Dance Away with Me - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,96
had given her in hopes of cheering her up. And by cheeky, she meant . . . exposed cheeks.
Which Ian North had already discovered. “You lied.” He held her bare bottom in his palms. “These might be the most glorious pair of panties a man could ever hope to see.”
He nuzzled again.
Her knees weren’t going to hold her up much longer. Maybe he felt them tremble because he clasped her wrists and drew her to the blanket. Within seconds, her sandals were gone and so were her jeans. She lay before him in her serviceable bra and enticing underpants. He knelt above her, his head and shoulders outlined against a melted gummy bears sky.
Despite the ferocious bulge in the front of his jeans, he didn’t seem in any hurry.
“Don’t take this as a criticism,” he said, “but it’s a shame about that bra of yours. Maybe I should take it off.”
She came up on one elbow. “I could do it. Or is that another safety hazard?”
“You’re a fast learner. It’s one of the qualities I most appreciate about you.”
She was going to incinerate, and she wasn’t even naked. “Dangerous bra clasps?”
“Sends women to the ER all the time.” He nuzzled her shoulder with his lips as he reached around her back. “But not this woman.” He unclasped the bra and freed her breasts.
He gazed at her. Took her in. Seeing the details. The shape of her nipples, the fact that one of her breasts was a bit larger than the other. He pressed gently on her shoulders, sending her back on the blanket. “It’s a crime against humanity,” he murmured, “to keep these covered up.”
His words— His gaze— She’d never felt more abundant in her womanhood. He cupped her, his breath warm against her skin, taking in the slope of her breasts, their weight, celebrating her body. He brushed his jaw lightly over one nipple, gently chafing it. And then the other. Her back arched. She had to make him stop before she climaxed. “Get rid of the shirt.”
He did. Taking all the time in the world. Acting as if undoing each button required all his concentration. But when she rose on her knees to make short work of what should have been an easy task, he stilled her hands.
And that’s when she understood. She was being seduced.
She, Tess Hartsong, the Queen of Seduction, was now the object of an exquisite, calculated, over-the-top . . . seduction.
With his shirt finally off, his jeans unsnapped but still in place, he propped himself next to her and explored her body. He returned to her breasts. At first his hands and then his mouth. Doing the most delicious things to her, making her writhe beneath him even as her silly lavender underpants stayed firmly in place. She couldn’t hold back her entreaties.
“Please . . . Please . . .”
He touched her stomach. Touched her through the lace of her underpants. The lightest brush. And that was enough.
Her neck arched. Her body went rigid. She soared, flew through the air, suspended in space, and finally shattered.
Seconds, hours, days passed before she could settle back to earth even as the sky spun above her. This was the second time he’d done this to her, and she hadn’t done a thing to reciprocate.
He leaned back on his heels. “More wine?”
She shot up onto her elbows, nearly screaming at him. “What are you doing? How can you be so . . . detached?”
“Detached?” His eyes shot thunderbolts. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been living with a permanent hard-on. Watching you sashay around . . .”
“I don’t sashay.”
“Seeing those glorious breasts of yours. That beautiful ass. Even the back of your neck. And all the while, you’ve been oblivious. Now, babe,” he said with a growl. “It’s payback time.”
“Payback?”
“Think of it as well-deserved retribution.”
The way he said that word. The delicious menace thrilled her. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, but she loved how meek she sounded. No longer the seducer . . .
“You’re going to be even sorrier.” He jammed his hand in his jeans pocket, pulled out one of those condoms he carried around, and slapped it down on the platform in a way that told her exactly how serious he was. In one swift motion, his jeans came off along with the silky boxers she’d seen in his drawer. She was hardly a stranger to the male anatomy, but this . . . This was . . . “I don’t think . . .” she said.