Page 51 of Smooth Sailing
He unzipped her pants. “Lift your hips.”
She did as she was told, and he removed the rest of her clothes. His intense gaze conveyed his intentions, sparking a brief internal debate. Should she let him proceed with his evident plan or pull those tempting lips back to her mouth? Past experience promised one hell of a good orgasm if she chose the former. Yet the urge to have his body pressing into hers, on top of her, was overwhelming.
That desire won, and she grabbed him and kissed him hard, unprepared for how it shattered her. The touch of his lips was primitive and dangerous—no polite flutter of attraction but a wildfire that blazed through her blood. She lost herself in the sensation for a moment, surprised by how easily he could ignite this fire within her.
“I want to taste you again,” he said.
“And I want you right here. It’s my turn to get what I want.”
He smirked. “You didn’t get what you wanted last time?”
She met his gaze. “Oh, I did. But I’m a ravenous woman. I always demand more.”
His eyes darkened. “Then let me give you more. Let me give you everything.”
The weight of his words hung between them, and something beyond desire echoed through her. “Everything is a lot to promise, Max.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said softly, cupping her face.
He probably believed his words now, in the heat of passion, but when he cooled down, so would his feelings for her. She pulled away from him and his false promises but kissed his palm to show there were no hard feelings.
She smiled. “All I want is orgasms.”
He quirked a brow. “Orgasms? Plural?”
She gave him a one-shoulder shrug, reaching for the zipper of his jeans. “What can I say? I’m a greedy woman.”
“I love it.” He slipped a hand between her legs, his palm pressing into her clit. “I’m going to be the man that makes you glutton with pleasure.”
She pressed her thighs together, her need swelling. “I hope you’re not all talk, London.”
He captured her lips, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth before diving in. He kissed her until she was panting and rocking against his hand. He slowed his touch, becoming almost reverential. The change in pace made her wonder if he, too, was grappling with the intensity of their connection.
She hooked her fingers into the waist of his jeans. “Take them off.”
He stood and unbuckled his belt, the clink of metal incredibly erotic. Then, he shoved them down and kicked them off.
Naked before her, he sparked a whirlwind of cravings. She yearned to feel him inside her, to watch him between her legs as he stroked himself, to taste him as he came apart with her mouth wrapped around him.
Her skin prickled, and her body hummed like a taut violin string. She stood, pressing into this body. Her nose reached his neck, and she inhaled him like a fine wine. His faded cologne had mixed with his natural scent—a whisper of honest exertion not sharp or acrid, but earthy and alive, like sun-warmed soil after a light rain. The combination was intoxicating and amplified her desire.
Her fingers twitched, aching to trace the scar below his collarbone, to map every inch of him. Their eyes locked, and she caught a glimmer in his gaze, making her stomach flip. There wasn’t only lust but a dangerous hint of promise. It was the kind of look that could lead her down a path of heartbreak, beckoning her like a siren’s call.
Could this time be different? Could she trust her feelings? Could she trust him?
The questions swirled in her mind, even as her body hummed with an answering intensity. Part of her wanted to retreat, to protect herself from the vulnerability of the moment. But a stronger part, a part she couldn’t quite silence, urged her forward, whispering,“Yes.”
His fingertips traced her jawline, his touch impossibly gentle despite the heat between them. “You still want this?” The tenderness in his touch belied the purely physical nature of his words.
She pulled him closer, refusing to acknowledge how that gentleness made her heart squeeze. “Yes,” she breathed against his lips. “Show me exactly what you can do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
October 11th, 8:05 p.m.
“Show me exactly what you can do,” she breathed against his lips.
He leaned back, taking her in and grinning. And sweet mercy, his smile. Her knees nearly buckled as his mouth found her neck, his hands the only thing keeping her steady. Then he was on his knees before her, and holy hell—the first sweep of his tongue had her clinging to his shoulders, fighting to stay upright. Each stroke, each touch of his fingers had her climbing higher, his name falling from her lips. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until she shattered, but he didn’t stop. He guided her to the couch, and damn if he didn’t prove himself again and again until she could barely remember her name.
