Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(29)

I adjust my weight so I’m fitted more comfortably against and inside her, push her hair off her damp forehead, and give her a deep, heartfelt kiss. When I break away, she looks up at me through her lashes.

“Oops,” she murmurs, smiling bashfully.

I’m so f*cking helplessly charmed I might as well attach some strings and a pair of handles to my back, give them to her, and let her make me dance.

“Good?” I ask.

Her bashful smile takes on a hint of playfulness. “Mmm. I don’t normally kiss and tell. Sorry—come and tell.”

“But for me you’ll make an exception.”

Gorgeous, mussed, flush with afterglow, Tabby says, “All right. For you I’ll make an exception.” She looks deep into my eyes. Then, softly, “It was very adequate. Thank you for your services, soldier.”

I chuckle. “Adequate, was it?” Flexing my pelvis, I make a slow circle, feeling that small stud of metal pressed right above where our bodies are joined.

Her eyelids flutter. Her fingers, still dug into the flesh of my ass, twitch. “So very, very adequate,” she breathes, arching.

Watching her reaction, I want more. I slide my hand down her thigh, feeling her muscles flex under my hand, and pull her leg up so its wrapped around my waist. It changes the angle between us, opening her slightly, allowing me to press deeper inside. I slide in and out, then back in again, amazed she’s allowing this, wishing it would never end.

Tabby, so beautifully responsive to me, wraps her other leg around my waist and rocks her hips. “Almost…mediocre,” she says between breaths.

The feel of her rocking against my cock, using her hands and hips to manipulate my body to her own pleasure, is so hot and amazing, I shudder. Tabby looks up at me with dark, half-lidded eyes.

And then I’m f*cking her. Slowly, deeply, the entire time staring down into her eyes. She stares back at me in a hazy sort of amazement, like she can’t believe it’s happening either.

It’s intense. Intimate and personal. Quiet, unlike the beat of my heart, which is deafening.

Her brows pull together. She whispers, “Lírio,” and I’m almost out of my mind with masculine pride.

“Already?”

She nods, biting her lip.

“You’re so goddamn perfect.” My voice is hoarse, the words torn out of me against my will. “Sweetheart. I want…I—”

Tabby kisses me, swallowing my words and the emotion that’s threatening to drown me.

It’s never been like this for me before, the pleasure of the physical act of sex overwhelmed by a sheer enormity of feelings. Part of me hopes it will never happen again. I’m a soldier. A mercenary. A Marine with twenty-three confirmed kills. And yet, with her, I’m as weak as a newborn baby.

She makes an inarticulate sound of pleasure, slides her hands up my back, and suddenly I need something more.

Taking her with me, I roll to my back. She settles on top of me, blinking in surprise for a moment before gazing down at me with a smile. “Getting lazy, are we? Or just running out of gas? I know at your advanced age—”

“I want to see your face. I want to see everything. I want you to ride me and come again that way, and I want to watch as you do it.”

I push the jacket off her shoulders, let it fall to the floor. She’s fully bared to me now, straddling my body, her long hair brushing her breasts and the flare of her hips warm in my hands. She watches me with those piercing eyes, and I know she sees more than I want her to, because her smile slowly fades.

The sound of the storm outside grows louder. Wind whistles through trees.

She encircles my wrists with her hands, slides them up her body to her breasts. The silver studs in her nipples wink, catching the light. I cup both her breasts in my hands, softly squeeze them so they spill out, more than a handful, and she sighs.

I would kill a man to hear that exact sigh even one more time.

“Tabitha,” I growl, and she moves.

A stroke and a slide and an easy, graceful flex, her body begins to move over mine. The pleasure is intense. I look at her bitten lips and pink cheeks and the rosy flush on her chest, and fight against my instinct to drive hard up into her, force those wanton cries from her throat. I want her to set her own pace, find her own rhythm, using me as a tuning fork to find the perfect pitch at which her body will sing.

The rhythm she finds is agonizingly slow, minute sliding and grinding movements that have me panting and sweating within seconds. I stroke her rigid nipples with my thumbs, and she rewards me with a moan of such voluptuous sensuality, I almost come.

When I apply one of my thumbs to her clit, she moans louder.

A moment later, rocking faster on my cock, she whispers something in Portuguese.

My smile is savage. Adequate, my ass.

“Feel my cock deep inside you, sweetheart. Feel how hard I am for you. Now tell me you like it.”

Her breasts bounce. Her lips part. She says breathlessly, “You know I do.”

“Say it.”

She groans, her head falling back. I stroke her clit between two fingers, tugging at the stud. She gasps, her entire body jerking.

I pant, “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me…tell me how it feels.”

A short silence, faster rocking, the tension in her body rising until her back is stiff with it, and then words burst out of her in an almost incoherent rush.