Seven Years to Sin(23)
“Not yet,” she breathed, feeling as if her body was no longer her own. “Not enough.”
Alistair’s mouth moved to her jaw, then to her right ear. “Let me take care of you.”
“Please.”
His lips slid along her throat, sucking soft enough to be felt but not enough to mark her. The sweet greediness of his mouth on her skin burned across her nerve endings in delicious torment. Her fingers spasmed in his hair, her toes pointing as he kissed across her collarbone. He made her feel more intoxicated than the wine had, while also heightening her senses. It was the best and worst sort of madness.
“Please what?” he asked, his breath gusting over the pebbled tip of her breast. He watched her as his tongue flicked lightly over her nipple. Dark satisfaction burned in his gaze when she cried out and clung to his shoulders. The velvet of his coat was soft beneath her touch, reminding her that he was completely clothed while she was completely bare.
She found the dichotomy delicious. It made her feel wanton and unabashed, two descriptors that had never been applicable to her before. “Please touch me.”
“Where?”
“You know where better than I!” she cried, trying to tug his head to her breast, but unable to overcome his greater strength.
“I will,” he promised in a low tone. “I will know your body better than anyone ever has, better than you. But for now I am still learning. Tell me what you like and how you like it.”
Arching her shoulders back, she lifted her nipple to his mouth in flagrant offering. “There. More.”
Alistair bared his teeth in a look of such feral pleasure only a fool would call it a smile. He wrapped one hand around her breast and squeezed with just enough pressure to make her want more. “With my hand?”
“With your mouth.” It was the claret that gave her the courage to be so bold, and even with the added bravery, she closed her eyes against the overpowering feeling of vulnerability.
She felt the humid warmth of his exhale the second before his lips wrapped around her. The sound that left her was so raw and needy she could not believe she’d made it. Then his tongue curled around her nipple and his cheeks hollowed on a drawing pull she felt all the way to her womb, and she no longer cared what desperate sounds she made.
Lifting her leg, she wrapped it around his boot-clad calf and moved sinuously beneath him. He’d slid beneath her skin seven years ago, and he was finally relieving the itch he had left behind.
His talented mouth lifted from her, leaving her bereft.
“Lie still,” he ordered gruffly. His face was flushed and his eyes bright, almost feverishly so.
Alistair was as lost to the lust as she was. Emboldened by his tenuous control, she offered a woman’s knowing smile. “Make me.”
Chapter 7
Alistair was riveted by the woman beneath him. She burned too hot to be the same icily reserved girl he used to follow with his gaze. Whether it was the claret or her passion for him, he didn’t care. He was damned grateful. Still, if she continued to writhe against him, he wouldn’t have the wherewithal to stop himself from f*cking her raw, a step he would prefer to take when she was fully sober and in complete possession of her mental faculties.
“Make you,” he repeated finally, as her self-satisfied smile widened and she tested him again with another seductive wriggle. “And how would you suggest I go about doing that?”
The slight marring of a wrinkle between her brows ruined the image of worldly seductress. She had no idea, he suspected. He, however, had a delicious one in mind.
“You could exhaust me,” she said finally, biting her lower lip. The gesture did not hide the avid manner in which she awaited his response.
Too much for her, she’d said. He had a niggling suspicion that once she’d lost all her reserve in bed, he might have a devil of a time keeping up. And God knew his appetite was ravenous when it came to her. The thought brought beads of perspiration to his forehead. How in hell was he going to walk out of this room with his cock as swollen as it was?
“Untie my cravat,” he ordered.
“Umm …” she purred, clearly pleased with the notion of removing clothing from his person. Her hands went to the knot at his throat and began working as efficiently as her inebriated state allowed.
For his part, he was delighted that the thought of undressing him was such a pleasing one for her. He could not have chosen a better location to conduct their affair than Jamaica, where the humidity and heat lent themselves well to wearing as few clothes as possible.
When she pulled the length of linen from around his neck, he caught her wrist and grinned. Bending his head, he took her mouth, distracting her with a lush kiss. Her fervent response damn near distracted him as well, but he managed to turn her body to lie parallel on the mattress instead of perpendicular, and to secure the cravat to one of the headboard posts. Even when he caught her wrist and raised it above her head, she didn’t struggle. Instead she groaned into his mouth and sucked on the tip of his tongue, jolting him so violently he felt a scorching drop of pre-ejaculate bead on the tip of his cock. She tasted of wine and lust and sin, and he wanted to drink her down. Every drop. Suspecting that even if he did, his thirst for her would go unquenched.
Only when the knot tightened around her slender wrist did reality return to her. She gasped and yanked her mouth away, her neck arching to see what he’d done. Kneeling, he caught the other wrist and secured it before she could protest.