Page 19 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
“Sulky and pretty, like a girl’s.” I manage to make my tone lighter, more in control, but he’s looking at me like his control is quickly unraveling.
“Now you’re just bein’ mean,” he says gruffly.
I touch a finger to the bow of his lips, then follow the curve down to the corner of his full and perfectly sculpted mouth. “No,” I say, my voice faint. “I’m not.”
Our eyes lock. Heat flashes over my body. Goose bumps erupt over my skin.
“Tell me you feel that, too,” Ryan whispers. “Tell me I’m not crazy and you can feel that.”
Seconds tick by in silence as we stare at each other. Ryan’s expression is that of a man trying to solve a fascinating, frustrating puzzle.
He abandons his drink on the back of the sofa and slides both hands into my hair. Then he pulls me closer and buries his nose in it, inhaling deeply, combing his fingers through the strands. I allow it and concentrate on quelling the tremor in my body. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and breathe in and out with my eyes closed, every nerve in my body primed to his touch.
This is unprofessional. And dangerous. You don’t do this. You never do this!
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” Ryan murmurs against my neck. “You’re in control of this. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
His intuition is preternatural. How does he know what I need to hear right now? Somehow I’ve got to make my mind go blank. Think of Reynard. Think of the necklace. Think of how close you are to being free.
Then I can’t think at all because Ryan slowly pulls my head back, exposing my neck. He skims his lips from my earlobe down to my collarbone, inhaling at the base of my throat.
“Fuck, I love the way you smell.”
His voice is guttural with desire. I bite my lip to stop the groan from escaping.
Using my hair as a tether and the circle of his arms to keep me in place, he trails his nose down my chest and nuzzles it into my cleavage. His breath is hot against my skin. His erection is hard against the back of my thigh. I lose my fight with the tremors, and a shudder runs through me.
I’m strung so tightly that when the tip of his tongue touches my skin, I jerk.
He makes a masculine sound deep in his throat and flexes his hips. I barely resist the instinct to rock against the bulge in his jeans.
Barely.
I sense that he’s smiling, but I can’t look down to check.
Soft kisses press against the swell of my breasts. He’s being so gentle. So slow. It’s maddening.
“You’re panting, Angel,” he says, tightening his arms around me. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Y
es. No. Yes. Fuck.”
His laugh is soft and dark. “Hmm. I’d say you need more input before you can make an informed decision.”
Right through the filmy material of my dress, he gently bites my hard nipple.
It feels incredible. I moan like a porn star.
Still in perfect control, he releases one hand from my hair so he can squeeze my breast. He suckles my nipple through the fabric. I whimper helplessly as fire roars through my veins.
He drags the neckline of my dress down. Warm air caresses my breast. Then I feel his hand, rough and strong, cupping my flesh, then his tongue and lips, hot and decadent, draw against my nipple.
Lost to the sensation, I arch into his mouth.
He makes that sound in his throat again and sucks harder.
My shaking fingers slip around the back of his neck. He releases my hair and cups both my breasts in his hands, nosing the fabric away so I’m bared to him. My chest rises and falls rapidly with my labored breathing. Then he goes back and forth between my breasts, licking, sucking, gently biting my nipples and the flesh around them until I’m certain I’ll pass out.
