Just To Be With You (The Sullivans #12)(38)

With Tatiana in his arms and her mouth pressed against his, Ian momentarily forgot all the rules, all the restrictions he’d put on his life and his heart. He couldn’t do anything but feel, couldn’t stop himself from taking another kiss, and then another and another, dragging her closer with each one, falling deeper under her spell with every breath he stole from her lungs, with every gasp of pleasure she made against his lips.

He’d known it would be like this with her, hadn’t he? So powerfully sensual, and so addictive as she opened for him so that he could stroke his tongue against hers and she could taste him just as intimately.

On and on their kiss went, her response utterly unrestrained, but it wasn’t until he heard her moaning softly against his mouth that he realized his hands had slid up from her waist to cup her br**sts, her ni**les pebbling against his thumbs as he stroked her.

What the hell was he doing?

And now that they’d kissed, now that he knew just how good they could be together, how could he possibly go back?

Ian tried to think straight. Tried to remember all the reasons why they shouldn’t do this, even as she told him, “I’ve never wanted anyone, or anything, as much as I want you, Ian.”

And in that moment, when it felt to Ian as though everything he’d ever wanted was right there in front of him, even though he knew better, he simply didn’t have it in him to move away from her.

But despite the hungry way she’d kissed him, he also instinctively knew that for all the lovers she’d already had, none could have needed her as badly as he did...or would demand as much of her unfettered sensuality as he would. Grasping at straws now, he decided the only chance—and the very last one—that he had of getting them to stop this madness before it slid all the way out of their control, would be if he could scare her with the force, the depth, the wildness of his need.

He slid his hand around to the nape of her neck, then fisted his hands in her hair and roughly tilted back her head so that he could scrape his stubble across the sensitive skin of her neck. “If you don’t leave right now,” he warned her in a voice made harsh with the inner conflict that rode him, “there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back. Not now.” She shivered against him. “Not ever.”

“I won’t be gentle.” He had one last chance to try to do whatever he could to get her to run, because he sure as hell couldn’t figure out a way to let her go. “If you stay, I’m going to take what I want from you, Tatiana. Everything I want. Everything you’ve been offering to me since the moment we met.”

But instead of running, all she said was, “Yes.” And then again, even more emphatically, “Yes. I don’t want gentle. I just want you.”

And then she lifted her mouth to his again...and he was lost.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As Ian kissed her, for the first time in her life Tatiana knew—really knew—what passion was.

This was the kind of passion that people wrote songs and books and movies about.

This was the kind of moment that people waited an entire lifetime for.

She’d acted out passion a dozen times on screen to the best of her professional ability, but she’d never truly felt it before. No one but Ian had ever kissed her like this, touched her like this. Touching not just her body, but her heart and soul, too.

She hadn’t meant to leap into his arms to kiss him like that, but she’d been so excited about being an Oscar nominee that it had been pure instinct to share her joy with him any way she could. They’d hugged, they’d danced, and then, before she knew it, she was kissing him.

Just a few moments of her lips against his—and yet it had been unlike any kiss she’d ever had, with warmth and arousal instantly swamping her system.

Feeling as if she’d just been struck by lightning, she’d drawn back, but before she could do more than exclaim her surprise at what she’d done, Ian was crushing her against him, his mouth devouring hers. And as he kissed her breathless, she forgot all about the nomination, forgot about everything except how badly, how desperately, she wanted him.

She heard it first—the sound of fabric ripping—before she realized he’d torn open the bodice of her silk dress with one tug of his hand on the fabric at her neck, leaving her standing before him in her bra, also in blue silk.

“You’re even more beautiful than I dreamed you’d be.”

The raw timbre of his words, and the fierce need in his eyes, sent shivers through her, along with a ravenous hunger for more of his dangerous passion. She didn’t want him in his clothes any more than he seemed to want her in hers, so in yet another impulsive move, she shoved his jacket open and onto to the floor, then reached for the buttons on his shirt and yanked them open.

His tie still held the top of his shirt in place, but she’d pulled it open enough to bare a patch of his chest. Oh, how she wanted to feel his heat, his strength! She was just putting her hands on his chest when he tugged her hair back, his mouth diving for the pulse point in her neck. With his free hand, he cupped one breast through the silk of her bra, and she both heard and felt his aroused groan against her neck.

Being with him without any walls anymore, without any rules about what was and wasn’t allowed to happen, felt so good. So shockingly good that the only way she could keep herself steady on her shaking legs was to hold on to him, and to arch closer, to offer more of herself—all of herself—to him.