Page 83 of Marrying the Nanny

She did, breathless and struck again by a sense of her own power when his nostrils twitched and his gaze ate up her silly, practical bra like it was straight from a Paris boutique.

She started working on the buttons of his striped shirt, admiring his chest as she revealed it. The tails of his shirt were anchored in his waistband, but she danced her fingers across the fine, flat hairs set against the masculine planes of his pecs. She leaned forward to nuzzle his neck and taste his throat and feel his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

Each strap of her bra tilted off her shoulders and his lips trailed up her nape, teasing, tantalizing. She touched his jaw, tried to capture his mouth with her own. He lightly bit her chin, playfully avoiding her as his breath fogged against her skin. “I want to take it off.”

She drew back to reach for the clip on her bra, but his fingers were there, releasing it. She skimmed her arms free and threw it away as he swore and cupped her breasts.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “Come here.”

She kissed him, whimpering without shame as he fondled, playing with her nipples so the maddening swirls between her thighs became nearly unbearable.

“Reid, I think I want to have sex,” she panted.

“Not until you can’t think,” he growled, hands going under her butt to draw her higher on her knees, positioning her breasts at his mouth.

“No, I do,” she said, almost sure of it, but then his hot mouth engulfed her nipple and she could only hang on to his hair to balance, not sure if the boat was rocking or if she was growing dizzy with passion.

Dragging at his hair, she forced his head back so she could kiss him hard. So he could taste the edgy greed taking hold in her. It was making her shameless and desperate. Avid and feral.

He slid sideways, twisting and taking her with him until she was splayed alongside him, mashed into the space against the back of the bench. Their bare chests were pressed intimately, their legs tangled.

“We should go to the bed,” she said.

He only kissed her. Kissed her mouth and her neck and her shoulder and her arm. His hand slid across her skin, soothed, but teased so she bit her lip, achy and offering her breasts up to him for more wicked torture. She crooked her knee to his hip, knocking into the edge of the table and pleaded, “Let’s go downstairs.”

He lifted his head, seeming nowhere near as frantic as she felt, but no. She was getting to know him well enough to see when he was simply locking down, determined to maintain control. There was such a fire banked behind that flinty gaze, she would have been terrified if not for the stark veneer of discipline that masked it.

He slid his hand between them, down to the notch between her thighs. It was a blatantly possessive move and he watched her. Waited while her pulse centered there throbbing with need.

She licked her lips. Nodded. Yes. This. Whatever he wanted.

Holding her gaze, he slid his hand up to pop the button on her jeans, release the fly. Anticipation flooded into her flesh, making each breath take a lifetime to sough in and out as he gently worked his hand into her knickers.

He grazed the pulsing knot of nerves, making her jolt and squeak out a noise of startled pleasure.

“No?”

“Yes,” she moaned, wishing she had it in her to pull away long enough to get her pants off. All she could do was wedge her own hand between them and squeeze him through his jeans.

He grunted, kissed her, and said, “Move. Show me what feels good.”

“All of it. Everything you’re doing.” She had never imagined the slick pressure of a single finger between her folds could become her entire world. Could turn her into a sexual beast who fought to release his jeans so she could feel him. Her mouth was watering. She wanted to suck him and offer herself and do things. Wild, sexy, lewd things that sounded great on paper, but had never lived up to the hype.

Until now, when she held her mouth sealed to his and clutched his erection in her fist and tried to think about what he might like, but could only dance with the abbreviated movement of his hand in her pants. She was insanely turned on and she wanted this. Wanted to come with him. For him.

And there it was. Sweet, shivery pulses suddenly engulfed her, astonishing and joyful and lovely. She opened her mouth to release her jagged cries into his.

The arm beneath her closed across her back, crushing her into him as he set his mouth against her shoulder, muffling a groan as he pulsed in her fist.

Chapter Fourteen

“That got out of hand,” Reid said wryly, drawing his touch from her pants and lifting his head to scan the table. He brought back a serviette that he ran between their bellies. He dropped it to the floor and relaxed with a replete sigh. “You mind?”

“No.” She was stunned, though. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” Admitting it made her feel both triumphant and morose.

“Me, too. I’m going to be thinking about that a lot.” He looked very smug.

“Really?”

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