last. The thought coalesced then froze like slush in his veins as he realized she’d gone still. Every muscle in his body tensed. Caught. Her gaze was a living thing that burned his skin. Slowly, he lifted his eyes.
Their gazes collided, hers so very dark and wondering, and waiting. They stared at each other. Never before had he been so aware of his body, of the tense quiver of his muscles, of the tendons in his outstretched hand, holding him there, just above her warm breast.
Something flickered in her eyes. A dare. One that sent rivers of heat through him with each sharp breath he took. Christ, she infuriated him. Making him want, making him regret and yearn. The ropey network of muscles along his arms were iron hard. Then he moved, slowly, deliberatively, not looking away from her. Her lips parted, her breath growing uneven. Her soft, pink nipple pointed upward, straining to meet him, yet she did not move. He felt the heat of her skin before he touched her. So close. His cods pulled tight and sore, his cock an aching thing pressed against the bed. The tip of his forefinger brushed over her budding nipple, and his gut clenched.
Her breath caught, her mouth opening further. He held her dark gaze, swimming in it, even as he watched his own finger skim across that sweet little nipple. It stiffened, rising up to his touch, and he made a sound close to pain. The areola was darker now, almost raspberry in color. Larger too. He traced the circumference. Was it because she was expecting? His throat closed. His child. In her. So still she was as he stroked her, only the gentle pants of her breath giving witness to her agitation. Feeling fiendish, he lightly flicked the tip. A whimper sounded deep within her throat, and her lashes fluttered as if she were fighting not to close her eyes. It sent a wash of want through him, so dark and hot that it was all he could do not to fall on her and suck that succulent breast until she screamed his name.
His hand began to shake as he fondled her, reveling in that one small point of contact. A flush worked over her ivory skin as she fought to keep still, and his breath sawed in and out. His cock pulsed, and his heart slammed against his ribs. Jesus, but he was on the verge of spilling like a lad who’d just discovered his pizzle and what it could do. He had to move, do something. He could no longer stand it. He held her gaze, and then very deliberately, yet very gently, pinched her nipple. A helpless cry tore from her lips, and she arched her back, thrusting into his touch. And then he was moving over her, his mouth latching onto the poor, tormented bud.
“Shh,” he whispered around her flesh, “I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better…” Words were lost to the luscious nipple filling his mouth, the ragged edges of the nightshirt growing wet against the lave of his tongue. Her cool palms framed his face, holding him there as he sucked her in deep and pressed against her soft body. They moved against each other, her murmuring words of encouragement, pleas. He would give it to her. Anything she needed.
Her thigh was endless, so smooth and strong. His fingers traversed its length as his mouth travelled down her body, lost in the billowing softness of her gown and the subtle flesh hiding beneath. The linen whispered against her skin as he slid it high. Sweet honey greeted him, glistening in the morning light. He nipped her hip, loving the way she squirmed, how her legs glided apart for his touch.
“That’s it, sweet.” His mouth wandered along the hot crease of her upper thigh. “Let me give it a kiss.”
The sweet taste of Poppy. Poppy writhing against the flat of his tongue. Heaven. Another kiss. I’ll make it better. He would make it better.
It was his last thought before a terrorized scream from somewhere down the hall rent through the air.
Lost in the fevered mists of need, Win had almost missed the scream. Whoever the lady was with her inconvenient fit of vapors, she could go to the devil. Only his core maintained a policeman’s soul. It did not matter if he no longer carried a badge, he could not ignore a cry for help. And so he’d untangled himself from his luscious