Drinking her in with his eyes, he watched as she floated back down. Dark hair tangled around her neck, the soft strands brushing his chest as she flopped forward against him. Her breath filled his ears, the gentle scent of her perfume mingling with the earthy scent of sex. He could have stayed like that—holding her—for days on end.
In that moment he knew he was walking into an ambush.
He needed her in his bed for now. But he wanted her to stay for tomorrow.
…
Were her feet even touching the ground? Or had she lifted off and floated into space? That was the power of one incredible, mind-numbing, bone-melting, earth-shaking orgasm. Goddamn, the man was good with his hands.
On second thought, her feet weren’t touching the ground. Gracie’s eyes snapped open and met a solid wall of black. Craning her neck, she realized her face had been buried into Des’s chest and he was carrying her through his house.
“Where are we going?” The words came out fuzzy, slurred with lust and the aftershocks of climax.
“I’m taking you to bed.” His lips pressed against her forehead. “I got the impression your legs weren’t going to be much good for standing after that.”
She hid her face into the soft cotton of his T-shirt again. She had to let go. It wasn’t like she’d never had an orgasm before, but it was safe to say she’d never had one like that. Pinwheels of colored light had danced before her eyes, exploding and twirling, fractured rainbow shades. Her body had taken on a mind of its own, giving in so completely and utterly that for a moment afterwards she’d had no idea where she was…or even who she was.
“Good call.” A giggle bubbled up inside her. She was drunk on pleasure. Giddy with lust. Unbalanced by his touch.
“One down, two to go.” His voice was like sandpaper, thick and rough and a little dirty. “I always keep my promises, Gracie.”
She tilted her head and nipped at the tanned skin along his collarbone with her teeth. “That’s another rule of mine: three orgasm minimum.”
“Is that so?” He placed her down, making sure she was steady before releasing her, his hands lingering at her hips.
She nodded, peering up at him through her lashes. “It is now.”
“I’m glad I’ve had a positive impact on your life.” He stroked her arm. “You deserve more than the bare minimum.”
“So four orgasms it is?” She laughed, delighting in the roguish smile that crossed his face.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Speaking of hard…” Her hand hovered at his waist, her fingertips dancing over the chunky silver buckle that kept his jeans in place.
She skimmed her fingertips down over the hard ridge of his erection, which was perfectly outlined beneath faded denim. His sharp intake of breath emboldened her and she traced the tip with her finger, swirling it over the most sensitive part of him. It was as if some force controlled her, filled her with the confidence to do what she normally shied away from.
“This is payback isn’t it?” His dark eyes were shielded by thick lashes, his voice strained.
“You bet it is.”
She gave him a light squeeze before working her way back up. Tugging on the leather belt, she undressed him slowly, taking her time with the buckle, button, and zip until there was enough space for her to slip her hand into his pants. She closed her fingers around him, the throb of his need strong against her palm.
“Sweet mother of G–” He stood stock still, allowing her to move her hand inch by inch along the length of him.
Supressing an evil laugh, she withdrew her hand and reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it upwards to reveal the flat, muscular plane of his stomach. He was built, more so than she’d ever realized at the bar. The intricate designs of his tattoos ran over one shoulder and down both arms. Color swirled, and the black outlines made each shape pop against his olive skin. A lion’s head with a date scribed in its mane covered his left pec.
Gracie traced the design, following the curved black lines of the lion’s nose with her fingertip. “What’s this date?”
“It’s the date I got out of prison.”
Her hand retracted and she looked up at him, her eyes wide. He laughed and shook his head.
“You really do think I’m from the wrong side of tracks, don’t you?” He captured her hand and brought it back to his chest. “It’s the date my mother went into remission after having breast cancer. Her name is Leone. It means lion in Italian.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. He could read her more easily than anyone she’d ever known. It wasn’t the first time she’d shown how naïve she was, though with a mother like hers it was a miracle she could even function in modern society.
“I’ll make you pay for that.” She covered her embarrassment with a coy smile and a flutter of her lashes.
“I don’t think so.” Des scooped her up once more and she instinctively wound her legs around his waist.
The hardness of his erection and the sharp teeth of his zipper dug into the soft underside of her thighs. He held her easily, as though she weighed no more than a feather pillow. Stubble scraped along her skin as he kissed her neck, every so often thrilling her with a little nip as they made their way to the bedroom.
Hovering at the edge of the bed, he paused before lowering her until the soft cover pressed into her back. Moving down her body, his experienced hands easily dispensed of her bra. He trailed his lips down her stomach, pressing a kiss to each hipbone before he peeled the last scrap of lace from her body. As he slid the underwear down her legs, Gracie cringed at how wet they were. She had given in to her fantasies tonight, letting Des pull her apart at the seams, letting him encounter her at her most vulnerable.
“No frowning,” Des said, parting her legs and trailing a finger from knee to hip. “I only want you screwing up your face if you’re coming.”
“Get to work then.” She ran her foot up the side of his leg, over his hip until her toes traced the length of his erection. “But I want you to get rid of these first.”
“You want to see me naked, do you?” His tone was teasing, but he immediately complied.
Gracie sucked on her lower lip. “It’s only fair.”
Standing, he pushed his jeans down over muscular thighs. The black cotton boxer briefs followed. She drank him in, committed each and every angle to memory. He was magnificent, hard and smooth in all the right places. His cock jutted towards her, and her fingers ached to wrap around him again. She’d never felt so hungry for a man before. She’d never felt like her world might fracture if she didn’t find release with him deep inside her.
Kneeling at the edge of the bed, he grabbed her hips and dragged her to him, forcing her legs apart with his strong hands. She gasped. Each move was so primal and commanding. He didn’t ask for permission to please her, didn’t handle her as though she might break. He controlled her pleasure, took what he wanted.
Air rushed from her lungs as his mouth came down to her belly, kissing a blazing trail down to her center. His tongue parted her, delving, searching. The long, slow strokes pushed her higher and higher, each lick sending flames through her as she melted into the bed.
“Fuck.”
She never swore. Never, ever, ever.
“Fucking hell!” She wound her hands into his hair, tugging him into position.
He slid his hands under her ass, fingers biting into her flesh as he devoured her. Gracie bucked and arched against his face as his tongue swirled a hypnotic spiral over her clit. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her and she moved in time with his rhythmical assault.
“Such dirty language,” he murmured against her. “From such a lady.”
“I can’t—” She writhed, head rocking side to side. “Oh, God.”
Just as she thought she’d reached the peak, he slid a finger into her, twisting in and out in time with the purposeful flicks of his tongue.
She broke apart hard and fast. Spots danced behind clamped eyelids as she cried out, her back lifting from the bed. Her body shook and her hands fisted into the bed cover, heat and pleasure and satisfaction flooding her. Drowning her.