And she was utterly, joyfully lost.
Quinn had been ready to fly when he realized how happy he’d made Sarah. Now he bracketed her against the door, reluctant to shift should the swirling storm of magic binding them diminish. But she was right there with him, caught up like he was, and he could let himself go. Lines blurred. He didn’t give a damn about age, her brother, or their pasts. Their differences dissolved into a buzz he pushed to the back of his mind.
He’d never been here before, standing on a precipice and ready to lose himself. In her.
Between tongue-filled kisses, he became aware she was unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled away to tear it from his body, then landed back against her, groaning with the feel of her fingers digging into his back and shoulders.
“Your turn,” he growled against her mouth. Faint light from somewhere illuminated the tiny buttons on her dress, and his fingers were on them, fumbling to get them undone. The buttons seemed to go on and on, and when he thought he’d reached the last one, he yanked and heard fabric rip.
Wide-eyed, he jerked backward. “I’ll get you a new one,” he panted. If the tearing bothered her, she didn’t show it. No, she was panting too, and her heaving chest yanked his eyes to her burgundy-and-black lace bra and the sweet little bow between the cups, right where he wanted to plant his mouth. Creamy flesh crested the tops and peeked enticingly through the lace. He cupped one breast and kneaded it with a little more roughness than he’d intended. She let out a provocative sound that made his rock-hard dick throb painfully against his fly. Slowly raising his eyes, he was momentarily trapped in her molten hazel gaze.
She wanted this as much as he did—a fact her hands were making abundantly clear as they worked at loosening his belt.
His mouth took hers again, and he pushed the dress from her shoulders, letting it slide down her body and drop to her feet. Lips and tongues locked in a torrid tango, he pivoted their bodies again, moving toward the bed.
God, he wanted all her clothes on the floor. Now.
He unclasped her bra and didn’t bother taking it off before filling his hands. So damn soft, so …
She got his belt unfastened and shoved his pants and boxer briefs over his hips, but the briefs got hung up on his shaft, as hard and erect as a flagpole. Wordlessly, they switched, him getting untangled while she yanked off her bra.
For a moment, they faced one another, frozen in place. The sound of their ragged breathing surrounded them. His eyes blazed a path from her face to her stiletto sandals and back up again, and unbearable need consumed him. He dropped on the edge of the mattress, taking pants, underwear, socks, and shoes off in one wild flourish, then tugged her to him and wrestled her panties down her legs. She bent her leg behind her, reaching to undo one of her shoes, giving him a glorious view of her body gilded in the soft light.
She was utter perfection, a masterpiece, and his slim hold on patience dissolved. He wanted all of her.
He grasped the hand loosening her shoe, and she gave him a curious look. “Leave them on,” he said as he fell back on the bed, pulling her on top of him, eliciting a lusty giggle from her. Soon he’d rolled them onto their sides, his arms encircling her, her hands laced behind his neck and her silky thigh draped over his hip. Her pointy heel grazed his ass.
Flipping her on her back, he bent his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, hard. Meanwhile, his free hand massaged her other breast, strumming her nipple, and she arched her back off the bed with a throaty moan that scattered his coherent thoughts, letting them fall among the discarded clothes on the floor.
What remained in his head was unformed, primal, carnal.
Her tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he opened, letting her dance in and explore. He might have let out a long, thunderous sigh when she dragged the edge of her heel across the back of his thigh. While she kissed him, her fingers plowed through his hair, shooting tingles to his blazing groin. Her nails raked his shoulders and arms, pain and pleasure entwined together, and he rode the explosion of sensations like a white-water kayaker.
Fuck, she felt good! What she was doing to him, how she felt beneath him. The real Sarah blew his fantasy Sarah out of the water.
He ran the tip of his tongue along her throat, over her collarbone, pausing to suck on her sweet skin, then latching on to a breast, licking, nipping, suckling, tasting. The more pressure he used, the more her body seemed to spark and hum to some erotic rhythm he could actually feel coursing through him too. He was transported, moving without strategy, simply tuned into her cadence like he was part of an amorphous, heaving sea without boundaries.
He trailed a free hand over her smooth flank, digging his fingers into her contours, relishing the silky skin along her inner thighs as he worked his way up. She was all wetness and heat, and when his finger entered her, her body bowed again and she gasped out, “God, yes!”
He lost what was left of his mind.
Her fingers were on him, his were inside her, their mouths locked in a blazing kiss. A connection like an electric lasso bound him to her, its twisted strands made up of need, desire, and impassioned desperation.
What could have been seconds or minutes later, he was tearing open a packet and rolling on a condom without recalling taking it
