In Flames - Elise Faber Page 0,7

her eyes had slid closed. But something she did know? This tenderness, this gentleness wasn’t fucking. This wasn’t like any sex she’d ever had before.

This was more.

So terrifyingly, incredibly more.

Especially when she peeled back her lids and saw warm golden eyes, a soft smile on his face.

“I like making you come,” he murmured.

Suz nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “I wish you didn’t sound so cocky.” She snaked her arms around his neck, held him close. “But I like it, too.”

He chuckled, and the rasping sound coated her skin like chocolate syrup.

Which . . . if this happened a second time, she wouldn’t mind licking off every inch of Graham’s sexy-as-sin body.

A kiss that had her fantasies shoved away, that had her gasping for breath, her thighs quivering, heat coiling in her abdomen again. Too quickly, considering she’d just had an orgasm that left her limp. But she wasn’t feeling so limp after that kiss. Rather, she was trembling with need, already halfway to heaven, and aching to have him inside her.

His hands trailed over her body, down her throat, between her breasts, rubbing rasping palms over her nipples.

“I—”

But she didn’t get more than that one syllable out before he’d captured one hard bud in his mouth, suckling deeply, taking her from halfway to heaven to nearly there.

Then he switched sides.

Fingers in his hair, hips bucking, pelvis nearly perfectly aligned to take him inside.

He chuckled, stilled her. “Not yet.”

She might have been pissed that he was coherent, competent, in control, except that there were lines bracketing the sides of his mouth, sweat shining on his forehead, and every line of those long, lean muscles stood out in sharp relief.

He might be acting like they had all the time in the world.

But he was on edge, just as much as she was.

Hands sliding down from his shoulders, over his pecs, along the ridged muscles of his abdomen.

And then around his cock.

“Fuck!” he hissed, covering her hand when she stroked firmly. But he didn’t brush it away again. He pumped against her, her falling forward, blazing eyes on his.

Hard, thick, tempting, and not inside her.

“Wait, Firefly. I want—”

But she kept stroking, unable to stop herself from running her hand over the velvet-covered steel. It felt so fucking good to be able to touch him like this, to be so close, to have her hands on him.

She shoved him back, dropped to her knees in front of him, her mouth—

“Enough,” he rasped, tugging her back up, plunking her back atop the desk.

“Graham,” she said. Or maybe it was a whimper. Either way, she was nearing that shaking, trembling edge again. She wanted to taste. She wanted him thrusting deep inside, moving fiercely.

He slid her forward on the desk, spreading her legs wider, his erection so fucking close.

And then he stopped.

Again.

She cursed. “Don’t!”

Molten golden eyes on hers. “Birth control.”

Was that all?

“I’m a fucking doctor,” she snapped. “I’m covered.”

“Good.”

A wicked grin, one firm stroke, and he slid home.

Deep and hard and filling her so damned full. So damned good. So damned—

He moved.

And words became very difficult. This was . . . a flurry of sensation and pleasure—a whole lot of fucking pleasure. It was as though he’d opened her mind, reached inside, and plucked out every single urge and need and feeling. He knew what she required even before she recognized it herself. Pulling her closer, shifting the angle of her hips, thrusting a little harder.

Faster.

Yes. That was exactly what she needed.

“Graham,” she moaned.

“So fucking pretty,” he panted, his hips pistoning, his lips on her throat, her collarbone, swooping down to suck her nipple deep. “God, I’ve wanted you. I want you. I—”

He hit just the right spot, and she gasped, her breathing unsteady, too. Along with her mind being hazy, her vision reduced to pinpoints of light, her focus solely restricted to this man. Her senses only aware of the damp forest floor of his scent, the way he filled her so completely, how he was hard—so damned hard everywhere—and yet how he held her so, so carefully.

This was all she’d hoped for and dreamed about and . . . it was so much fucking more.

She’d expected good.

She hadn’t expected this.

Panic and excitement. Pleasure and fear. And an ever-increasing pressure on the magic in the back of her mind.

Fingers on her clit. Lips on hers.

Heat coiling and tightening and—

Her orgasm barreled through her, exploding from her pussy, spreading outward. Every muscle in her was strung taut as that pleasure flowed over her for