Wicked Burn(42)

“You always get so wet for me,” he murmured warmly into her ear. “Spread your thighs, baby.”

“Vic . . .” she protested weakly. It felt so good . . . but they were in a restaurant for God’s sake.

“Shhh,” he soothed as he pressed several hot kisses against her neck. “You wouldn’t be so cruel as to make me wait two more nights before I feel you shake in my arms, would you? Open your thighs and lean back just a tad . . . That’s it,” he praised when she allowed him to tilt her upper body back, granting him better access to her *.

Niall gasped in pleasure when he plunged his last two fingers into her * while he continued to stimulate her clit with a firm, ruthless pressure.

“You’re turning red. Always a good sign,” he murmured as he brushed his lips over her flaming cheeks. Niall just stared up blindly at a place where the wall met the ceiling as he finger-f*cked her forcefully at the same time that he pressed and glided against her clit. She clenched her eyes shut in the sweetest of agonies when the wet, slurping sounds of his fingers moving in her abundant juices reached her ears.

“Oh,” she whispered in a choked voice after a minute, “it burns.”

“Just let it happen,” he ordered quietly.

She couldn’t refuse him. She bit her lip to still her cries a moment later as she came.

When she’d quieted and opened her eyes dazedly, Vic matter-of-factly scooted her hips forward on the seat of the booth. He leaned her against his arm before he reached back under the tablecloth and pushed his first and second finger into her *. The new angle allowed him to penetrate her deeply. He sealed off her cry with his mouth on her lips. Niall moaned in arousal and bemusement as he kissed the living daylights out of her at the same time that he plunged into her * with a hard, relentless rhythm.

When he finally raised his head a second later, she was—much to her shock—well on her way to a second orgasm. She moaned in disappointment when he withdrew his fingers before she could reach it.

His eyes gleamed with arousal as he held her stare and quickly dipped his fingers into his mouth. She almost climaxed from the visual stimulation of his lean cheeks hollowing and his muscular throat contracting as he sucked and swallowed her juices. He always seemed so genuinely hungry for her taste . . . so ruthless about getting it. When he withdrew his fingers, he covered her gaping mouth with a hard, quick kiss.

“That was what I wanted for dessert,” he told her gruffly. “Sit up now, baby.”

Niall struggled into an upright position at Vic’s abrupt command. The waiter appeared not two seconds later, carrying the bill. He waited with a stiff expression on his face while Vic took out his wallet and threw a credit card into the leather folder.

Thank God, she thought dazedly. Vic must have heard or seen the waiter approaching. She’d been too mindless with excitement to have noticed much of anything but her approaching orgasm.

Was there nothing she wouldn’t do for this man, Niall wondered with a mixture of awe and unease as she studied his starkly beautiful profile.

When Niall heard the brisk knock at her front door, she studied her appearance in the bathroom mirror anxiously. Not bad, she guessed. She’d never attended an opening night at the theater and she had forgotten to ask Vic what kind of attire was appropriate. She couldn’t imagine Vic showing up in anything too formal. That just wasn’t his style. In the end, she’d settled for a creamy silk blouse, a chocolate brown skirt, and her favorite buttery soft leather boots that hugged her calves tightly.

Beneath it she wore a sexy bra, panty, and garter belt ensemble. That part of her attire was for later . . . with Vic. The thought made her stomach flutter with excitement as she headed toward the front door.

She smiled warmly when she let in the two women standing in the hallway. They were both tall and striking, and wore identical broad grins on their faces.

“Well, let’s not stand on ceremony,” the younger of the two said as she stepped forward and gave Niall a hug. “I’m Meg Sandoval, and this is my mother, Ellen. And you’re Niall, of course. Any woman who can make my little brother smile on an opening night deserves a hug, don’t you think, Mom?”

“Absolutely,” Ellen Savian stated matter-of-factly. “She’d deserve one anyway, for taking us out to dinner.”

Vic had inherited both his mother’s eyes and her direct manner, Niall realized as Ellen studied her closely and unabashedly for a moment.

“Well, my goodness, you’re pretty! Isn’t she pretty, Meg?”

“Mom,” Meg scolded, “you’ll embarrass her. You’ll have to excuse us, Niall. We’re just a couple of country bumpkins.”

Niall laughed at that as she led them down the hallway. “You hardly look like bumpkins to me. Won’t you come in and have a drink before we go to dinner?”

Certainly Vic’s mother and sister were refreshingly blunt and honest, but what Niall had said about them hardly seeming like bumpkins was the absolute truth. Their height, handsome figures, and striking features afforded them a natural elegance that most women would have killed to possess.

Niall genuinely enjoyed getting to know Meg and Ellen during dinner. She discovered that Meg was the high school principal in a small town near Vic’s farm and that she loved art. She was, in fact, a member of the Chicago Metropolitan Museum and had attended three of Niall’s special exhibitions in the past. She was thrilled when Niall offered to give her and Ellen a private tour of the museum the following day.