Page 53 of Black Roses

I recall the original story in my head. Cyrano never thought he was good enough for Roxane. He saw himself as ugly, unworthy of the love of a beautiful woman. I wonder if Piper likes the story so much because she relates tohim, nother.

She sits down on the couch, dropping the movie before she pushes her drink to the far side of the coffee table. Her tongue darts out to stroke her lips with a soft, sensual lick. “I didn’t come here to drink, Mason.” The smile that follows her words is slow, naughty, and completely breathtaking.

Fuck.

That may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard her say.

Instantly, blood rushes to my dick. But I know better. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

She shakes her head. “Haven’t had a drink in hours. I’m fine.” She looks up at me all doe-eyed and libidinous. “And I’d like you to kiss me.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice, but I make her anyway. The edges of my mouth curve into a grin. “Can you say that again? I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

She giggles. It’s the light, airy laughter I love. Not the disturbing, demented laugh of earlier. And right now, I can’t recall a sweeter sound in the world.

Her blush confirms her claim of sobriety. “I’d like you to kiss me,” she says, with even more authority.

I drop to my knees in front of her. “There is nothing I’d like more.” I lean in, cupping her face in my hands. As my body draws closer to hers, I notice the hue of her irises turning an even deeper shade of green. Her eyes reveal far more than she wants me to know. They tell me how much she wants this. Wantsme.

“You’re stunning,” I mumble, right before staking my claim on her lips.

The moist heat and the forceful demand of her mouth has me reeling, igniting a bone-melting fire that burns deep within me. I tip her head back, cradling it in my palm as my hungry tongue savors her intoxicating taste.

My hands explore her neck, her back, her thighs, as my mouth takes everything from her that she’s willing to give. Every kiss with her is better than the last. Every feeling more intense. Every touch more explosive.

Her legs part, inviting my body closer to hers. My fingers lightly brush across her ribs, just below the curve of her breasts. I wrestle our swollen lips apart, needing her to look at me. “Is this okay?”

She nods, never breaking eye contact with me as my thumbs trace the underside of her heaving breasts. When my hands cup her fully, her jaw goes slack and her mouth partially opens, a breath of air escaping along with a whimper that has my dick painfully straining against the fly of my jeans.

I lean close to her ear and let my breath flow over her. “Can I see you, sweetheart?”

She trembles. “Only if I can see you,” she says, her voice dropping a purposeful octave.

I take it back—thatwas the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard her say.

My mouth twists into a tight-lipped grin. I don’t even hesitate. I reach behind my neck to grab my shirt, pulling it over my head and discarding it into a careless pile on the floor.

I can’t say my ego doesn’t get a little inflated when her eyes go wide as they rake across my chest. I’m not naïve, I know what I look like. And I work damn hard for this body. But I’ve never wanted to be worshiped for it outside of what it allows me to accomplish on the field. Not until this very second.

The way her eyes trace every ridge and ripple of my abs makes the thousands of hours I’ve spent on them worth it. Women always look at me with wanton stares. As if I’m a slab of prime meat for them to order up. A hard body. A conquest. But Piper looks at me the way no one else ever has. With reverence. Wonder. Respect.

I pick her hand up and place it on my chest. Sensations assault me as she follows the same pattern I’d traced over her tank top. And damn if her hands don’t feel like pure heaven on me. A few more minutes of this and I’ll go out of my mind.

I put my hands over hers and direct them to the hem of her top. She hesitates for a beat; her breathing visibly quickening. Then she slowly lifts the material until the elastic gets caught up on the curve of her breasts.

I run my hands up her stomach, grabbing the thin layer of cotton to complete the movement of pulling it over her head.

Then I stare.

I stare like a fool. Like an adolescent seeing his first pair of tits. But,holy shit, I’ve never seen anything this spectacular. Her teardrop-shaped breasts are creamy white, clearly never having been touched by the sun’s punishing rays. Her rose-bud nipples pucker even tighter under my heated gaze.

“My God, you’re beautiful.” The instant my hands meet her silky flesh, I rip my admiring gaze from her body and look into her eyes to find them smoldering with unspoken desire.

I knead and ply and pinch and tug. I worship her breasts with my hands and fingers until the urge is so strong, I can’t control it. “Eyes on me,” I command, before my mouth falls upon her chest, my tongue rolling over and flicking a stiff nipple.

Surprisingly—thankfully—she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she arches her chest into my mouth, further fueling my siege. Her hands meet my back, her fingernails lightly scraping up my spine, sending more heat into my already thickened blood.

I glance up to see her heeding my order to keep watching me. I smile against her breast and she blushes, a warm, lazy grin tugging at her swollen lips.

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