Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(16)

She jumped, but he was expecting that, and he didn’t let it stop him. Instead, he simply allowed his hands to stay there until he felt the barest easing in her muscles. Then he slid his palms along her arms.

After that, he began going where he wanted. Over the slope of her back. Along her ribs. Lingering on the outer curve of her hips.

She stood there as he stroked her through the silk. The brave little soldier. Until he got to her breasts. They slipped into his hands, warm and full and round. She caught her breath as he caressed them. Made a soft, breathy sigh. Her arms came up, and her palms settled on his bare chest in a way that rattled his senses.

He opened his eyes and gazed down to see that her lids had dropped. A faint pucker of concentration had formed at the bridge of her nose. He brushed his thumbs lightly across her nipples. They were hard as flower buds. She gasped, and her lips parted.

Those swollen, pouty lips.

They blurred before his eyes as he ducked his head and claimed them.

It was like kissing warm rose petals. She smelled like roses, too, and it passed through his mind that this balls-to-the-wall female had the softest, sweetest mouth he’d ever kissed.

She kept it primly shut, even as her body sagged against his. He slid the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, then along the crease. She didn’t have an ounce of stubbornness left, and she opened to let him in.

He liked his French kisses slow, but thorough. Lots of women couldn’t get the hang of that, but Lady Emma was smart, and she didn’t have any trouble. She let him take all the time he wanted, while her tongue moved gently against his and the blood roared through his body.

Her breasts settled deeper into his hands, and he realized he’d been so involved with her mouth that he’d forgotten to attend to them. That was a first for him.

He gently squeezed. She twisted against him and her mouth opened wider. Once again, he rubbed her nipples. They grew even tighter, and he wanted so badly to slide his tongue over them, but he still hadn’t gotten enough of their kiss.

And maybe she hadn’t either because now he felt the tip of her tongue slip into his mouth, and despite all that bullcrap bragging he’d been doing about what a stud he was, he thought he was going to explode right there.

With a moan, he pulled her backward on the bed, but the change of venue didn’t provide nearly the distraction he needed to get himself back under control. He had to see more, and, as they sank into the mattress, he eased back a few inches.

She was breathing hard, and her breath stirred his hair like a warm spring breeze. “Would you—could you take your clothes off now?”

It was a whispered entreaty, not a command, and his hand moved to the fastener on his slacks. He opened it, but he was so hard that he ended up fumbling with the zipper like a teenager, and then he got distracted by the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He couldn’t hold back a moment longer.

Hooking one edge of the black silk robe with his finger, he pushed it away from her breast. The fabric caught on her nipple, then fell aside, leaving her breast exposed to him, a round of pale, blue-veined marble tipped with a puckered apricot bud, all of it framed in a V of black silk. He bent down to taste.

Emma felt his mouth touch her nipple, and the breath left her body. His lips closed warmly around her. The tip of his tongue brushed back and forth. She felt as if her body were going to fly away, and she curled her fingers into the bed’s silky comforter to keep herself anchored.

He began to suckle her.

Her body shivered with fire and ice. Tears clouded her eyes. She wanted him to do this forever. She would die if he stopped. He was no longer a beautiful wastrel who’d hired himself out for the night. Instead, he was her first lover. Slow and gentle. Infinitely precious.

Her limbs melted into the bed. She felt the lightest scrape of his thumbnail through the silk that covered her other nipple, and her body turned back into fire.

“I can’t . . . I can’t stand this.” She choked out the words.

In response, he suckled deeper. Took her other nipple between his fingers and squeezed. . . .

It was the sweetest pain she’d ever felt. Tears spilled over her lids and dripped onto the pillow. On the brink of orgasm, she opened her legs and willed his hand to go there. Just a brush. The merest touch. That’s all she needed.

He squeezed again, and she gave a small sob.

His head came up, and he frowned as he spotted her tears. “Am I hurting you?”

She was incapable of responding. Instead, she lay there like a wanton, her breast exposed, its nipple wet and puckered, her legs splayed under the rumpled silk.

She saw that his pants were unzipped, and he was fully erect, but a straining pair of silky black boxers kept her from seeing the imposing column beneath. She tried to gather enough air so she could ask him not to stop, beg him to touch her again, plead with him to strip off those slacks and burn his black briefs.

He moved to the edge of the bed and shoved his hand through his hair. “What do you say we slow things down here a little?” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were pushing the words through the narrowest of openings.

“No!” She shot up into a sitting position.

He stared at her.

She licked her lips. Wiped her tears on the sleeve of the robe. Gulped in air. Left the robe open over her breast.

“No.” She tucked her legs beneath her. “It’s—it’s quite all right.”