liked it much better when he was driving me crazy with both hands, and I let him know it.
“Greedy girl,” he said, his voice pleased.
He gave me back his left hand on my breast, even rubbing over the taut nipple with his thumb as his mouth moved closer to that sensitive nub. Panting heavily, I struggled to arch toward him, to twist my fingers in his hair and hold his face there, to move just the fraction of an inch I needed to be able to get his questing mouth on my nipple where I needed him so badly. I started to shake when I felt his heavy length brush against my thigh. I reached between us to free him from his clothing. I was wild with arousal but clumsy with it, too. I needed his help. He had to leave my nipple, making me whimper with dismay. In seconds, he had removed his clothes. He was magnificent. I think I groaned right out loud, because one corner of his mouth kicked up in response. His chest and abs were perfectly developed, cut and powerful. Not the muscles of an oiled-up bodybuilder, but the strength of a man who had honed his body for years as a weapon, a man whose self-discipline kept him looking unbelievable even in civilian life.
My mouth watered just looking at the expanse of smooth skin and muscle, the slight patch of chest hair. His hand went to my hair and stroked it, and then his hands moved down my bare back, his palm flat in the small of my back and pressing me to him. I tipped my head up, and when he kissed me, my nails raked down his back. He arched into me, a sound in his throat telling me how much he liked that. I dragged my nails across his bare back again and he dipped his head, nipping my neck.
I made a sound of satisfaction as he soothed the nip with his hot tongue. I tilted my head to give him better access to my neck. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted him, how my pulse pounded and my body hummed and heated for him. I had never felt this wound up, this needy for a man. It was primitive, like my inner woman was dying for him to claim me. He plucked at my nipple, pinched it lightly, and my smile and my distraction dissolved at the touch. I liked this. I wanted all of it, and I let him know. I draped my legs around his hips, drawing him loosely toward me. I peered up into his face, the bright-fevered eyes that seemed to pierce me through the chest. My palms were flat on his muscular back. I wanted him with a fierceness I didn’t know how to handle. I couldn’t act casual about him, treat this like the kind of fun and easy hookup I used to have with guys. Billy was something else, that was for damn sure. Potent and confident and self-assured and mouth-wateringly sexy. I wanted to beg him. It would have made me feel good to beg him, to be that honest about how much I wanted him.
He looked down at me with such concentration. I squirmed a little under that bright, hot gaze. The way he seemed like he was already buried inside me, already burning away any other man I’d been with. There hadn’t been very many, and there had never been one like him. There’d never be another man to measure up, a stupid voice inside me whispered, because Billy O’Shea is about to burn me down. Years from now, I’d look back on this, I knew, and prefer dreaming about this night and wearing out batteries in a vibrator instead of a disappointing encounter with any man who wasn’t him. He’s going to ruin me, I thought, skittish, fearing and wanting it in equal measure. Most of me knew this was getting into deep waters, recognized that his intensity, the devouring gaze and his big, calloused hands on me could reduce me to nothing, to a burned-out husk that was worn out with pleasure.
Billy ran his hands up and down my bare legs, teasing me. He lifted my leg by the ankle, kissed the curve of my calf and behind my knee. My leg jerked in response. I have no idea there were erogenous zones on my legs. No other guy had ever taken the time to find out