Page 28 of Edge of Secrets

He touched one of my ringlets, winding it around his finger. “Those are strong points for me. I’ve got no problems with paying attention. Or telling the truth.”

“You sure don’t,” I agreed.

He stroked the texture of my hair, pulling the curl, letting it spring back. “So, what’s my prize for getting this right?” The deep vibration of his voice made my skin tingle. His breath was so warm. It smelled of coffee and mint. “Did I earn any points?”

“Don’t reduce it to a game,” I scolded, breathless. “It’s not about scoring points.”

His lips grazed my temple. “It’s not?” Then my cheekbone. His voice was like a brush of sable over my jangling nerves. “Then what is it about? Teach me. I await your wisdom.”

My head dropped back, and his hand was ready to support it, warm and strong, cradling my nape. “Do not make fun of me,” I whispered.

“Never.” He breathed the words into my ear … and kissed me again.

True to form, my body went nuts. Delicious heat flushed every part of me. Some sinuous, muscular animal thing inside me was awakened—not afraid of him at all, not one little bit—and it knew exactly what it wanted, and that he had plenty of it to give.

I wound my arms around his neck, which provoked a satisfied rumbling sound deep in his throat. He positioned himself between my legs where I was perched on the table. He cupped my head with one hand and my bottom with the other, sliding me tighter against him. Close, but not enough. I wanted to wind my legs around him and yank him closer, closer, infinitely closer.

I’d kissed men before, and been kissed. I’d had sex before, too. Some, not a lot. I’d even enjoyed it, almost, but with some part of me always standing apart, critiquing, judging, comparing. I wanted to let myself go so I could experience the ineffable magic that poets wrote about, but it just didn’t happen to me. I stayed flat, cool. Mind racing, hyper-aware of every single embarrassing detail about my body.

With Duncan, there was no problem with letting go. The problem lay in holding back. I wanted to eat him up, strip him bare, ride him hard. He coaxed my mouth open, and I wound my fingers into his thick hair and moved against him, helpless to stop.

He bent me back on the table until I let go of his arms to prop myself up on my elbows. He grabbed my ankles, folded my legs up high until my skirt rode up and my gartered stockings showed. The ones I’d put on this morning, back when I had still been trying to fool myself into thinking that I wasn’t going to wrestle this guy to the ground and have my wanton way with him.

Who had I been trying to fool? He was so hot. A smorgasbord of sexual delights. So big, so strong and solid and hot, and he tasted so damn good. I gasped and pressed back at each grinding shove of his erection against me. He circled against that crazy, hot, delicious, writhing sweet spot, and oh ... God.

Bursts of pleasure rocked me, jolting me into a new way of being.

When I opened my eyes, I found his hand clamped over my mouth. He was grinning. He looked absolutely delighted with himself.

“Wow,” he whispered, slowly lifting his hand. “That was wild.”

“Oh, my God,” I squeaked, mortified. “Did I ... make noise?”

“Oh, yeah. So hot. Hold on a sec.” He pulled away, wrenched the door open, and my legs snapped together as a blade of light sliced into the room and assaulted my eyes. Duncan poked his head out the door, peered around, and closed it, plunging us into darkness again. “They’re all gone,” he said. I heard the click of the door lock engaging. “Thank God. Not a sound out there. But just in case. Since you’re a screamer.”

A thread of cold unfurled in my belly. I slid off the table, tugged my skirt over my legs. He moved swiftly to block me. “Oh, God, no,” he said. “Don’t panic on me now.” There was a pleading edge in his voice.

“I just ... the locked door, it, ah ...”

“I’ll unlock it if you want. I just didn’t want any surprise visitors, that’s all.” His hands slid under my skirt and gripped the tops of my thighs, sliding slowly up toward my mound. “Making you come is not a spectator sport.”

“Uh, no, of course not. But I?—”

“Shhh.” He seized me, and we were off again, kissing wildly.

Oh, hell with it. I gripped his arms and gave in to it. Our mouths melded with the abandoned sureness of well-matched dancing partners, as if we’d known how to kiss each other senseless since time began. All the excitement of novelty, all the sureness and grace and ease of familiarity. I wanted to claw his shirt off, to feel every detail of that big, solid torso, to smell his sweat, to feel the texture of his chest hair, the shape of his nipples, the contours of his muscles.

And his cock. I wanted to grip it, test it, pet it, squeeze it. Make him gasp and moan and shiver. I pressed my hand against his flat belly and slid it down over his belt. His hand covered mine and pressed it against the bulge in his crotch. He stroked the gusset of my panties and a low murmur of satisfaction vibrated against my shoulder as he found me slick and wet. He kissed me again, his tongue venturing into my mouth to dance lazily around mine, and both of us moaned as he explored my tender folds with a gentle finger, sliding into my slick opening. I clenched around him in shocked delight.

“Oh, God,” he said roughly. “I think my hand is going to come.”

“You think you’ve got problems,” I said unsteadily.

Then there was no more talking. Just deep, ravenous kissing while his finger delved my tender, secret places, and my hand appreciatively stroked and squeezed the hot, stiff shaft of his cock. My legs twined around his thighs for balance, and we shuddered and gasped, tongues twining, wrapped in a tight, trembling knot of desire. Tension rose, until the sweet, keening ache of anticipation shattered.

Molten pulses of delight throbbed through my body.

I sagged against him. I was made out of liquid now. I was a pool of glimmering moonlight. He’d undone the fastenings of my gartered stockings at some point and was tugging my panties off my legs, but I was too limp to react. I hung on to his shirtfront and tried to form words. “What ... ah, what are you going to?—”

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