Page 23 of Sinful Escape

Right here. Right now.

My insides hit inferno mode as my pussy throbbed a heady beat. If Pierre kept looking at me like he was, I’d tear my clothes off and crawl onto the enormous chopping block totally naked.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I gulped my champagne. The lovely bubbles tingled through my body.

I didn’t think like that. Ever.

It was like my pussy had grown a brain and was now a horny puppeteer, manipulating my body to want crazy things.

Maybe Pierre sensed my fanciful slide into erotic psychosis because he put his glass aside and stepped closer, nudging his hips to my knees. His tongue glided over his lips, and the move was so sexy, electricity sizzled across my flesh.

He wanted to kiss me. I saw it in his eyes. I saw it on his lips.

Oh, God. I wanted it too.

He leaned forward. So did I.

I closed my eyes, and a heartbeat later our lips touched.

Heat cruised through me. This was better than any French champagne high. I melted into him. His lips were delicate, soft, barely a tease. It was the most exquisite, slow-burn kiss I’d ever had.

I glided my hand around his neck, through his thick hair, and parted my knees to pull him closer. He pressed his body to mine and gently swayed to a sensual beat. Heat and passion pooled in the pit of my belly. I opened my mouth, allowing his tongue to explore. Cognac danced over my tongue, and I savored its quality spiciness. His lips were exquisite.

My heart fluttered and my body inflamed. I fought the reasoning flooding my brain. Push him away. Get to your senses, girl. What the hell is happening? But I couldn’t. I wanted this. It had been way too long since my last kiss. Way too long since I’d felt this good. And, by the feel of Pierre, he wanted it too.

No, not it—he wanted me.

Delicious pulses shot through me, lighting me up in all the right places: my lips, my nipples, between my legs.

Pierre’s hands slid up my inner thigh. His warm fingers teased my flesh as they inched northward. A moan tumbled from my lips, and I parted my legs, giving him access. A deep rumble echoed in Pierre’s throat.

With panting breaths, our tongues dueled in a hot race to taste each other.

Our hands roamed, greedy to explore.

This was what a kiss should be like. Exquisite. Impassioned. This one kiss eclipsed all seven years of kisses with William. Oh, what a fool I’d been.

Fury had me wanting more, begging for the ultimate kiss that’d eluded me my entire life. My fingers explored the planes of his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his flesh. His hands glided from my inner thighs to the sides of my torso, each time drawing closer to my breasts.

My brain shouted alternating thoughts . . . worlds apart.

What the fuck are you doing?

Do it, girl. It’s been too bloody long.

Our lips parted. When I stole a glance into his eyes, the desire in his dark irises had do it, girl, winning.

He brushed his lips to mine, ever so gently. “Tu est trop belle.” His deep voice was loaded with lust.

“Say it again,” I insisted between kisses.

He paused and eased back, capturing me with his chocolate irises. “You, Daisy, are a beautiful woman.”

Any remaining restraint evaporated in a flash.

I’d been living in a coma.

---