Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(66)

Until she heard the change in his breathing.

Her eyes dropped. An intimidating erection strained the front of his pants. Like an echo, heat bloomed between her thighs.

“Very good,” he said in a steady voice that had a new layer of huskiness that wasn’t there before. “Now the rest.”

She slipped off the outer silk garters at the tops of her stockings and wiggled off the elastic roll garters beneath; without support, pale pink silk slipped down her thighs and fell to her knees. Her fingers trembled as she bent to push them off her feet along with her heels.

When she stood, Bo undid the buttons on his vest and tossed it aside.

“Get those off for me.” He extended a cuff toward her as his free hand tugged the hem of his shirt from his belted pants. She unfastened a silver cuff link engraved with a dragon, a task that was both intimate and mindless, all at once. She was glad for it, because it settled her nerves. After repeating the process on his other cuff, she dropped both cuff links in his waiting hand.

He pocketed them. Rolled out of his shirt. Pulled his undershirt up his back and over his head. A slash of black hair swung over one eye. He pushed it back and unbuckled his belt and left the ends dangling like an invitation while he tugged off his shoes.

She surveyed the elegant bone and hard muscle of his body. The lines of his stitches were railroad tracks across his side. The cut was now a raised, reddened scar, slightly puffy and still smelling faintly of mint, but looking much better than Astrid expected. Velma’s magical poultice was a small miracle. Astrid longed to touch him—there, to make sure he was okay, and other places. She wanted to feel his skin beneath her fingers, but when she reached for him, he stopped her.

“Not yet,” he said, and nodded to her chemise. “Continue. Everything but my wristwatch,” he added with a wicked curl of his lips.

They held each other’s gaze for several beats.

She would be naked; he would not.

He wanted control; she would give it to him.

Her tongue was heavy in her mouth. In two quick motions, she tugged down her chemise’s straps and removed the last bit of silk covering her body, and then kicked it away and stood in front of him.

His eyes took their time looking her over as he stepped closer and lightly, delicately ran the tip of his middle finger from the center of her collarbone down between her breasts, and didn’t stop until he’d circled her belly button. Her breath came faster.

“Leng,” he murmured. Beautiful. “I must have thought of your body a thousand times since that afternoon I saw you in the fitting room mirror. Maybe ten thousand. But memory is a poor substitute for the real thing, and you were right. You’ve changed . . . here,” he said, running his fingers over the slopes of her shoulders to show her. “And here”—over the flare of her hips—“and here.” His palms cupped her bare breasts.

She inhaled sharply and bowed her back as he rolled her nipples between index finger and thumb. It was too much and not enough, and she was very aware of the wetness surging between her legs. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he bent low and replaced his fingers with the suction of his mouth. The flick of his tongue. The gentle scrape of his teeth. First one nipple, then the next.

If what he’d previously done to her earlobe had been wicked, this was positively satanic. Her fingers dug into his hair. Her hips swayed forward. But when she rose up on her tiptoes, he took one last lick and released her. Cool air rushed over the puckered tips so fast, the sensation bordered on painful.

She whimpered and tried to draw him back, but he made a clucking sound with his tongue and pulled her hands between them while he waited for her to submit. Then he gave her another command.

“Finish undressing me.”

She glanced at his open belt buckle and took a deep breath. The buttons of his pants were a struggle until she gave up on delicacy and pulled them open with force, gaze locked with his as she did. He looked back at her with a barely restrained wildness that was dark and hungry and vibrating with delight. She’d never seen him look like that. Ever. And she loved it. With one last pop of a button, she got his fly open and tugged everything down over his hips and looked at what she’d revealed.

The ridges of his stomach dipped over lean hips. The trail of black hair she’d touched in the darkened car trailed down to a cock that stood long and proud, curving upward from wiry black curls. It was thicker around the base and a darker shade than the rest of his skin, and she was astonished, and possibly a little bit intimidated. She was no expert by any means, but she reasoned the matter wasn’t much different from evaluating a finely made gown; she knew quality when she saw it.

“Stars,” she murmured.

He chuckled low and deep. “Pretty good, I think.”

“It’s impressive.”

“It’s yours. Go on and claim it, huli jing.”

Delight surged through her when he said that. She hesitated, just for a moment, but long enough for him to guide her hand forward with his. Her fingers wrapped around him. He was shockingly warm and silky, heavy in her hand. She stroked upward and saw his stomach muscles flinch. Stroked downward and pulled back the foreskin to reveal a glistening dark pink tip, beaded with fluid.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shivered. She glanced up to see his head tilted back, eyes shut. A thrill shot through her, and she continued stroking him, slowly. While she did, Bo’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck and kneaded her tense muscles. Just that—just him touching her while she touched him—seemed to complete an electrical circuit between them. To put things in motion that couldn’t be undone.