and sampling her supple skin.
She stopped beside the bed and tipped her head back to look at him. Her blue eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, her pupils dilated. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted. Her hand trembled in his, revealing her eagerness for his caress—an eagerness he shared.
It had been a long, frustrating three weeks waiting for her tantrum to end. It angered him that she had wasted some of the dwindling time they had left. Now that she had come to her senses, they could get on with the pleasure. But he would make her pay for making him come to her. Soon he would have her begging for what she had left behind and their affair would resume. On his terms.
She reached for the buttons of his shirt, releasing them with an enthusiasm that pleased him. Then she unfastened his belt and pants and tugged his shirttail free. A carnal hunger invaded him, making it difficult to force air into his lungs. He reined in the undisciplined feeling.
She parted the fabric of his shirt and cool air swept his chest a split second before her warm hands brushed over him. The need to toss her onto the burgundy-and-gold bedding and sate himself nearly overwhelmed him, but he would let her set the pace. For now. Later, when he had her panting and weak with need he would call the shots.
She bent and touched her lips to his nipple, then flicked the hardened tip with her hot tongue. Desire carved through him like a sharp knife, making him shudder. Only Megan had this incendiary effect on him. He would not give her up. Not yet. Thank God she had moved past her jealous nonsense, and although he did not know what had changed her mind, it did not matter. He had won. As he always did.
Her short nails rasped gently down his sides and then beneath his waistband and around to his fly. She lowered his zipper in slow motion, and he hardened almost to the point of pain. And then she cupped him in her palm. Her touch burned him through his silk boxers and his hips flexed of their own volition as she encircled and stroked him. He clamped his teeth on a moan.
He hooked a hand around her waist, yanked her forward and covered her mouth. She tasted divine, like heady champagne or her favorite Moscato d’Asti. Sweet. Flavorful. Her lips were soft, her tongue slick and hungry as it intertwined with his. His pulse drummed in his ears.
Merde. He could not wait. He hastily unbuttoned and removed her shirt, ripping it down her arms and tossing it aside to reveal a white cotton bra. Surprised, he paused to trace a finger along the plain edge. Her breath caught. “What is this?”
“Um … a sports bra.”
He didn’t like it. He preferred sheer lace that allowed a glimpse of her nipples. But on the other hand, this bra made her breasts seem fuller, so perhaps the ugly piece did have some merit. He bent and licked the top of one soft swell and then the other. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close.
Megan had extremely sensitive breasts, and he would use that to his advantage to make her promise to see this affair through until the last possible moment.
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her between his legs. Her scent filled his nostrils and her taste tantalized his tongue, urging him to delve into the shadowy cleft. Cupping the pale mounds, he stroked her nipples through the fabric, relishing in the way her flesh sprung to attention beneath his thumbs.
She whimpered. “I’ve missed this. Missed you, Xavier.”
“And I you.” He unhooked the unattractive garment and dropped it, eager for more of her skin and a lungful of the headier perfume always lurking between and beneath her breasts, which were definitely rounder, heavier. She must be nearing her monthly cycle. While he feasted on the puckered tips, he used his free hand to flick open her jeans, then pushed them down her legs. He needed to feel her wetness.
He combed his fingers through her tight curls, finding her center. She jerked and gasped. And then he located the prize he sought. She was ready for him. Her hips moved against his hand, encouraging his caress.
His groin pulsed harder, demanding attention. He ached with the need to drive inside her and race toward the release she had denied him for too long. The temptation to do so and take care of her afterward flitted across his mind. But non. That was not his way.
Instead he drew a sobering breath and slicked his finger upward, using her womanly lubricant to tease her while he gently scraped a nipple with his teeth then sucked.
She whimpered his name, clenched her fingers in his hair and bowed her back, offering him a pale feast. A tremor shook her body as he divided his attention between the puckered tips begging for attention. The aroma of her arousal filled the air. He wanted to taste her, but he was precariously close to the edge, and he wanted to make her wait until she was incoherent with need.
Rising, he ripped back the covers, then lifted her into his arms and set her onto the bed. He made quick work of her boots and remaining clothing then his own, pausing only long enough to toss the condom from his pocket on the nightstand.
The sight of her ivory curves spread across the burgundy sheets mesmerized him. Megan possessed an athlete’s body, leanly muscled, but softened by her feminine attributes. Her strength was quite a turn-on.
“You are beautiful.”
“You make me feel beautiful. Come here.” She raised a hand and bent her knee, inviting him into her bed, into her body.
One frayed fiber of self-control remained. He settled on the mattress at her feet and captured a slender arch in his palm. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She squirmed, knowing what was coming.
Megan’s feet, legs and hands were her primary methods of communication with her horses. Over the years, they had become hypersensitive to any nuance. He lifted her foot to his mouth, kissing her big toe, her instep. He rasped his bristly chin on her skin then flicked his tongue over the arch. She shuddered, as he had known she would.
He hid his smile against the tender skin behind her ankle then worked his way up the inside of her calf, pressing her legs apart as he ascended. Megan’s fingers fisted in the sheets and her breathing quickened. He savored the satiny skin cloaking firm, tensed muscles and nipped at the soft pad of flesh inside her thighs that she hated. She twisted impatiently. The aroma of her arousal made him dizzy with hunger. He flicked his tongue along the crease of her leg.
She flexed her hips, silently begging him to pleasure her, but he ignored her request—for now—and focused on planting teasing kisses, licks and nips along her bikini line and over her tummy. He swirled his tongue in her navel, and watched goose bumps rise on her skin. Her curls tickled his cheek.
To hell with it. He had hungered for her taste for weeks. He would not deny himself any longer. He cupped her buttocks and flicked her swollen bud with his tongue, slowly at first, then more rapidly. He groaned at the delicious taste of her.
She bucked her hips off the bed. “Oh, Xavier. That feels … so good.”
He stroked her in the way he knew would drive her to the edge until her legs quivered. He waited until she hovered on the brink before lifting his head and kissing her thigh. She squeaked a disappointed protest.
“Are you in a hurry, chérie?”
“Yes. Yes. It’s been so long. I haven’t … since you … Please.”
That she had not had a release since leaving his bed pleased him inordinately.
“Please what, Megan?” He licked her once,
