The Wedding Pact Box Set - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,334

bare skin. She wanted to taste it. She wanted to feel it pressed against her own naked body.

He groped at the rise of her ass and she realized he was fumbling with the lacings of her dress. He cursed under his breath and she couldn’t help laughing.

“You’ll never get it like that.” She turned around and presented her back to him. “It’ll go faster if you can see what you’re doing.”

He paused for a moment, then she felt his hands at her lower back. “You and this dress are going to be the death of me, Libby St. Clair. I’ll die from oxygen deprivation because all the blood that goes to my brain has gone somewhere else.”

“Maybe it’s Libby McMillan now.”

“Not helping,” he grunted as he turned her around and kissed her again. One of his hands cradled the side of her face as the other worked on the strings at the base of her spine.

She pulled back, grinning. “Who knew changing my name would make you so happy.”

“You can keep St. Clair if you want, but I have to admit I like the idea of you taking McMillan.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be just one more piece of proof that you’re mine.”

She gave him a gentle kiss and then spun around to show him her back. “Let’s get this off so you can see more proof of what’s yours.”

He sucked in a breath, and within moments his hands were at her ass again, tugging on the strings, but he moved slower than she expected. She was about to ask why when he bent down and placed a kiss over the skin exposed by the loosened dress.

It was her turn to suck in a breath of surprise as he continued to loosen the laces, his mouth following the trail. When it was halfway up her back, he stood and slipped his hand into her dress, reaching around to her abdomen, his fingers light on her skin. The tips skimmed down to the top of her panties, making slow circles, before dipping slightly underneath the lacy fabric and rising back up to her stomach.

“I think you’re trying to kill me now,” she murmured, her eyes closed.

“No dying yet,” he said, his tongue tracing circles on her back. He rose and his mouth found the base of her neck and moved up to her ear. His one hand was still inside her dress, but the other had abandoned its task of loosening her lacings. The hand in her dress rose to the underside of her breasts, as high as the fabric would allow. He blew cool air below her jaw, then licked and kissed the spot.

“Noah.”

“I’ve studied this spot for months, did you know that?” His voice was rough-edged with desire. “When you wore your hair up this summer, I wanted to lean over and taste it. And now I can.”

“You can taste a lot more if you get this dress off of me.”

His hand stilled under her breast, then moved to her breastbone and slowly slid down over her belly button, continuing its descent over her panties and between her legs. His mouth concentrated on her neck, finding the spot that made her squirm as his fingers concentrated on gently stroking the cleft between her legs.

She gasped. Intense heat spread throughout her body, burning hottest between her legs. Her knees weakened and his free arm circled around her front and cupped her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple over the fabric of her dress. His mouth stilled.

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

“I didn’t have one,” she gasped while his fingers between her legs focused on the spot that drove her crazy. “My black dress . . . the front . . . I couldn’t wear one.” Something in the back of her head reminded her that she’d left the dress at the wedding chapel, but she didn’t care. She had more important things to worry about.

The hand between her legs slipped inside her panties and she moaned at the direct contact.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured against her neck.

Rather than answer, she reached behind her and found his erection, rubbing the heel of her hand over the zipper of his pants.

He pressed himself against her and released his own moan.

She fumbled with his zipper and then the button on his pants, finding it hard to concentrate with the sweet torture his hands were performing.

“Noah. Dress. Now,” she panted as she climbed higher.

“Not yet. I rather like making you squirm.”

“So you’re a sadist,” she teased. “Maybe