herself from pressing back against the wall, against his hand, even as she tilted her hips forward to give him better access.
She was so close that it didn’t take long to bring her right to the edge. She knew he was aware of how close she was. She could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and in the slow, careful way he caressed her. For a moment, just a moment, she wondered what he was waiting for, but then the insidious pleasure of what he was doing, the care he was taking, streaked through her. Intense, powerful, mind-numbing.
“Nic, I can’t—”
“You
