Manwhore (Manwhore #1)(64)
“No,” I breathe. My chest is rising and falling quickly, I’m trembling all over. I just want him to keep touching me, holding me, kissing me.
“How many men have kissed this?” His smile fades, his eyes burning with smoldering intensity as he rubs a silver thumb ring over my lips.
I tip my head farther back and offer him my mouth. “Two . . . and you.”
“But no one’s been here?” In one sinuous move, he dips his thumb inside. “No one’s come inside this mouth.”
“No . . .” I urge his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks. “I want you to.”
I push the fabric up his chest and he jerks it over his head with a tug. His hair ends up tousled and glorious as he discards it, giving him a bed-mussed look that makes him even more gorgeous in my eyes because he looks approachable. Powerful but human. So human I can feel his body heat. Chasing my breath as I reach out and caress the hard planes of his pectorals and chest, suck his nipple. I smooth my fingers up his biceps.
The palms of his hands are holding my face upward, to his kiss. I give up my mouth with no protest, letting him move it at will.
His kiss makes me feel like my blood is gasoline, running through my veins. And Saint’s lips are the fire, lighting me up.
I let him caress me, his tongue lightly stroking my own, and then he’s heatedly kissing my throat, the peaks of my breasts. My breasts are heaving, and I can’t believe how much I hurt between my legs.
He places a kiss right between my breasts, then teases the tip of one nipple over my top. I feel the lick arouse me. Shivering, I don’t move a muscle, so he doesn’t stop.
He makes his way back to my lips. I open my mouth immediately and wind my arms around his neck. I’m kissing him back with abandon, holding nothing back while his hands steal under my top.
Holding me close, he backs toward the bed and drops down, pulling me over. Quickly he shifts us around so that he’s on top. He props himself up on his elbows at my side and looks down at me. Beautiful. I look up at him, his lids low and his eyes dark with desire. I lift my head and twine my tongue with his, my tongue circling, pressing, tasting. He hunches over me and tries not to crush me but gets close, so deliciously close. He feels so good, and tastes like heaven. I reach out and slide my fingers along his abs, needing to touch him.
His cock was made for sucking and for f*cking, his cock, and I feel its hard length with my fingers. Then his hand is easing between my legs and teasing me with his fingers, and he’s asking me, “Do you want it?”
Hips rolling to his touch, I gasp, “Yes.”
He nibbles my lips slowly, taking his time. “You smell good,” he whispers in my ear. He wants me, lust humming between us. I smell like a woman who’s ready to be taken, my perfume and shampoo and soap mingled with the scent of Saint driving me crazy.
I’m gasping for air: every breath smells of him, every part of me remembering how he feels when he’s in me. In the moment now, I slip my hands into his hair and open my legs so I can feel him right where I need him most. He lifts me against him by the ass and takes my mouth in no hurry, and I realize he’s going to take his time—he’s going to take all night, till he’s done with me. When I realize I will be sexually tortured some more, I moan in aching misery.
He tilts my head back so that we make eye contact. He cradles the back of my skull while his free hand curls around my neck and he caresses my pulse point with his thumb. “What do you want, Rachel?” he whispers quietly. “Tell me how you want it. Do you want it now?”
Watching me, he slides his hand along my throat, my collarbone, flicks open my bra, and easily discards it. “You’re so responsive when I touch you, it pushes me over the edge to watch you fall apart.” He reaches to my waistband and flicks open my skirt; then he eases it down my legs. He is in no apparent hurry, but I am. I’m in such a hurry to see him naked that I kick off my skirt and reach out like a frantic nymphomaniac, my fingers trembling as I unzip his slacks.
“Get naked, get naked, Saint,” I beg on a cotton-like breath.
When his super-warm, smooth skin connects with mine, I’m in heaven and in purgatory, running my hands down his back, gripping his hard ass to pull him above me. He trails his tongue, hot and wet, across my nipple. I moan. His smell enthralls me, and the hint of his taste lingers on my lips. If that isn’t the most delicious form of torture, I don’t know what is.
He ducks his head and slides his tongue over my other nipple, and I shudder and part my legs when he teases two fingers across my folds, and I’m saying, “Please.” He teases the strong tip of his middle finger inside but pulls it out immediately. Fierce desire pools between my thighs as I lift my hips and, aching, try to follow his thumb’s retreat. He keeps me there, where he wants me. Beneath him, helpless and quivering. He nips my lower lip, pulling it away from the top. Achingly gently.
I mew softly and he shifts above me so that his hard body is aligned with mine. God help me, he owns me. “Sin . . . Sin . . .” My thoughts scatter as he dips his tongue sinuously into my ear. This man will turn the entire world into a sinner.
He looks at my reddened nipples. I groan when he sweeps down to lave and taste them as he caresses my sex with smooth, knowing fingers. First brushing on the outside. His middle finger across the length. The pad of his thumb, in little circles; then his thumb rubs me and his middle finger eases inside me and I’m undone.