Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(77)

Lifting his head, Alex saw what she wanted. “I’ll do it,” he said, reaching for the belt. “Lie still.”

Zoë rolled to her back, gasping. Heat had gathered in her mouth and at the roots of her hair, and between all her fingers and toes. Everywhere. She clenched her thighs against a simmer of wetness. She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him inside her … she was anxious and aroused, lost in the middle of a dream that might end too soon.

“Alex,” she said desperately, “you don’t have to bother with doing a lot of extra stuff.”

“What stuff?” he asked, busy with the belt of her robe.

She couldn’t prevent a moan of relief as the garment loosened. “Foreplay. I don’t need any right now. Because I’m ready.”

His hands stilled. He looked down at her flushed face, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Zoë. Do I ever go into the kitchen and tell you how to make a soufflé?”

“No.”

“That’s right. Because that’s your area of expertise. And this is mine.”

“If I were a soufflé,” she said, struggling to pull her arms from the robe, “I would be overdone by now.”

“Trust me, you’re not—oh, God.” The sides of the robe had fallen apart, revealing the abundant pink and white curves of her body. Looking down at her, Alex shook his head slowly. “This is dangerous. This is how people die.”

With a shy grin, Zoë pulled her arms free of the robe, her br**sts bouncing with the movement.

Alex said something incomprehensible, his color rising.

“Take me now,” she urged, sliding her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Zoë …” He wasn’t breathing well. “With a body like yours, skipping foreplay is not an option. In fact … any time you spend out of bed is wasted.”

“Are you saying I’m only good for sex?”

“No, you’re good for a lot of other things,” he said, his gaze locked on her br**sts. “I just can’t think of any of them right now.”

Her laugh was muffled as he kissed her. He slid lower, dragging his mouth along her throat, his breath hot against her skin. His hand cupped beneath her breast, lifting it as he took the straining tip into his mouth, his tongue tracing liquid circles. She closed her eyes against the soft balm of lamplight, her senses humming with pleasure as he tugged gently, repeatedly.

There was no world outside this bed, nothing but the two of them. He touched between her thighs where she was wet and sensitive, and her h*ps rode upward reflexively. His thumb separated the seam of vulnerable flesh, rubbing lightly, the grooved scar sliding deliciously through the wetness. She was so close, so desperate for the cl**ax that hovered just out of reach, that her eyes stung with frustrated tears.

Inside the blur of light and shadow, he was whispering for her to trust him, let him take care of her. His hand cupped her, one of his fingers entering the softness. Reaching deep inside, he traced a subtle pattern, his knuckles wriggling gently.

Her trembling hand slid down to his wrist, where she could feel the intricate movements of bone and tendon. The bedroom was silent as they both concentrated on the secret movements within her. A new tension began at the quick of her body and spread in supple pulses. His face was dark and intent above hers, his fingers slow and clever.

“What are you doing?” she asked through dry lips.

His lashes lowered over a flick of blue fire, and he bent to murmur near her ear. “Writing my name.”

“What?” she asked, disoriented.

“My name,” he whispered. “Inside you.”

The maddening stroking of fingertip and knuckles never stopped. Sensation gathered and began to roll forward as the heel of his hand pressed her rhythmically. Her head fell back against his supportive arm, and she felt his mouth caress her throat.

“That’s … more than four letters,” she managed to say weakly.

“Alexander,” he explained. “And this …” A low, erotic tickle. “This is my middle name.”

“Wh-what is it?”

She felt him smile against her skin.

“Guess,” he murmured.

“I can’t. Oh, please—”

“I’ll tell you,” he murmured, “as long as you don’t come before I finish.”

Impossible to lock the pleasure out. Impossible to ignore the sensations rushing so hard and fast. She strained and stiffened, gripping his shoulders. The shudders began, pleasure spilling in waves, each crest rolling higher until she thought she might pass out. He gathered her against him, took her sobs into his mouth, brought her through the feeling and spun it out even longer.

The release was so absolute that Zoë couldn’t move for minutes afterward, her limbs twitching as if with an electric current. Alex began a leisurely project of kissing her from head to toe. On the way back up, he parted her legs with deliberate caresses, his mouth skimming up the tender inside of her thigh until she jolted.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said, twisting. “I’ve already … no, really. Alex—”

He looked up at her across the rapid rise and fall of her stomach. “Area of expertise,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but …” She stuttered as he gripped her legs behind the knees, pushing them up and apart. “You can ruin a soufflé by overworking the batter.”