Her breasts swelled and her nipples got so hard, they hurt. Between her legs she felt a gush of moisture. Her insides were heavy.
He broke the kiss and nibbled his way along her jaw. She tilted her head to give him more access, inviting him to continue. At the same time she longed to rip off her clothes so they could get right to it. She was ready—hell, she’d been ready for years.
He put his hands on her waist and urged her to sit up. Not sure what he was doing, she complied, only to have him shift toward the center of the sofa and then position her so she straddled him.
At first the beauty of the situation escaped her. Then, as she leaned in to kiss him and she felt his hands slide from her waist up her rib cage, it all became clear.
Even as his tongue circled hers, teasing, playing, inviting, he cupped her breasts. His large hands covered her curves. Exquisite pressure had her moaning. Every inch of her was so sensitized, she thought she might pass out from the pleasure of him touching her like that. When he brushed his thumbs against her nipples, it was all she could do not to scream.
Sensation rocked her. Her skin was on fire, yet she was so hungry, nothing was enough. She deepened their kisses, needing everything he had for her. He met her demands and clamped his lips around her tongue, then sucked hard.
More, she thought frantically. She needed more.
He read her mind, or maybe just the way she writhed against him. While he kept one hand on her breast, he moved the other between her legs.
Even through the layers of panties and jeans, she felt the pressure of his fingers. She pressed down and he pressed up and when he found that one spot of pleasure, she groaned.
A very tiny, sensible part of her brain told her this was not a good idea. That she would regret this later. But the part of her that had done without for so long didn’t really give a damn.
So when he unfastened the button on her jeans, she didn’t protest. And when he moved her to one side, she helped push them down. And when he slipped to the floor between her legs, turned to face her and bent low to kiss her intimately between her thighs, she could only breathe a prayer of thanksgiving.
The man knew what he was doing, she thought in relief as he pressed his tongue against her swollen center. He moved slowly, leisurely, forcing her to keep pace with him when her choice would have been to run as fast as possible to the finish.
He circled around, then returned to that one spot and began to lick it over and over. At the same time, he slipped a finger inside of her and rotated it.
One finger. That was all, but it was enough. Her muscles clamped around it and held on. Deep in her belly she felt a pulsing kind of tension. The kind that warned her she wasn’t going to hold on for very long.
“No,” she moaned. “Not yet.” She had to make this last longer than thirty seconds.
But she couldn’t. Not when he continued to rub his flat tongue against her sensitive flesh and she could feel his hot breath on her. Not when he thrust in and out of her, teasing her into an arousal that was surely going to make her explode.
She clutched the edge of the sofa and tried to think of something mundane. Laundry. Yeah, laundry. Then she imagined him taking off his clothes so she would do the laundry. She imagined him hard and naked and plunging into her and she was gone.
At the first contraction, she drew her legs apart, exposing all of herself to him. She moaned, she held in a scream, she begged him never to stop.
When she’d wrung every last bit of pleasure from the experience, she put her feet on the floor and wondered what on earth she was supposed to say. Getting naked hadn’t been on her to-do list, despite all the fantasies she’d had about him.
He rested a forearm on her bare thigh, kissed her belly and said, “I’d like to take credit for that, but I think it’s more a reflection of how long you’ve been out of the game.”
She felt a blush climbing her cheeks. “Yes, well, I’m sure it’s both.”
He rubbed his thumb across her mouth. “It just happened, Elissa. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Which meant what? That it didn’t mean anything to him or there was no pressure?
Her gaze dropped to his very obvious erection. “And for our second act,” she said lightly.
“No second act.”
He stood and then pulled her to her feet. She felt very strange, standing there naked from the waist down.
“I wanted to do that,” he said. “I don’t get to do it enough.”
“But…”
“No buts.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m a guy who doesn’t want to get involved. You’re not the fuck-and-run type.”
Okay, but who would be doing the running? Him or her?
“We can’t just leave you like that,” she said.
“I’ve been through worse.”
“But we could…” Her voice trailed off as she wasn’t sure what she was offering.
“No, we couldn’t. Trust me. This is better.”
And then he was gone. The front door closed behind him, leaving her feeling exposed in more ways than just being undressed.
What had just happened? How could he do that to her and just leave?
CHAPTER TWELVE
REID GLANCED at the résumé in front of him. Sandy Larson, age thirty-five. She had a bunch of initials after her name, which he assumed was a good thing for a nurse.
So far he’d had three interviews with women who were qualified, but didn’t come close to having personalities
