Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(71)

Malcolm is big on eye contact.

He’s a predator, and I’m his most willing prey.

He cradles the back of my skull while his free hand curls around my neck, and still holding my gaze until it’s impossible for him to both hold it and kiss me at the same time, he lowers his head. “I want . . . these lips of yours. They’re all I want . . .”

First he trails his tongue, hot and wet, across my lips. I moan. His smell enthralls me and the hint of his taste, along with the chocolate and peppermint, lingers on my lips. If that isn’t the most delicious form of torture, I don’t know what is.

He slides his tongue again, and I shudder and part my lips. He thrusts inside. Fierce desire pools between my thighs. He keeps me there, where he wants me, and nips my lower lip, pulling it away from the top.

I mew softly and he brings me closer so that his hard body is aligned with mine. God help me, he owns me. “Sin . . .”

“And I want . . . these.” My breasts feel sensitive and aching when his hands cover them over my top.

My heart skips a beat.

God, those lips are wearing the most devilish smile he’s ever sent my way.

With one hand, he expertly tugs my top over my head, then lowers the lace of my bra until only one nipple pops free. He takes a moment to look at it with complete appreciation. He frees my other nipple and leaves them there, exposed, with the fabric of my bra bunched up beneath them.

“I definitely want these beauties.” When he bends his head, he sucks super hard, making the tip of my nipple swell and my sex ache, needing to be filled. He turns to my other nipple, rolling it under his tongue, then sucking again.

Arching instinctively, I clutch at his back, raking my nails over the cashmere of his sweater. “I really need this . . . oh, Malcolm, don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping.” He drags his teeth over my nipple and then licks. “I want your hands on me,” he quietly tells me as he forces my hand to curl around the front of his jeans, where he is thick, pulsing, and strong as steel. My mouth dries up and I lick my lips as I stroke him over the fabric, and a low growl rips up his throat. “Look at you Rachel,” he husks out, looking at my nipples. And then he dips his fingers into the pie and rubs chocolate mingled with whipped cream on each of my puckered nipples.

“Saint!” I gasp, shocked and jerking with arousal.

He ducks his head to tongue-f*ck my ear, and as he does that, he asks, “Do you want me to eat you?”

Electricity crackles between us as his eyes trap and hold mine. I nod.

“What part of you?”

Ohgod.

Every part.

Every part on the outside, every part on the inside. I want to be devoured by him and I want to devour him right back.

Nervous and so ravenous my throat hurts, I reach out and add chocolate to my lips. “Here,” I whisper shyly.

He grins. “Here?” He leans over and teases the chocolate into his mouth, lapping it gently up from the corner of my mouth.

White-hot lightning streaks through me and I think I make a sound; a needy whimper. He pulls me close and then, then, he kisses and tastes the pie from my lips, every part of my body feeling his kiss.

His eyes are heavy-lidded as he runs his fingers over the chocolate he just spread on my nipples, lightly caressing. “And here? Rachel?”

“Oh, God, Malcolm,” is all I can say, clutching his shoulders. He leans in to lick and taste me where there’s chocolate. My mouth. I moan softly. My nipple. I moan more. My other nipple. I throw my head back and just hang on to his hard shoulders.

“Delicious. Don’t move . . .” he husks out. One strong arm circles my waist to hold me on my feet.

“Never,” I whisper, taking the back of his head when he comes back to kiss my lips. I kiss him hard, our mouths tasting of us, and mint, and chocolate and whipped cream and so much desire that the air between us is more than warm, it’s calescent.

I nip his lower lip as the need for him starts consuming me from the inside out. I’ve never been so brazen, so reckless, but he . . . he does this to me. Sexy as hell. He teases me. He eludes me. He makes me wonder what he’s thinking. He’s nice to me. He’s hot for me. God. Look at me.

I kiss him back rather ravenously, so he knows that today meant a lot to me. So much more than I imagined it would. His kiss is just as intimate, slow, savoring, no more chocolate now, just us. And when he speaks, he sounds so turned on I ache inside. “Don’t move,” he says again. His gaze lowers, just like his voice did, and he unwraps the drawstring of my skirt with slow, deft hands. When I see my panties flutter as they follow it to the floor, my heart flutters too in anticipation.

Securing me in place with one hand on my waist, he sucks on a breast again. He laps up the remainder of the chocolate and the whipped cream but it seems that the thing he wants to reach—to taste, to eat—is me. My puckered nipple throbbing under his kiss. Wondering where he’ll touch me next is so very thrilling that he’s making me crazed with arousal.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs against my skin, as he reaches out and scoops a little more pie.

Though my senses are in chaos, I manage to stand stock-still.

“Good girl,” he whispers huskily. Although Saint’s moves are deliberate and his voice is contemplative and controlled, there’s a black fire in his eyes right now as he rubs the chocolate over my clit. He looks really turned on, but more than that, he looks determined to devour me. He smears more pie around my belly button. Bends down to tease his tongue around my navel. Then lower, breath scalding hot, lips soft and moving, and then . . . tongue. Leisurely licking my clit. He takes the flesh between his lips and gently sucks it into his mouth while his tongue teases little circles over me.