The Devil She Knows. Kira Sinclair
drew a line down the center of her body, through the valley between her breasts, across her stomach and to the juncture of her thighs. “And here. I want to know the sound you make when you let go. I want the taste of you on my tongue.”
“Yes,” she breathed out. She’d never wanted anything more.
Dev took a step back. She felt the loss of him immediately. She tried to turn, but the weight of his hands on her shoulders held her in place.
Gently, he found the complicated laces that connected her wings to the dress. She’d built loops into the back panel to keep them from drooping.
Willow hadn’t realized the weight of them until they were gone. It was a relief. Several of the feathers escaped, fluttering to the floor around them.
Irrefutable evidence that this angel has truly fallen, she thought.
But when his mouth touched the curve of her neck, Willow couldn’t find the desire to care. Not when sinning with this man felt so good.
Talented fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress. The rasp of it echoed through her darkened house. The sound mingled with her rapid breaths. He’d barely touched her, and she was undone.
Instead of letting the dress fall heavily to the floor as she’d expected, he held it up. As he tugged the sleeves off, one at a time, his mouth found the curve of her neck and sucked.
And then he was at her feet. “Step out,” he ordered.
Her hands curled around his shoulders, holding on as she did. Just above the edge of her stocking, the rough stubble of his jaw brushed against the outside of her thigh. But before she could enjoy the sensation, he was on his feet again and walking away. With her dress in his hands.
Willow turned to watch as he draped it carefully over a chair. When he was satisfied, he spun back to her. “That dress is too beautiful to leave in a puddle on the floor.”
If that statement had come from any other man she would have worried. But Dev was too masculine and inherently sexual for the words to be anything but a show of consideration for her creation and hard work.
The last of her doubts fled.
From across the room the heat of his dark gaze raked her body. She’d never been so grateful for beautiful underwear in her life.
Because the foundation garments that went under her dresses were just as important as the fit of the gowns, Willow insisted on selling lingerie for the brides. And because she knew that new husbands would be seeing them, she also demanded that the pieces be lovely, sensual and enticing.
The benefit of selling the stuff was getting to take home the pieces she fell in love with. Beautiful lingerie was a secret weakness of hers. Something that she could keep to herself. Although tonight she was happy to share.
His eyes feasted on her. “That is unexpected.”
“What?”
The merry widow was white and made of see-through mesh and lace. It was strapless; the cups and boning kept it in place. The edge skimmed right at the curve of her hips and a cutout in front showcased matching panties. Tiny iridescent beads edged the lace, and delicate garters stretched down her thighs.
With deliberate steps Dev crossed the room. He stopped before her, but didn’t touch. At least, not with anything more than his gaze.
“I didn’t think anything could top the dress. I was wrong. I almost wish you still had the wings.”
Overwhelmed, Willow dropped her focus to the ground between them.
“Don’t.” The single growling word startled her into looking back up.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t go all virginal on me.”
Something about the way he said the word virginal pissed her off. He was...annoyed.
This time, she was the one to close the space between them. Grabbing the tie she’d already loosened, Willow pulled him tight against her half-naked body. The texture of his suit touching her skin only served to remind her that she was vulnerable while he was still completely covered up.
He could have stopped her, but he didn’t. Instead, he let her pull him down, his back arching so they were face-to-face.
“Don’t let the white fool you. I haven’t been a virgin since I was sixteen.”
The dark wing of his eyebrows rose in surprise. “That young?”
“Let’s just say it was a moment of weakness.”
“Like me.”
“Not like you. That was a regrettable bow to peer pressure and was hardly earth-shattering. This is a moment of insanity. And I have a feeling I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. For much better reasons.”
“God, I hope so.”
“God has nothing to do with it.”
Without warning, Dev swept her up into his arms.
She directed him to her bedroom, and he carried her up the stairs as if she was as light as one of the feathers that lay scattered in their wake. He didn’t bother to turn on lights when he reached her room. There was enough moonlight that he could see. Placing her softly on the bed, Dev took a step back.
Willow leaned up on her elbows to watch.
Without a care for his own clothes, he let the suit coat slide to the floor. She almost protested, but her mouth was too dry. Anticipation buzzed through her, an electrical shock of need. With dexterous fingers, he finished the job she’d started outside and pulled the tie free.
Without breaking eye contact, he torturously unbuttoned his shirt. Her legs scissored restlessly on the bed, silk rasping against silk. She wanted him to be the one touching her. But she wanted to enjoy the show more.
And she wasn’t disappointed. Billowing behind him, the shirt fluttered to the floor, his own set of broken wings.
What to look at first? His chest was wide, shoulders tight with muscle. They tapered down in a V to his amazing abs. His biceps flexed. Jesus, the man was built. And not with the kind of muscles that came from working out in a gym.
What the heck did he do? And why did she care? She could ask him later.
Bouncing up onto her knees, Willow couldn’t keep her hands to herself anymore. Grasping the waistband of his pants, she tugged him to the edge of the bed. His hands tangled in her hair, sending the pins she’d used to pull it up scattering across the bed.
Some of them pulled, but she didn’t care. Dev’s fingers sifted through the strands, combing until all the pins were gone and her hair hung in a waterfall down her back.
He reached for his mask, but she stopped him. His hand stilled beneath hers, a question in his eyes.
“Leave it.”
She wanted the masks tonight. She wanted the anonymity they provided and the safety to be and do whatever she wanted without the niggling voice in the back of her head that said she would regret this. Yes, the cover was a ruse and they both knew it, but she needed it.
Without it she wouldn’t have the strength to break her own rules.
“All right. If you’ll leave these on,” he countered, running a finger down the inside of her thigh to the band of lace circling the top of her stocking.
“Done.”
His mouth crushed to hers. He was all sweltering sin. He tasted dark and dangerous. But she opened for him anyway, letting him in. His tongue stroked hers, coaxing and teasing. He sucked, pulling her into his own mouth.
While she was distracted, he was busy disengaging each of the tiny hooks that ran up the length of her spine. The boning fell away. Willow let out a gasp of relief that he swallowed.
Blood