Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,12

get it out of his system. One kiss and he could say good-bye to his first love.

“How you like to be kissed,” he said, his fingers curling around her head. She gasped quietly, arching her back, her gorgeous breasts pushing closer. His bones thrummed with lust for her.

“You do?” Her voice was soft as the question ghosted across her lips. It was chased by a small smile, and that felt like an invitation.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She swallowed, the next word so low it was merely an imprint on the air. “How?”

“Like this.”

Gently at first, he pressed his lips to hers. His heart stopped, and his blood stilled, as if it simply had to make sense of this new input before it could reengage. Kissing Annalise again. It was as if a new map were being written, a new route sketched out. So this was what it was like to kiss her once more.

Sublime.

His heart ticked again, catching up as he swept his tongue over her lower lip. She murmured. Soft, like a purr. That sound was new from her. She’d always been quiet.

And she’d once liked lingering kisses that were like melting chocolate, like the rising sun. Their kisses had been easy and carefree. They’d turned him on, riled him up, and made him want so much more of her. They were tongues, and lips, and mouths, and heat.

But now, there were teeth.

Hers.

She pressed her teeth against his lower lip and drew it into her mouth like she was trying to suck on it, and with that, whatever wisp of apprehension she’d seemed to feel moments ago must have evaporated. His thoughts spun out of control, slipping into darker, more urgent territory. He moved his hand from her hair, held her face, and angled his mouth over hers, resuming control of the kiss and devouring her lips.

He drew the corner of her mouth into his and nipped her. Her murmurs intensified. Louder. Hotter.

She’d never been like this before, but now she demanded more. Her own hungry lips slanted over his, saying mark me.

“Oh God,” she gasped, her eyes squeezed closed. “Oh my God.”

He broke the kiss, whispering, “You okay?”

She nodded against him. “Yes. So okay.”

“Good.” He quickly moved his mouth to her jawline, kissing a trail there as he traveled along her skin. Each press brought out a tiny little growl from Annalise, a sexy sigh, a needy gasp. It made him want to rip off her clothes, push her against the wall and see how rough she liked it. He bent his head to her collarbone and grazed the exposed flesh with his teeth. Her hands shot up, roping through his hair as she moaned. Annalise was under some kind of spell, her body moving and flowing against his. She clutched his skull tighter, her nails digging in as he kissed her shoulder then returned to her mouth. That gorgeous red mouth. The lips he’d been obsessed with. The ones he’d memorized.

The lips he’d missed for so many years.

Like a persistent, aching hole in his chest, the missing had defined him. Propelled him. Given him a focus when he’d needed one. Now, the missing disintegrated, and turned into a white-hot desire to have her. To have all of her, as he’d never had before. Now. Tonight. No more goddamn waiting. He pressed his forehead to hers, and ran his thumb over her mouth. “It’s different now.”

She nodded. “Yes. But so good,” she said, breathless.

“Not good. It’s better.”

“It is,” she said, her eyes wild.

“Think everyone’s watching?”

She shook her head against him. “It’s Vegas. No one cares.”

“Do you care?” he whispered as he traced her lips, the sweetness of her breath on his fingertips.

“That you’re kissing me like crazy on the terrace of a nightclub in a hotel?”

“Yes.” He dragged his thumb along her teeth.

“No. I don’t care where we are,” she said, darting out the tip of her tongue to meet his thumb. She bit down. “I want more.”

His mouth twitched in a knowing grin. “No, you don’t care at all,” he said, then crushed his lips to hers, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her with everything he had. Greedy kisses that promised red, swollen lips tomorrow.

This kiss was dizzying. It was a rush of blood to the head, then everywhere else. When they were younger, they’d held back because they were sixteen and foolish romantics. They’d done plenty below the belt with hands, but hadn’t come close to going all the way. Tonight, they seemed to