Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(13)

“God, yes.”

“Was I wrong about anything I told you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Do you still want to ask me if I’m a good lover?” He flicked his finger against her clit. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body. She inhaled sharply and bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out loud.

“No. I don’t need to ask you,” she said as he stroked her through her black lace panties.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she whispered as sparks shot through her bloodstream.

“Why not?” he asked, as if he were truly so damn curious.

“Because you’re showing me.”

His fingers glided across the wet panel of her panties, stroking faster as she rocked into him. He kept a firm grip on her wrists as she greedily sought his friction. “That’s right,” he said roughly. “I’m showing you, Sophie. I’m showing you exactly what I can do to you.”

He stopped momentarily. Her eyes widened. A trace of fear zipped through her. Fear that he might not let her come. “Did you want to question me again?” he asked, taunting her. “I can stop if you have questions.”

“No,” she said, her breath staccato.

“Good. But I want to question you.”

“Anything,” she panted. “Ask me anything.”

He fixed her with a serious stare. “Are you sure you want to go out on stage having just come all over my hand?”

“Yes,” she said, begging.

He leaned in closer to her ear. “I can’t hear you. Say it again.”

“Yes, God yes.”

He ran his fingers across the wet lace. He narrowed in on her where she wanted him. She was so close to the edge, and she needed him to keep touching her. She needed his fingers flying across her clit. Touching her until she fell apart.

“Beg for it,” he commanded.

“Please,” she whispered in his ear, her knees shaking, so desperate was she for release. “Please make me come.”

He rubbed fast and expertly, and she rocked into his hand as bright white fireworks blasted in her brain, radiating throughout her body. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she heard the song nearing the end, and she knew she’d have to come in seconds to make it to the stage on time.

But seconds were all this man needed.

“I want to taste your lips as you f*ck my hand,” he said, then dropped his delicious mouth to hers once more, kissing her fiercely as she rode his fingers. He wasn’t even touching her flesh. He was getting her off through the lace. He was that good. She was that turned on. The tension in her body escalated, rising up like a rollercoaster car nearing the top of the hill. Then she reached it, hovered for beautiful seconds in that suspended state of bliss, then raced downhill as if it was an orgasmic joyride. As her own pleasure crashed into her, he ravaged her mouth with his lips, swallowing her moans, tasting her cries, and somehow it felt like kissing was coming, and coming was kissing.

Only it was more. It was being held back. And that was a hint of all that she craved.

She blinked and breathed hard as he pulled away. He arched an eyebrow, and let go of her wrists. Her skin burned from his grip. She shook her right hand.

Gently, he brought her wrist to his lips. He kissed her softly, reminding her of the first time he kissed her hand on the dance floor as he erased the sting, his lips traveling across the same territory where he’d held her tight moments ago.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

She nodded as he gave the same treatment to her other hand. All these sensations both rattled and delighted her—she didn’t know what to make of this man, and how he could talk and touch so rough and harsh in the heat of the moment then become so sweet in the afterglow.

He lowered her hands to her sides then tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Beautiful,” he said, his eyes softer now as he looked her over.

She smoothed a hand over her dress. Her legs felt wobbly. Her heart roared loudly. Her body still sang.

Clapping echoed loudly from beyond the curtains. The song was over. “Thank you so much,” the singer said from the stage.

He tipped his head. “You better get out there.”

Nerves took off inside her, then a blast of anger. She was not going to be dismissed. This was not going to be a one-time thing. She grabbed his tie, tugged him close. “Name. Tell me your name.”

She expected a sly remark. A hint that gave little away.

“Ryan,” he said with a glint in his dark eyes.

She scoffed. “Your name’s not Ryan,” she fired back as Heaven Leigh said her goodbyes.

“Why not?

“Ryan’s a nice guy name.”

“Are you saying I’m not a nice guy?”

She shook her head, and curled her hand around his shoulder. “You’re not a nice guy at all.”

He brought his palm to his chest. “I’m hurt. I’m a terribly nice guy. I saved you from those women who wanted to monopolize you at the bar. And I kissed you when you came so no one heard how orgasmic you were.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because you have to go,” he said, nodding to the stage.

“And why are you giving me your first name only?”

He brushed his lips against her ear. “What are you doing on Sunday at seven p.m.?”