Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(51)

He had a bottle of white wine and a bouquet of peach tulips in one hand, so she grabbed his free hand, tugged him inside, and shut the door behind them. In seconds, he’d backed her up against the wall, set down the wine and flowers on the entryway table, and placed his hands on her face. “How is it possible that you are more stunning every time I see you?”

She jutted out her hip and winked. “It’s the apron,” she said, gesturing to her skimpy attire.

He dropped a hand to her back, running it along the bare skin above the waist. “It’s not the apron. It’s how you look in it. Every time I see you you’re wearing something that makes me rock hard,” he said, yanking her close so she could feel the evidence herself.

“I like you hard, Ryan Sloan,” she said, meeting his gaze, and he smiled at her, then grasped her ass, grinding his erection against her belly. “You’re all I thought about all day,” he murmured.

“What were you thinking about specifically? Wait. Don’t tell me.” She leaned back to tap her finger on her chin. “Was it the food? You were so damn curious to know what I was cooking for you—admit it.”

He shook his head.

“So it was the peaches then?”

Another shake as he rubbed his hard-on against her.

“Maybe it was getting a tour of my home?” She craned her neck, gesturing with her eyes to the living room.

“Nope,” he said with a sexy grin.

“Oh,” she said, her lips forming an O. “Was it this?” She spun away from his grip and ran her hands along her breasts, down to her belly, letting one hand rest between her legs. Then, she took slow, measured steps into the open kitchen that looked out onto her living room.

His eyes prowled over her as he followed, unknotting his tie and tossing it on the floor. He undid the top button on his crisp, white button-down. She reached a metal stool in her kitchen, bumping it with the backs of her legs. His arms darted out, and he grabbed her waist, lifted her up, and set her on the stool. He skimmed his fingers down her bare arms. “Let me just look at you,” he whispered, raking his eyes over her figure from head to toe. His dark gaze made her feel not only naked, but dirty. Filthy. Wanton.

His chest rose and fell as he drank her in. He wasn’t even touching her, but her skin sizzled. She felt touched. Then he brushed his fingertips along her sides. She let her legs fall open for him, spreading herself, as she hooked her heels on to the bottom rung. Pressing her palms on the back of the stool to hold on, she arched her spine, offering her body to him.

Placing herself in his hands.

Giving herself to him.

“Look at you. Just f*cking look at you. What you just did. You are killing me,” he murmured, as he cupped her cheek in his right hand. “You’re all I thought about all day. Seeing you. Touching you. Tasting you. Having you,” he said, stroking her cheek. He paused, his voice rough with desire. “And f*cking you.”

He swept his lips over hers in a deep, devouring, hungry kiss. His tongue searched hers, and she let him lead. When he broke the kiss, she said softly, “Do whatever you want to me.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Everything,” he said. “I want to do everything to you, Sophie. I want to explore every inch of you. I want to taste all of you. I want to f*ck you everywhere. But right now?” he said, taking his time as if each word tasted magnificent, “I want your sweetness on my tongue.”

She gasped as heat raced through her body. “I want that, too.”

“Keep your hands right where they are. Behind you,” he said, and she nodded.

Dipping his hands under the front of her apron, he tugged at her panties, and pulled them to her ankles, then off. He hooked her high-heeled shoes firmly back into the rung, a clear sign she had to keep them in place. “I need to taste you every day. I can’t go this long without you on my lips,” he said, kneeling on the floor then burying his face between her legs.

She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out in pleasure, her voice becoming the harmony to Billie Holiday as Ryan licked and sucked and tasted. If she wasn’t allowed to move her body, she could use her mouth. She could rely on her voice. She could scream and moan and groan. And so she did, because every lick, every touch, every press of his tongue against her hot, wet * drove her wild.

“It’s so good,” she cried out, and he looked ravenous as he licked up her slickness, as he flattened his tongue against her clit then sucked on that swollen bundle of nerves until she screamed.

Her orgasm crested. She saw it rising up on the horizon.

He moaned against her center then pulled back. “Grab my head. Use your hands. Do whatever you want,” he said, giving her a command. Somewhere in her home she heard her ringtone. “Fly me to the Moon.” Seemed appropriate.

Her hands flew into his hair, and she laced her fingers through those soft strands, for the first time touching him as he licked her. She’d longed for this chance. She loved being restrained, but she loved his hair, too. She grasped harder, her nails curling into his skull. He groaned, a mad, feral sound as she dug into his head, and she knew, she f*cking knew that he wanted her to be rough right now. That he wanted her to show him how she felt about the way he touched her.

She felt like an animal.

Wild and crazed.

She held onto his head, yanking his mouth closer. She was on fire, a white-hot path of flames tearing through her body, burning everything in sight, turning her into an inferno as he f*cked her * with his lips, his mouth, his tongue, and she rode his face until she saw stars, until the heavens fell from the sky and she came in his mouth.