The stroke of his hands down her back caused her to arch closer, pleasure rasping over the sensitive flesh, then exploding across her lower back as they slipped beneath her blouse.
Had she ever wanted to be touched in this way? Had she ever wanted a man to stroke her flesh, to tear her from the safe confines of her world and into a heady, chaotic storm of pleasure? Had she ever craved having all her plans for vengeance destroyed for a single man’s touch?
She hadn’t, she knew. Heat rushed through her as his nails scraped down her back lightly, rasping over her flesh and causing her to press closer to him. To rub herself against him as she felt the iron-hard, thick wedge of his erection beneath his jeans.
The impression of that erect flesh was large, too large, perhaps.
And she swore she could feel the heat of the engorged flesh through his jeans and hers as he pressed closer to her.
A tugging heat at her scalp had her head tilting back for him, her lips parting further as he began taking long, deep kisses from her. Sipping at her lips, nipping at them, only to rub the ache away with his far too experienced tongue.
“I want to taste you just like that.” His head lifted, his lips only brushing against hers as she forced her eyes to open, to stare up at him.
“What?” She couldn’t believe he meant—
“I want my tongue between your thighs, lapping at the sweet, hot cream I can smell dripping from you. I want to catch it on my lips, taste you on my tongue, then lick between your inner lips until it’s buried in the sweet heat hidden there.”
She gasped; her vagina clenched with such hard, involuntary spasms that the juices gathering there were suddenly forced to flow from her and further dampen her panties.
“You like that,” he growled. “Admit it, Gypsy. You want my lips there.”
His hand was suddenly between her thighs, cupping her mound, his fingers pressing firmly into the material where the moisture fell from her. The pad of his hand ground against her clit, rubbing it in short, erotic strokes that had her breath catching.
It was so good. So hot. She’d never even fantasized about a man touching her like this, of drawing such pleasure from her body that she suddenly wondered at the small amount of control she had over it.
“Your body knows me, Gypsy,” he warned her, his teeth nipping at her lips as he urged her to part them for him again. “It knows the pleasure I can give it, the heated caresses and the sweet release.”
A muffled cry, barely smothered, escaped her lips as his lips moved from hers and began spreading a line of kisses over her jaw and down her neck.
Sizzling arcs of sensation rushed through her system, burned straight to her clit and echoed in her womb.
God, she didn’t know how to keep him out of her bed. She wanted to beg him to join her there now. Beg him to do exactly what he had just told her he wanted to do. To bury his lips between her thighs and taste the pleasure he was giving her.
“Rule. Oh God—” The small buttons at the front of her nearly sheer blouse suddenly released. The sides fell away, revealing the silk and lace of the nude bra she wore, the full curves of her br**sts rising above the cups.
“Have mercy,” he groaned, one hand cupping a breast as his lips pressed to the rise over its mate. “You taste like pure pleasure.”
His tongue stroked over the sensitive flesh, the slight, roughened rasp causing shards of increased need racing through her senses.
She wanted his lips on her ni**les. Now.
She wanted his mouth devouring them.
His fingers gripped the lacy top of the material, drawing it slowly over the firm flesh, scraping the material against her agonizingly engorged ni**les.
They pushed out from the tip of her breast, pebble hard and aching painfully.
Gypsy had to watch. She couldn’t help it. It was so erotic, so wicked, watching as his incredibly thick, long lashes lifted from the brilliance of his gaze as he watched her watch him.
His lips parted. His tongue peeked out, that roughness that covered it rubbing against her nipple.
Fire exploded in the tip.
It tore through her body in a rush of such pleasure she was certain she couldn’t survive it. Certain she couldn’t remain standing if he didn’t stop, and knowing she couldn’t bear it if he stopped.
Then standing wasn’t an issue.
Sweeping her from her feet and lifting her into his arms, Rule carried her the short distance to the couch, laid her on the wide cushions, then came down over her.