Page 56 of Kiss an Angel

She used her tongue on him and her lips, kissed the corners of that hard mouth, delved inside again. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and, standing on tiptoe, nipped his earlobe. She left little teeth marks at the corner of his jaw before she returned to plunge inside his mouth.

Enter and play.

Withdraw and explore.

Inside again.

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Her excitement mounted, fueled by the rasp of his breathing and the feel of his hands clasping her so tightly, one at her waist, one splayed across her back. How could she ever have been afraid of him? The image of the whips stored beneath the bed flicked through her mind, but she pushed them aside. He wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t.

She licked a sweet trail from his neck to his chest and poked the tip of her tongue through the dark hair that dusted his pectorals until she could press her lips to the skin beneath. His breathing came more rapidly now, and when he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse.

“If this is the way you kiss, angel, I can’t wait to see how you—” He moaned as she found his nipple.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and one of her fingers caught in the gold chain that held the icon. This game of hot kisses and new touches was so delicious she couldn’t get enough of it. His body was hers to explore, and she yearned to see every inch of it.

“I want to take off your towel,” she whispered.

His fingers sank into her hair.

She reached for the knot, only to have him press his hand over hers. “Not so fast, sweetheart. First you’ve got to show me something.”

“What do you want to see?”

“I’ll let you choose.”

“In this costume, I think I’ve already shown off just about everything I have.”

“Maybe I want a closer look.”

She’d known sex could be exciting, but she hadn’t expected the sensuous teasing note in his voice. It flashed through her mind that perhaps she should confess that she was a virgin, but then he’d think she was a freak. And he’d never know if she didn’t tell him. Contrary to romantic fiction, fragile maidenheads didn’t survive twenty-six years of physical activity and doctors’ exams.

Tilting back her head, she watched his eyes roam over her as she stood before him in her showgirl’s costume, and she found the idea of playing the experienced femme fatale infinitely exciting. She’d read lots of books, so maybe she could even pull it off. What could she do that was naughty?

She turned her back to him, trying to give herself a moment to think, and in the process saw that the limp blue curtains hanging on the small window just above the kitchen table weren’t closed all the way. She doubted anyone would be passing by in the rain, but just in case, she hurried over. Bracing one hand on the Formica top, she leaned across the table to close them.

She heard a muffled sound behind her, almost like a groan. “Good choice, sweetheart.”

She had no idea what he was talking about until she felt him come up behind her and rub against her out-thrust bottom. He massaged the flesh through its diamond-shaped veil of fishnet. Her nipples tightened and her skin grew flushed at the unfamiliar sensation. At the same time, her nervousness escalated. No matter what she wanted him to believe, she had no experience with ordinary lovemaking, let alone anything exotic.

One of his fingertips slipped beneath the strip of sequins and traced the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lips to keep from crying out with pleasure. His touch crept lower.

Unable to take any more, she wiggled upright and turned in his arms. “I—I want to kiss again.”

He groaned. “Your kisses are a little more than I can handle right now.” He adjusted the knot at his belly, and she saw that the towel no longer lay flat against him. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t even close to being flat.

She stared and her mouth felt dry. “I st-still want to kiss.”

“We’ll negotiate. You open up the hook on the back of that costume, and we’ll kiss all you want.”

She reluctantly raised her eyes from the towel and lifted her arms to unfasten the hook. As it opened, the bodice began to fall away. She clasped it to her chest.

He ducked his head, brushed her lips, and took one of her wrists in each of his hands. As his tongue slipped into her mouth, the costume fell to her waist. He backed her against the wall on the far side of the table, drew her wrists upward, and pinioned them on each side of her head.

“Not fair,” she whispered into his mouth as he held her against the wall. “You’re stronger than I am.”

“It’s my turn to play,” he whispered back.

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