No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,55
a hand along her side, inch by inch, making her body tingle. His fingers tempted her ribs, her hip, her thigh, then traced across to her pulsating core, where they dipped, making her gasp and arch with the lightning flash of gratification his touch elicited.
As his fingers stroked and penetrated, she found herself panting and gasping for air, breathless with the wild rush of feelings as he probed deeper, more insistently, teaching her things she didn’t know nice well-brought-up girls did. But with him, everything was so natural, so wonderful and right.
He fondled and fanned into flame the most secluded reaches of her sexual core, eventually making her cry out in climax, quaking, her body glowing with exertion.
When her breathing had calmed somewhat, he drew her into his embrace, and she snuggled against him, savoring the denouement of her climax, thrumming pleasantly through her body.
A big, gentle hand cupped her hip, another stroked her hair. His breath was intoxicating as it whispered along her face and shoulder. She was aware of the strength and heat of his hard body, still sheathed in all his clothes. “Why,” she breathed weakly, “do you keep pleasing me, and never yourself?”
His low chuckle tickled her breasts. Kissing the tip of her nose, he asked, “Do you think watching your orgasm bores me?”
She felt her whole body flush, and buried her face in his button-down chest. “Oh, Lord,” she groaned, trying to shut out the vision of herself losing control before him. Mortified, she recalled the lewd words she’d uttered in the mindless moments when he was driving her wild, masterfully guiding her into exhilarating fulfillment. “I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again,” she cried. “I said some filthy things.”
He drew her more tightly to him, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart. “You made some sexy requests,” he teased, his hand on her hip stroking provocatively. “If you meant them, I’ll be glad to oblige.”
She shifted to look into his eyes, then lifted her hands to his shirtfront and began to unbutton it. “I’m afraid I did,” she whispered, kissing the parts of chest that were becoming exposed to her view.
His hands stroked and massaged as she unbuttoned his shirt. Stunned with the rapidity at which this man could make her crazy with desire, she cried out, and unthinkingly, ripped the shirt open. Buttons flew and bounced about them in a fitful rat-a-tat on the floor. “Oh—” Jess breathed, unable to keep from hugging him, flesh to flesh at last. “I—I’m sorry for ruining your—”
His fingers plunged and she cried out with stark, delirious ecstasy.
“Never apologize to me again,” he commanded huskily in her ear, his tongue matching the movement of his fingers, driving her over the edge of another lightning-intense climax.
After she helped him remove the rest of his clothes, they lay naked in each other’s arms for a moment. Jess’s body was slick and tingling from having been so utterly pleasured by a man she’d mistakenly thought cold-blooded and mechanical. She’d never been so mistaken in her life. Sexually, Lucas was proving to be a wild man, a sorcerer shrewd in the ways of satisfying and indulging a woman.
He knew how to tantalize to the edge of insanity, for he had not yet attempted to enter her. He just lay there, his hands roving seductively, his lips making hot little demands along her shoulder blade. Languorously, she scanned his lean, muscular body. It was flawless—unfortunately—even in the stark light of the room. Unable to stop herself, she took hold of him and stroked his erection with awe and reeling anticipation. “You’re killing me,” she cried. “This much restraint can’t be good for you—you’ll have a heart attack.”
He grinned down at her, his expression full of sexy promise as his hand slid across her belly to fondle her breasts. “I feel fine,” he said, his voice low and amused. “But, thanks for your concern.”
Jess closed her eyes, sure that at any moment she was going to die from sensory overload. She moaned, writhing helplessly beneath his touch as currents of new, primitive hunger washed through her. Clutching at his broad torso, she feared she was going to explode if he didn’t enter her quickly. In a broken whimper, she pleaded, “Lucas, please—Love me…now….”
His body shifted to cover hers, blocking the light, and the room grew dark. He touched her intimately, probing, tantalizing her as he positioned himself. The sensation was thrillingly erotic. He hovered for a