All for You (Paris Nights #1)(53)

She gasped and then just went stock-still, staring at him.

Fine, maybe he did pause at that stare so he could drink it in, glad to have his muscles already pumped for her from the climbing.

She swallowed. Her hands left her hips to press to her lips. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. “Oh, wow, you’re …” She looked dazed. “You’re really, really hot.”

Nice to know that part at least had worked out for him. He gestured to himself, to that feel of his muscles tightening still more to show off for her. “All for you.”

She licked her lips.

Well, then. Some other *s might have gotten a chance at her before he did, but he’d damn well make sure she never wanted anyone else.

He’d wipe them so far out of her mind she’d never again even think sex without thinking him.

He put one knee on her bed—it was true you could barely move in her apartment without falling onto the thing—and her eyes widened so much, he just went with that, dropping his hands to the mattress, too, and prowling across it to her. “Want to touch?”

“Jesus.” She slipped one of her fingers into her mouth and bit it, hard.

He tsked and took it from her, slipping it into his own mouth and sucking on it soothingly. There you go. Put yourself in my hands. They’ll treat you far better than you do.

She made a soft sound, and heat surged in that merciless wave through his body. But … f*ck it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d overcome his body and his mind and endured. He could do anything. He could take his time and make her lose her mind.

Make her lose all memory of anyone who had ever touched her before him.

“You can touch anything.” He drew her hand from his mouth and pressed it to his shoulder. “Anything you want.” He drew her hand down over his chest.

Her tongue touched her lips.

“Or that, too.” His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. “I’d love for you to lick me.”

“Joss …” A dazed whisper. It had to be the most beautiful way his name had ever been pronounced in his life.

“I’ll trade. You can have this.” He gestured to himself. “If I can have all this.” He reached for her, grazing his hand over her ribs to rest on her hip, tugging her gently toward him. “All for me, Célie.” He looked up at her from his kneeling position on her low bed. “All mine.”


“I—I—my body is actually mi-ine,” she managed, but she was following his tug, swaying in closer to him until her shins hit the edge of the bed.

“You don’t think it’s a fair trade?” he coaxed. Her breasts were only a topple away from his face. All he had to do was tug a little more until she lost her balance and fell toward him. Soft, full breasts, pressed up by the black lace of her bra. In his fantasies, he’d tested all possible colors of bras out on Célie’s body, depending on his mood. But his two favorites had included this one, the wannabe-tough sexy black from her Goth period, and a bright, hot pink like she really was inside.

“A fair trade for this?” she said incredulously, and her other hand came to rest on his other shoulder. “Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror?”

Apparently not the same way she looked at him now.

“You’re so pretty, Célie.” His hand slid up to cup her breast. Soft and full, the lace getting in the way with its tantalizing extra texture. God, her breast felt so much better in real life than in his imagination.

“No, I’m not,” she said warily, as if he’d just made himself suspicious by saying so.

“Cute. Full of life. Strong. Glowing.” Darling. How to explain it? “Beautiful.”

“You’re delusional.” But her face was crinkling up so funny, her eyes so wondering. “Joss, I think you really did turn me in your head into something I’m not.”

“How’d you imagine me?” He pulled her closer, breathing on her lace bra. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, and he rose a little on his knees to open his mouth over it, touching it with just the tip of his tongue.

“Here,” she said.

Damn it, he’d walked right into that one.

But when he pulled back, she didn’t look like someone who was trying to stick another needle in him. She looked like he felt most of the time: as if finding the one word that expressed what she meant was a careful struggle.

“Here,” he repeated, and drew her hand down his waist, over stomach muscles he tightened just to show off. “All right. I’m here. From now on.”

“Joss.” Her free hand flexed into his biceps. Then she lost track of whatever she had been going to say, her gaze going to her hand as she flexed again, and then again. “Wow.”

“Unless I burn up right now. It’s a possibility.”

“Umm … yeah. For me, too.”

Hell, that felt good to hear. Heat surged through him, higher and more urgent.

“I knew I’d never manage to make you work for it,” she said despairingly.

She had a really weird idea of working for it. Maybe he should show her some training videos from the Foreign Legion sometime. “I’ve worked. But I can work harder.”

“It makes my tongue tingle just looking at you,” she whispered. “You are so hot.”