Just One Taste. Victoria Dahl
had narrowed only to her face and the warmth and pleasure her body offered.
He cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes glittered with hunger as she stared back at him. “You should.” Angling his head, he covered her mouth with his.
Dive. Drown. Never surface.
As he swept his tongue into her mouth, she kneaded his shirt in her fist and rolled her hips, the warmth between her legs heating his thigh.
He turned, leaning against the balcony wall, making sure she still straddled his thigh. She rubbed herself against him, a moan and gasp escaping her lips when their mouths parted. He could only imagine the flesh scraping his leg, but he knew he wanted a taste.
He slid his hands down her back, across her enticingly curvy butt, down to the hem of her racy red dress—which he bunched in his hands, then raised. When he encountered the miniscule thong panty beneath her clothes, he nearly dropped to his knees. He should have expected such freedom from his impulsive, tattooed caterer, but that didn’t lessen the jolt of erotic heat that hit him, knowing so much naked flesh lay barely concealed by her dress.
Trailing his lips over her chin and down her throat, he kneaded her bare skin and felt a shiver sweep her body, exposed to the night air.
Fast losing control, but knowing he had to hold on, he suppressed the desire to rip away her miniscule panties and drive himself into her tight, wet warmth. To assuage the hunger pulsing through him. Still, he had to touch her.
He hooked his thumbs beneath the seam of her panties.
She moaned.
And he smiled.
Moving around her hip bones, he slid his index finger slowly, deliberately toward the juncture of her thighs, the coarse hairs covering her sex teasing him. He let his finger dip briefly into the moist, soft heat.
Her breathing grew shallow, broken…needy, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding on the spot. Just watching the pleasure skim across her face was its own form of torture and satisfaction.
With his other hand, he moved his palm over her bare behind, gripping the skinny thong fabric that fit between her cheeks. Holding both sides of the panties, he slid the fabric back and forth, gliding it between the lips of her sex.
“Oh, my,” she gasped.
“Oh, yes.”
She gripped his shoulders, then flung back her head, her long, blond hair spilling down as she let a long, low hum of need escape her lips.
Mercilessly, he worked the fabric. She rocked her hips in time to his erotic rhythm. He watched her in a fascinated daze. He’d anticipated being inside her as he brought her to the first orgasm they’d share, but he wasn’t complaining. Pleasure skated across her face with obvious abandon.
He switched their positions, pinning her against the balcony wall and hooking her leg around his waist. “Let go, lovely Vanessa,” he panted in her ear as he leaned forward.
“I’m…working on it,” she said, her voice hitching.
He pressed his hard cock between her legs as he dipped his head and tongued her earlobe. “We’ll get naked. I’m dying to taste you.” He kissed the top of her shoulder. “Everywhere.”
Then, letting go of the panties, he pressed his thumb against the bare nub of flesh centered around her desire.
Her body went rigid.
He knew she hung on the precipice. Knew he had the power to send her over. “What do you want?” he rasped in her ear.
“You.”
He rolled his thumb up, then down. “What do you want me to do?”
“That again.”
“My pleasure.” He rolled again.
“But faster.”
Smiling, he complied, noting her breathing quickened, her skin flushed. Watching her, gaining wild pleasure from her pleasure, he noted the small butterfly tattoo on the back of her shoulder. He smiled, never broke his stroking rhythm and laid his lips lightly over the spot.
She exploded.
Her back arched, her eyes fluttered closed, the muscles between her legs contracted against his fingers.
Though he was still as hard as a rock, crazy satisfaction rushed through him. She was so damn beautiful.
She sagged, so he swung her into his arms and carried her inside. She trailed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “I’m fairly sure a feminist shouldn’t be carried.”
“You want to walk?” he asked as he headed down the hall, his heart hammering so fast he was sure it would burst before he made it to the bed.
“Hell no. Can’t stand.”
Somehow chuckling in the midst of his own painful need, he strode into his bedroom. After laying her on the bed, he stripped off his shirt, then started on his pants.
She sat up suddenly, laying her hand across his crotch. “Hey there, lawman, not so fast.”
“I thought you were exhausted with satisfaction.”
Scooting to the edge of the bed, she tugged his belt from the loops. “Only temporarily.”
He sucked in a breath of anticipation as she started on his zipper. Hang on, man. Stay in control.
She slid his zipper down, her fingers dipping below the band of his underwear, skimming the head of his erection.
He had the crazy image of a plane going down.
Captain, we’re losing pressure. What should we do?
Hold the course.
Sorry, sir, control is outta here. You’re on your own.
The moment she wrapped her hand around his rock-hard penis, his whole body went rigid. He had to close his eyes to hold on. He tried to still himself as she dragged her hand down, then up, though his knees nearly buckled. The woman was…amazing.
And if she continued to stroke him that way, he was going to completely lose it.
But he couldn’t help reveling in her touch. She had a sure, confident grip. Her fingers cupped beneath the head of his penis, where she held and squeezed for a moment before stroking down again and sending his pulse soaring, his control spinning wildly.
His climax hovered, threatening and promising.
Somehow, he found the strength to grab her wrist. “I’m losing it here.”
She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “No kidding?”
Obviously, she was enjoying herself. Only fair, he supposed, since he was rapidly approaching ecstasy.
He stripped off his underwear, then leaned forward, pinning her to the mattress with his body. The feel of her against him from chest to hip was intoxicating, stimulating, somehow forbidden, even though—or maybe because—he was naked and she wasn’t.
He felt dominant and predatory. As if she were his to possess and ravish.
Until she wrapped both legs around his waist.
Who’s in control now? her expression seemed to scream.
In silent answer he leaned back and yanked her dress over her head in one smooth motion, leaving her wearing a lacy red bra and the matching miniscule panties. As she lay back on the bed, her wheat-colored hair spread out around her head, her gaze locked on his, he rose, standing between her legs.
Heat rolled off her. Need vibrated within him.
He laid his index finger on the top of her shoulder, then slid it down her body. Her skin glowed with sweat and gold-specked sparkles. How did women manage that? How did they find ways to glow and shine in moments of elemental need?
He