ended the kiss long before he was ready to let her go. Little puffs of air fanned his lips as she tried to catch her breath.
Slowly, she lowered her arms and inched away, as if needing distance. Not wanting to break contact with her, he dropped his hands to her hips, preventing a complete escape.
Her lashes fluttered, and she drew in a deep breath. “Now would you like to come in for a while?” The strength and surety of her voice took him by surprise. He could’ve sworn she’d just been gathering her courage.
“Are you sure?” She might have agreed to his suggestion they go to her place where they could be alone, but he wanted, needed, to know she understood exactly what would happen once they went inside her apartment. The kiss they’d just shared had left him with no illusions of exactly what he wanted.
She replied by reaching behind her to shove the door open in invitation. He stooped to pick up her purse then followed her inside, closing and locking the door behind him.
She stood in the middle of the room, a slight frown tugging her eyebrows. Second thoughts? God, he hoped not. He’d never been a fan of cold showers.
A table lamp emitted a soft, buttery glow over the room from atop a square white table, flanked by a pair of blue-and-white, thick-striped chairs. He tossed her purse on the cushion of the matching sofa, then crossed the plush carpet to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Jana’s brief moment of considering that she could be making an epic-quality mistake evaporated the second Ben’s mouth claimed hers in another bone-melting kiss. When she’d first approached him, she honestly hadn’t believed for a second she’d seriously consider a one-night stand with a man she’d just met. She couldn’t decide whether she’d been stupidly naive or unconsciously determined, but before she could solve the puzzle, Ben was gently guiding her backward until her bottom came in contact with the wall.
She slid her arms around his waist, her fingers spanning his rib cage. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, the muscle in his back flexed and danced at her touch, filling her with a unique sense of feminine power, rivaled only by the heated surge of arousal that had her squeezing her thighs tightly together. The coolness of the wall against her skin conflicted with the heat his body generated. He surrounded her, filling her senses with his taste, his touch, his scent. The brush of his fingers against her stomach as his hands tugged her thin blouse from the waistband of her skirt had a pool of something she couldn’t define—tension? need?—gathering in the pit of her belly.
The answer to a question she couldn’t even remember no longer mattered the moment the warmth of his hands cupped her breasts. Through the lace of her bra, he dragged his thumbs rhythmically over her sensitized nipples. She moaned and tore her mouth from his, her head thumping against the wall as she arched her back, desperate for more of his touch.
“Taste me.” Her harsh, whispered demand took her momentarily by surprise. She’d never been much of a talker during sex, preferring instead to communicate her needs with action. Could that have been part of her problem, she wondered?
He made a sound that rumbled up from deep in his chest, dissolving any remaining ability for coherent thought. The instant he dipped his head and gently nipped and laved the slope of her breasts, she forgot her doubts and concentrated on the urgency filling her. With agonizing slowness, he unbuttoned more of her blouse, then pushed the fabric aside until it gathered halfway down her arms. His mouth over her nipple, he suckled her through the lace. She cried out from the shock of such exquisite sensation.
Her breathing faltered, then resumed with short, hard pants. She couldn’t seem to draw enough oxygen into her lungs. The world tilted. No, it spun, she decided. Spun her right off the edge of reality.
She gripped Ben’s shoulders to steady herself. Too late she realized nothing could put an end to the crazy, chaotic wonder gathering with the force of storm clouds inside her.
He moved to the other breast and took her into his mouth. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she attempted to brace herself. Only she couldn’t. If she did, the incredible pleasure she felt by pressing her thighs together would end.
Ben straightened, but he didn’t stop touching her. His hands slid to her throat, then up farther until he cupped her face in his work-roughened palms. The appreciative look in his eyes alone did for her what no lover had ever accomplished; it made her squirm with a need so deep every square inch of her body hummed with anticipation.
Could Chloe and Lauren have been right? Was there indeed something absolutely liberating about making love to a man for the sole purpose of experiencing pleasure? Even the way Ben looked at her, with a heady mixture of awe and desire, stripped her of her usual anxiety, and filled her with a wild, reckless sense of abandonment. Tonight, she reminded herself, had nothing to do with performance, but only with absolute pleasure and gratification.
His.
Hers.
And no regrets, regardless of the outcome.
“I’m going to taste you.”
His words were an enticing integration of velvet and steel. Smooth, yet strong. Like his kisses. Or his touch. Comforting yet demanding.
“Every inch of your skin, Jana. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
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