Page 72 of Tempting as Sin
His fingers traced the edge of the briefs, then slid around to the lacing, again and again, and her attention was all the way split in two. His mouth. His hand. She should participate, but she couldn’t. She was boneless, his to play with.
All she wanted was more.
Mirrors were a beautiful thing. That was about the sum total of Rafe’s thought process. That and,Oh, yeah, baby.
Unfastening the hooks on the cups of that lacy bra—that was special, and so was looking at Lily’s perfect hourglass of a back in the mirror, then doing one last bit of unhooking, the one every teenaged boy longed to practice, watching her bra fall down her arms, and taking it off her while her thighs gripped him harder. And looking at that lacing over her pretty bum, tracing it again and again, watching her hips shift, hearing the moan that escaped her?
Well, yeah. That was pretty bloody fantastic, too.
He could pull that final bow loose and take those off her. But she looked so good in them. He had to quit watching, then, because he had to stand up with her, feel her legs wrap around his waist like all she wanted was whatever he’d do next, and lower her to the carpet. Right down onto her back.
She moaned, and he smiled, then ran his hands from her shoulders to her wrists and back again, making it last. Letting her know he was here, over her, and he was planning to stay. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her gorgeous breasts, until her thighs were parting wider for him, until she was pulling his head into her, grabbing his shoulders, trying to get more.
No roughness. No rush. He’d floated in the dark, in the warmth, and had felt her spirit floating right there with him. Now, he felt it again. The strength and the fragility of her, all the acceptance and all the quivering anticipation. How could you not give your best to a woman like that?
When he finally pulled that strip of material aside and kissed her where she needed him, she called out. And when he settled in to please her, when he rubbed the material into her, kissed her through it, kissed her under it, found all the ways he could make her feel good? She started making some noise.
She loved his fingers circling low, he discovered, just beneath that most sensitive spot. And when he did that exactly right, then got his mouth going, her back bent like a bow. Luxuriant. Abandoned. She was on the crown of her head and her hips, her arms flung to the side, hands outstretched, palms supplicating, and she was keening.
He didn’t tease her. He pleased her. She went up and over, wailing all the way, and then she did it again. And again. Three, four, five times, until she was shuddering, until she was gasping. Until she was lying, limp and boneless, beneath him, hauling in air like she needed it, and he was pulling a condom out of some jeans that had long since become much too tight.
He started to take them off, and she grabbed his hands and said, “Don’t.”
His heart nearly stopped. He needed to be inside her more than he’d needed anything in his life. And he was going to have to back off.
He’d barely had the thought, and she was taking the packet from him and clambering to her knees. Still flushed and breathing hard, still dressed in those innocent white undies with the lacing in back, her glorious curtain of blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders. She finished unzipping his jeans, rolled the condom on, then pulled his head down, kissed his mouth, and whispered, “You want to watch again? Watch this.” And then she turned around and dropped to her hands and knees.
He was still sore, and maybe she was, too. He didn’t care, and he doubted she did, either. Even as he looked in the mirror, she lowered herself to her elbows, her hair falling around her and her face in her hands. And he untied that final bow at last and pulled those undies down to her knees.
She was swollen. She was wet. She was so fucking hot. He was thrusting into her hard, and she was backing into him and asking for more.
Too much heat. Too much pleasure.
Too much Lily. Too…much.
His hand on her, helping her out. Her noises, the way she shifted under him, and then the way she tensed around him and started coming all over again.
It was too much.
Too. Much. Heat.
Too.
Much.
Lily.
Rafe was driving slowly on the way up the mountain, and Lily knew why. You always felt, after a float, like you were a slow-motion movie in a fast-forward world, and if you’d followed it up with that kind of sex?
Well, yeah.
It was only four o’clock. Plenty of time left in the day to do some day-off chores. She didn’t want to, though. She wanted to go back to her house with Rafe, crawl into bed, have him hold her until they both fell asleep, then wake up at six or seven, make a pan of eggs and some toast, and eat it dressed only in his flannel shirt, exactly the way she’d once imagined, with his hand on her thigh like he couldn’t stand not to touch her.
Maybe she was catching up on some long-overdue decadence, or enjoying a belated post-divorce splurge.
Or maybe, of course, it was Rafe. Which could be bad news.
She didn’t have to think about the implications of that now. It was her splurge, damn it.
