Page 23 of Taming the Beast (Fairy Tales of New York)

While his fingers continued to do wicked, indescribable, heavenly things to her he leaned over her, set his mouth to the spot just behind her ear that only moments before had had her writhing and panting and did so again.

She closed her eyes and yielded to the sensations pouring through her – pleasure, frustration, tension, desperation and deep, deep desire – so great that she was only dimly aware of him moving, easing his fingers out of her and replacing them with his mouth, and then she couldn’t think at all.

As he used his lips and tongue on her all she could do was tremble, spread her legs wider apart and clamp both hands to the back of his head. She couldn’t even writhe because he was holding her so firmly in place.

“Dios, Seb,” she moaned and it sounded like a plea, like she’d lost her mind, which wasn’t surprising because she had.

Beneath his continued, relentless, ruthless assault on her she could feel the tension inside her growing, could feel the need for release clawing away at her, and it was so unbearable. She needed it to stop. She wanted it to carry on for ever.

“Please,” she groaned hoarsely, and then just when she didn’t think she could stand it any longer, just when she was about to beg again, in earnest this time, he pressed harder, sucked harder, and that was it. Her orgasm hit with the force of a tidal wave and she shattered, gasping, crying out, coming hard against his tongue and his mouth, and quaking beneath his hands.

It took her a minute or two to drift back to earth, and by the time she did Seb had moved up her and was kissing her, hard and rough and perfect.

“I like it when you beg,” he muttered against her mouth.

“I like tasting myself on you,” she said, her head still spinning and her heart still racing. “I’d like to return the favor.”

“Another time.”

Another time. That was encouraging. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You do that. Right now, though, I really need to be inside you.”

Desire zinged through her all over again, ridding her of the trembles, the weakness, the lethargy, and as Seb lifted himself off her she pushed herself up and crossed her legs at the ankles trapping him between her thighs as she started tearing at his shirt. She tried to keep it civil but her hands were shaking and buttons would keep popping all over the place.

In the end, though, the result was the same and a moment later she’d slipped his shirt off, along with his jacket and was skimming her hands over his chest and then it was his turn to shiver, tense, gasp. She pressed hot, wet kisses to his skin, lingering over another scar from the accident that cut diagonally across his shoulder and then the pucker of an old bullet wound that lay just above his heart and about which she didn’t want to think about too much.

“Take off your dress,” he said, his voice rough with tightly leashed restraint.

Breaking away she gripped the hem of her dress, lifted it over her head and dropped it.

“Bra,” he ordered, and that came off too.

He pushed her back down again and for a moment just looked at her, his gaze roaming over her hungrily, needily. “Beautiful,” he muttered, then kicked off his shoes and divested himself of the rest of his clothing. And when the moment she’d been waiting for arrived and his cock sprang free, Mercy bit her lip, because she could remember with aching clarity how good he felt inside her and she wanted it again, now.

Seb reached for his wallet and pulled out a condom. He ripped the packet open, rolled it on, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth and Mercy thought he’d never understand how much pleasure it gave her to know that she had this effect on him. She watched him and licked her lips and he caught the movement, his eyes darkening and his mouth unsmiling, which made her shiver even more.

He leaned down over her and as the familiar heat and power of him enveloped her, she closed her eyes. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. He took one of her breasts in his hand. Cupped it, rubbed his thumb over her nipple until it was hard and aching, then took it in his mouth. By the time he turned his attention to her other breast and did the same she was one quivering mass of sensation and all she could do was run her hands over his shoulders, his back, down his spine, into his butt, pull him closer, tilt her pelvis and grind it against his to show him what she wanted and how much.

But he seemed content to make her wait while he took his sweet, sweet time. He lavished attention over every inch of her, kissing, caressing, torturing her so slowly she thought she might die. And only when she was whimpering and panting and pleading incoherently for him to release her from her torment did he lift her knees, hold them apart and thrust into her, hard and steady and right up to the hilt.

And that was it for Mercy. She was so ready, so primed, that the fullness of him inside her, the sheer glorious feel of him, sent her straight over the edge into a shattering climax that had her moaning, and shaking and clenching around him as if she never wanted to let him go.

But still Seb wasn’t done with her it seemed. He waited until she stilled, watching her, his eyes dark and glittering, then bent over her, planting his hands either side of her, the muscles of his arms straining with the effort of keeping his weight off her – although she wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t – and began to move.

Slowly. Surely. Devastatingly and mind-blowingly, because, oh Lord, she could feel the stirrings of pleasure all over again and how was that possible? How could her body stand it?

But it was possible and her body could stand it very well because within moments she was wrapping her legs around his waist, lifting one hand above her head to cling on to the far edge of the desk and keep her steady as she moved and the other to hold on to him.

He lowered himself further, onto his elbows instead of his palms. Kissed her wildly as he continued moving in and out of her, increasingly harder and faster until she was unravelling all over again, only this time so was he.

With a great groan, Seb thrust into her one last time and stayed there, pulsing into her over and over, before collapsing on top of her.

Mercy could feel his breath on her neck, harsh and ragged. Could feel his heart thundering against hers. God. He’d promised her more and that was what she’d gotten. A lot more. She felt limp. Boneless. Wrung out like a wet rag, and about as capable of forming a sentence. And while, sure, it was a bit undignified to be splayed out like this on top of his desk, she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Chapter Six

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