Tough Love

Lifting first his right foot, then his left, he tugged off his boots—and all the while his gaze strayed over her body, investigating and appreciating every curve and hollow and swell. Her skin had that peachy residual glow from the sun, except for her whiter breasts, tipped by tight pink nipples.

And the neat triangle around her sex.

He could see exactly where her little bikini had covered, and now, naked, the paler skin highlighted the most sexual parts of her.

Parts he needed to touch, and kiss. And lick.

Still looking at her, he pushed down his jeans and boxers.

She inhaled, shifted, clutched her hands in the bedding.

Stepping up to her, Stack rested a hand on each of her knees—and parted her legs.

“Stack,” she whispered.

He came down over her, balanced on one forearm, and kissed her other breast. “I’ve thought nonstop about this. About you.” He circled a nipple with his tongue, caught her in his teeth and lightly tugged.

Her back arched on a vibrating groan.

He did the same to the other breast, then kissed her ribs. Down her waist to her belly.

“Stack?”

The high, breathless way she said his name told him she knew what was coming and wanted it. Not as badly as he did, but maybe enough.

Leaving warm, damp, open-mouth love bites all over her softly fragrant skin, he inched his way down. She put the back of her hand against her mouth, her eyes closed and her breathing labored.

“Damn, you’re hot.” And quick to respond.

She whispered, “With you.”

Only him? He’d like to think this was special for her, because it sure as hell was special for him. In so many small, indefinable ways, making love with Vanity was a revelation. Hotter. Sweeter.

More.

He lifted her legs over his shoulders. She made a small, anxious sound and bit her lip.

Adjusting her to his liking, he kissed the inside of each thigh, nuzzling, breathing in her musky scent and going so taut it seemed she could break him.

He liked seeing her like this. Open to him and what he wanted to do to her and with her. His.

Instead of alarming him, that thought settled in comfortably. He wanted her, every part of her, like this and in other ways. All ways.

Her energy level astounded him. Her disregard of wealth intrigued him. The warm way she accepted his family, how she quickly aligned with them, touched him in immeasurable ways.

And her sexuality, the perfect way they matched up, burned him to the core.

Sliding an arm under her hips, he lifted her up. “So pretty.” He hadn’t yet touched her here, but already her lips were glistening from her excitement, her clit swollen. With one fingertip he explored, dipping slightly between her lips, relishing her moan, the rush of new wetness. He traced her, teasing up and over that ultrasensitive bud, enjoying how she tensed and moved, the sounds she made.

Without warning, he added a second finger, moved back and forth along her entrance—and sank deep.

Her body bowed, then quickly resettled, as if she feared discouraging him.

Not likely.

Blowing softly on her, easing closer, he kept his fingers in her, curling them slightly to find just the right spot. With his other hand, he used his fingers to part her, then opened his mouth over her.

This time they both groaned.

Now it was his tongue exploring, teasing. Her taste was indescribable. The heat of her, her sweetness intoxicated him, making him want more. He licked and sucked, aware of her growing tension, the way she stiffened and the quickening of her breath.

“Stack,” she moaned.

He felt ready to come just from hearing her, tasting her.

More urgently, she cried, “Stack!”

He held her closer, concentrating on suckling in just the right spot, at the same time using his tongue to rasp—and she broke, her body lifting on a high cry, her legs tightening, her tender inner thighs closing on his jaws.

Damn, he loved it.

He loved having her like this.

He loved her response, and the way she made him feel.

Refusing to let his brain travel beyond that, he kept pace with her, wringing as much pleasure from her as he could. When her body sank back to the mattress, when her fingers tunneled into his hair and she whimpered, he eased away, kissed a hot path back up her body until he took her mouth.

She remained limp, not really participating but not rejecting him either. He smiled against her mouth. “Stay with me, darlin’.”

“I’m here,” she said drowsily, her voice rough.

“Like this, okay?” He hooked each of her legs into the crook of his elbows, then raised them high.