Well Matched (Well Met #3)(37)

“Promise.” His voice was solemn, but humor still danced in those blue, blue eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve trained for this. If nothing else, I gotta show you that there’s more to life than battery-powered orgasms.”

“But . . .” I couldn’t keep the giggle out of my voice as his mouth worked its way down my neck, to the base of my throat and then the swell of my breast. He was thorough. “But I like my toys. And the attachments.”

“Those goddamn attachments.” His lips closed over a nipple, his tongue teasing, flicking over the sensitive skin. My laugh turned to a helpless moan and I arched up to him, offering myself, offering more. Offering everything. I was so distracted by the progress of his mouth, the brush of his hair against my skin as he kissed his way down my body, that I didn’t realize he was easing my jeans off until they were halfway down my legs, and I froze, anxiety pricking through the pleasure.

“Don’t you think we should . . . turn off the light?” I slapped blindly for the bedside table, but I was too far away to reach anything, and there was no way I could get out from under Mitch. There was no way I wanted to even try.

“What?” He raised his head from my stomach—no, get back down there, kiss me some more—his expression incredulous. “No way. I don’t work out six days a week to do this in the dark.”

I gave a ghost of a laugh over my discomfort. “Point taken. But . . .”

He went back to tugging at my jeans, pulling them the rest of the way off. I told myself it was fine, no big deal, but all the desire that had been building in me fled with the sound of my jeans hitting the floor. “I like to see what I’m doing . . .” His voice broke off when I flinched away, rolling to my right side, doing my best to hide my leg and the scar that marred my skin. I couldn’t hide it forever, but I sure could try. “Hey. April. Hey. What is it?”

God, I was making a mess of this. No wonder I didn’t date. No wonder all my orgasms were self-inflicted these days. I didn’t know what to say, but I let him gently pull me over to face him again. My hand went to my leg, covering the worst of it while I took a shuddering breath and let him be the first man to see me like this.

“Is this . . .” He swallowed hard and I searched his eyes for the pity that I was sure I’d find. But his gaze moved over the puckered skin, then back up to my face. “Is this what you’re worried about? Me seeing this?”

“Well, yeah.” Lying here naked in front of him was one thing, but letting him see my scar felt like a dealbreaker. “It’s not exactly sexy.”

“Are you kidding me?” He laid his hand over mine, over my leg, and threaded our fingers together. He lifted our joined hands to his mouth and kissed each of my knuckles, one by one. Then he bent over me, his mouth on my calf a few inches below my knee where the scar began. “Look how strong you are.” He laid a kiss there, then another an inch farther up, his tongue starting a trail that followed the length of my scar, up over my knee and to my thigh. “Look what you survived. You kick ass. You have no idea.”

His words wormed into me, as warm and welcome as his mouth on my skin. He worked his way up, parting my thighs with his hands, and I fell back to the bed, all inhibitions gone. “Fine.” I don’t know how I managed to sound cranky when Mitch’s head was between my legs, but I did. “Just . . . fine.”

His chuckle was a buzz against my sensitive skin, and I shuddered. “Oh, you’re about to be more than fine.” He gave me a long, slow lick, nearly sending me into orbit, before his mouth got to work in earnest. He was right. It didn’t take long for my blood to catch fire and my vocabulary to devolve into an endless chant of please, please, please. He murmured encouragement as he brought me closer and closer, the flat of his tongue and his long, strong fingers finally sending me over the edge, and all I could do was shudder under him.

As I came back to myself I faintly heard the soft clink of his belt buckle as his jeans hit the floor, followed by a rip of foil. Then he was back, crawling up my body, his mouth lingering. I kissed him greedily, reaching for him, opening for him, my legs going back around his hips where they belonged. His hands were on the backs of my thighs, pushing them up, spreading me wider for him. I reached down to help him, to guide him, my hand curling around him, hot and hard and oh shit, big.

“Go slow,” I gasped. “Long time, remember?” Toys in my bedside drawer were one thing but this was real, this was him, and thank God I was already relaxed from two orgasms so I could take him inside.

“You got it.” But his voice was strained, that jovial tone rougher, his breath coming harder in his chest than I’d ever heard him. He brushed against my entrance and then he was inside, dipping in slowly, pulsing into me gently, inch by precious inch, and it wasn’t enough.

“God,” I said. “Fuck. The hell with slow.” I grabbed at him, my hands on his hips, greedily pulling him closer.

“April.” My name was a plea, a moan as he sank into me, and I arched up, bringing him in deeper, welcoming him in as his hips came flush with mine. He was huge, he was everywhere, his breath hot in my ear. I’d never felt completely a part of someone else, and I welcomed it even while I knew I shouldn’t. This was a one-night-only thing, and never having this again was going to hurt.

But I wasn’t going there. Not now. Not yet. Instead I turned my head, seeking his mouth, devouring him as much as he devoured me. As he pushed into me harder, losing control, beginning that last desperate shiver as he let go, I clung to him with everything I had. Tomorrow was so far off. It didn’t have any place here.