She moaned softly as his tongue traced the top of the lace hose and she slipped further back against the sofa. “Royce, I” His fingers slid over the damp black silk of her panties. She moaned again. “Oh.”
He slipped his finger beneath the fabric, the sweet sound of her pleasure spurring a hunger in him for more. He caressed the sensitive, swollen flesh, and explored the slick proof of her arousal. She moaned again and dug her fingers into the cushion, trying to sit up.
“Royce”
He moved to frame her body with his, his elbows hitting the cushion, his mouth above hers. “I’m going to take you to bed Lauren, but not for the reasons I want to. I’m going to take you to bed and put you to sleep.”
“What?” she gasped against his lips. “No. I don’t want… I”
He smothered her protest with his mouth, kissing her, deeply, passionately, then promising, “I’m going to put you to bed right after I make you come,” he assured, scooting down her body, his palms caressing her br**sts, making her pant. He settled in front of her now closed knees, his fingers finding the lace of her panties under her dress. “You do want to come, don’t you?”
“Has any woman ever told you ‘no’ when you asked them that question?”
He kissed her stomach. “You’re the only woman I’m worried about.” He used his hands to urge her backside to lift, pleased when she complied. Royce rolled the material down her hips, over her long, sexy legs, tossing the panties aside. He skimmed her calves, returned to her knees, which he was finding held real appeal for him. “You’re beautiful,” he said, heat roaring through his veins as he urged her knees apart. “Open for me again, Lauren.”
Her lashes lowered and lifted. “I’m ...” she let out a breath, “I’m nervous.”
Nervous. His chest tightened with the honesty of her admission, at her continued trust in him; he wanted to be worthy of deserving it. Even more so, at the underlining inference that someone had given her a reason to feel embarrassed. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. Protectiveness flared inside him and he moved to her, sliding his hand to her face and kissing her. “You have no reason to be nervous with me. Not now, not ever.”
“Says you,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Says me and I hope says you too very soon.” He nibbled her lip and then, before she could feel anything but pleased, eased one of her legs over his shoulder and settled into the intimate V of her body.
Royce felt her stiffen, heard her gasp, as he ran his tongue over her swollen nub and then drew it between his lips, suckling her gently. His fingers stroked her slick, wet folds, teasing and pleasing, until he slipped one, then the other inside her until she was squirming against him, rocking with the movement of his hand and his mouth. Until she cried out and he felt the muscles of her body clench around him, felt his c**k throb with the burn to be inside her. Until he licked and soothed her to a soft sigh and her muscles relaxed.
When she finally stilled completely, he kissed her stomach, only to find her covering her face with her hand. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. He eased her back to look at him.
She was embarrassed. Nervous and now embarrassed. He hoped he met the guy that had messed with her confidence one day. Oh yeah, he did. “You have no idea how sexy you are, do you?” he asked, nuzzling her neck, his hand stroking up her back.
“Royce,” she whispered, refusing to look at him, and he wasn’t going to force her, wasn’t going to push her. But he knew now, more than ever, that had he given her no reason to believe he wanted her, she would have pushed him away. She would have built a wall he would have never been able to climb.
Royce scooped her up and carried her toward the only bedroom he’d seen when inspecting the house. The room was dark, but Royce ignored the switch, his eyes adjusting quickly. She needed the shelter of the shadows, and he wasn’t going to take that from her. Not now, not this evening.
A fluffy white down comforter sat on top of the mattress and Royce settled them both down on top of it. When she tried to curl into him, to press her body to his, he ran his hand over her hair, kissed her, and then gently turned her back to his front. “Sleep, Lauren,” he murmured.
She tried to turn, looking at him over her shoulder. “But”
He kissed her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She seemed to consider arguing, but slowly turned back into his arms, softening into the crook of his body, the tension sliding away from her. ”You aren’t what I expected, Royce Walker,” she whispered and almost instantly her breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm, which told him just how influenced by the alcohol she’d really been.
He nuzzled her cheek, drew in the scent of her, and knew he was in big trouble. He didn’t snuggle, he didn’t linger with women, damn sure didn’t get personally involved. Not for years, not since a youthful near marriage that had been so wrong, in so many ways. He’d wanted a career in the FBI. She’d wanted him home, focused on her. The break up had been bad, and truth be told, she’d been right. He’d been more dedicated to the agency than to her. His duty to his country, to the agency, had left no room for a woman, not one he called his own. But he wasn’t in the agency anymore, and at thirty-four years old, he was no longer a young college kid who hadn’t lived and learned. And Lauren affected him like no other woman ever had. And he saw no way around her hating him in the morning.