Pursued

Her skin was as soft and fragrant as he’d imagined it would be, and as he pulled her nipple into his mouth, as he circled her areola with his tongue and sucked just hard enough to have her crying out as she buried her hands in his hair, he felt as if he would die if he didn’t have her. Soon.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled against her breast.

“Yes,” she gasped, her hands sliding from his hair to his shoulders, then down his chest to his waist, where she began fumbling with his belt buckle. “Now.”

They were the two most beautiful words he’d ever heard.

He slipped a hand under the silky blue skirt of her dress, then slid his fingers up her thigh until he found her underwear—and more important, her sex. He traced the elastic leg of her panties for a few seconds, reveling in the feel of her. Soft. Wet. Hot. So hot that it took all his self-control not to plunge inside her right then.

Still, he couldn’t resist slipping two fingers inside the lace.

Couldn’t resist petting and stroking her until her knees buckled and she grabbed at him for support.

Couldn’t resist slipping first one finger and then another into her tight, silky heat and pressing deep.

“Nic!” It was part command, part plea and in those moments he wanted—needed—nothing more than to give her what she was demanding of him. But first—

He ripped the fragile lace away from her body with one strong tug, then dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Oh, yes,” she cried, her hands grabbing him as he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and, in doing so, opened her completely to his eyes and hands and mouth. Then he leaned forward and blew a long, slow, steady stream of air right against her most sensitive spot.

She cried out then, a high-pitched strangled sound that made his own need skyrocket. But this wasn’t just about him, wasn’t some quick, anonymous screw. Not to him anyway. And though he didn’t yet know what it was about Desi that intrigued him, he did know that he wanted to see her again. Did know that he wanted to get to know more about her than what color her nipples were or how hot and wet and tight she felt around his finger.

Although he was good with knowing all that, too. More than good, he admitted to himself as he worked his way across her flat stomach, kissing and licking and sucking every inch of her skin.

Her hands moved from his shoulders to his head, her fingers tangling in his hair with a sharpness that only turned him on more. Pleasure coursed through him and he groaned at the sensation before nipping sharply at her hip bone in retaliation.

She cried out again, wobbled a little, then grabbed on to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she fought to stay upright. Her obvious arousal fed his, and he gently bit her a second time. A third time. Then he laved the little stings and explored more of her soft, gorgeous skin. As he did, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d left marks. If she would look in the mirror tomorrow and see tiny bruises on her hips, her stomach, her thighs, and think of him as he knew—even now—that he’d be thinking of her.

“Please, please, please,” she whimpered in the sexiest mantra he’d ever heard. He laughed in response, then kissed his way back across her stomach, then lower, so that his tongue traced along the very edges of her sex.

She was shaking, her body and arms curving around him as much for support as to hold him to her. He loved the feel of her wrapped around him, loved the fact that she was as affected by what was happening between them as he was.

In answer to her silent pleas, he moved closer, pressed her legs apart a little more as he trailed his mouth lower. In response, she stroked her fingers down his face, rubbed the stubble on his jaw. She played with it for long seconds, and her fingers felt so good he felt his resolve crumble. He wanted to be inside her, needed to be inside her with a desperation that bordered on insanity.

But he wanted this more. It was a driving compulsion, this need to watch her while she came. To know what she looked like, sounded like, tasted like when he took her to the edge and then flung her over.

With that thought a beacon shining through his own dark and desperate need, he leaned forward and put his mouth on her. Then he nearly lost it as Desi pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle her scream.

She was in sensory overload, her every nerve popping with pleasure at the feel of Nic touching her. At the feel of his arm around her waist, his big, calloused hand kneading her backside. At the feel of his fingers still buried deep inside her. At the feel and sound and sight of his mouth moving against her sex.

It was so good, so good, that she couldn’t stop herself from pressing back against the wall, against his hand, even as she tilted her hips forward to give him better access.

She was so close that it didn’t take long to bring her right to the edge. She knew he was aware of how close she was. She could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and in the slow, careful way he caressed her. For a moment, just a moment, she wondered what he was waiting for, but then the insidious pleasure of what he was doing, the care he was taking, streaked through her. Intense, powerful, mind-numbing.

“Nic, I can’t—”

“You can,” he told her, his voice hoarse with his own restraint.

“I can’t,” she answered, the words broken and brittle and breathless. “I need—”

“I know what you need.” He kissed her then, hot and openmouthed, making her knees tremble and her hands shake. Her whole body slammed into overload and she reached for him, her fingers tugging at his shirt, his hair, the bowtie hanging limply from his collar.

“Please, please, please,” she muttered mindlessly as she arched against him. She needed more, needed him.

He cursed then, harsh and low, and the words felt hot against her skin. The sensation only added to the tension inside her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. All she could do was feel.

All she could do was crave.

And then he did it. He twisted his fingers inside her even as he swirled his tongue around her most sensitive spot and reached up with his free hand to pinch one of her nipples, hard.

The different sensations slammed Desi into overload. She careened straight over the edge into ecstasy, her body shuddering as pleasure swamped her, more intense and powerful and shattering than anything she had ever felt before.

“Nic!” Lost in the maelstrom, she cried out for him.

And he was there, his hands stroking her soothingly even as he took her higher and higher and higher. Even as he thrust her straight into the stars that shined so brilliantly above them.

When the pleasure broke, when she finally started to come back to herself, Nic wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he fumbled with the front of his tuxedo trousers as he shoved to his feet. Then he cupped his hands under her and lifted her right off her feet.

She was still pleasure drunk and more than a little dazed, but even so, her instincts kicked in. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist, her arms around his broad shoulders and pressed back against the wall for better leverage.

Then he was there between her thighs, blunt and hard and big. She had just come, but as he probed gently at her opening, Desi couldn’t help but respond.

He had been so patient, so careful to ensure that she was satisfied, that she expected him to be impatient now. To be rough, hurried.

Instead, he took his time here, too. Leaning forward until his lips were right next to her ear, he whispered, “You’re so damn beautiful.” Then he pressed soft kisses to her cheek.

The words, combined with the feel of him right against the core of her body, took her arousal up another notch. “It’s okay,” she told him, arching her hips in an effort to encourage him. “I’m ready.”

He groaned then, thrusting forward gently until he was buried halfway inside her. “Okay?” he ground out, and she felt him shaking from the effort it took to hold himself back.

Touched more than she wanted to be—certainly more than she’d expected to be from a torrid encounter with a stranger—she leaned into him. Pressed her mouth to his in a kiss as soft and gentle as his concern for her. “Please,” she whispered against his lips. “I want to feel you inside me.”

That whisper was all it took to snap his control like a twig—which she was exceptionally grateful for.

Nic thrust into her then, so hard that he slammed her back against the wall. But she was still wet, still turned-on, and more than ready for him. Pleasure crashed through her at the first stroke, coursing along her every nerve ending until her entire body felt lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Damn!” he growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her in place. “You feel good.”

Again, she expected him to slam into her, even braced herself for it, but again he surprised her. He brushed kisses across her forehead, her cheeks, her lips as he waited for her to adjust to him. Only when she squirmed against him, trying to get closer, did he finally relent.

He began to move in slow, steady, powerful strokes that had her grasping at him as the need ratcheted up inside her. Soon—too soon—she was on the brink of coming again. But she didn’t want to go over alone this time, didn’t want to lose herself in the ecstasy without him.

Tightening her inner muscles in a long, slow caress, she did what she could to take him as high as he had taken her. She brushed her thumbs across his nipples, whispered how much she wanted him in his ear, lifted her hips to meet each of his thrusts. It must have worked, because he groaned, then began thrusting harder.

Then he was leaning forward, his mouth inches from hers. “Kiss me,” he commanded, a scant moment before his lips slammed down on hers.

She did, pulling his lower lip between her teeth and nipping at him as he had done to her earlier. She wanted more of him, wanted all of him. Craved him until it was an inferno deep inside her.