He blew lightly on her nipple. “Shall I kiss you?” He looked up. He knew he was taking a chance with this, waiting for her answer. He probably shouldn’t even have posed the question, but even though his intent was to seduce, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it without at least one affirmative word from her.
“Shall I?” he murmured again, sweetening the deal with one light flick of his tongue across her nipple.
“Yes!” she burst out. “Yes, for God’s sake, yes!”
He smiled. Slowly, languidly, savoring the moment. And then, after letting her quiver with anticipation for one second longer than was probably fair, he leaned in and took her into his mouth, pouring years and years of desire onto the one breast, centering it wickedly onto one innocent nipple.
She wasn’t going to stand a chance.
“Oh, my God!” she gasped, grasping the edge of the table for purchase as her entire body arched back. “Oh, my God. Oh, Michael. Oh, my God.”
He took advantage of her passion to slide his hands around her hips and lift her up until she was seated on the table, her legs parting for him as he stepped into their feminine cradle.
Satisfaction raced through his veins, even as his body screamed for its own pleasure. He loved that he could do this to her, make her scream and moan and cry out with desire. She was so strong, always so cool and composed, and yet right now she was simply and purely his, a slave to her own needs, captive to his expert touch.
He kissed, he licked, he nibbled, he tugged. He tortured her until he thought she might explode. Her breath was loud and gasping, and her moans had grown more and more incoherent.
And all the while his hands were moving silently up her legs, first grasping her ankles, then her calves, pushing her skirts up and up, until they settled in a rumpled pool above her knees.
And it was only then that he pulled away and gave her a hint of a reprieve.
She looked at him, her eyes glazed, her lips pink and parted. She didn’t say anything; he didn’t think she could say anything. But he saw the questions in her eyes. She might be beyond speech, but she was several minutes away from total insanity.
“I thought it would be cruel to torture it any longer,” he said, lightly taking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
She groaned.
“You like that.” It was a statement, and not a particularly sophisticated one, but this was Francesca, not some nameless woman he was tupping while he closed his eyes and imagined her face. And every time she mewled with pleasure his heart raced with joy. “You like it,” he said again, smiling with satisfaction.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He leaned in until his lips were brushing her ear. “You’ll like this, too.”
“What?” she asked, surprising him with her query.
He’d thought she was too far gone to question him aloud.
He nudged her skirts a little higher, just enough so that there was no danger of them falling off her lap. “You want to hear it, don’t you?” he murmured, sliding his hands until they were just above her knees. He squeezed her thighs gently, circling against her skin with his thumbs. “You want to know.”
She nodded.
He moved toward her again, lightly touching his lips to hers, close enough to feel her, yet far enough to speak. “You were always so curious,” he murmured. “You asked so many questions.”
He slid his lips along her cheek to her ear, whispering all the way. “Michael,” he said, softening his voice to mimic hers, “tell me something naughty. Tell me something wicked.”
She blushed. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, sense the hot rush of blood to her skin.
“But I never told you what you wanted to hear, did I?” he asked, lightly nipping at her earlobe. “I always left you outside the bedroom door.”
He paused, not because he expected an answer, just because he wanted to hear her breathe.
“Did you wonder?” he whispered. “Did you leave me and wonder what I hadn’t told you?” He leaned in, just so she’d feel his lips move whisper-light against her ear. “Did you want to know,” he whispered, “what I did when I was wicked?”
He wouldn’t make her answer; it wouldn’t be fair. But he couldn’t stop his own mind from racing back in time, remembering the countless times he’d teased her with hints of his exploits.
He had never been the one to bring them up, however; she had always asked.
“Do you want me to tell you?” he murmured. He felt her jerk slightly in surprise, and he chuckled. “Not about them, Francesca. You. Only you.”
She turned, causing his lips to slide along her cheek. He drew back so he could see her face, and her question was clear in her eyes.
What do you mean?
He moved his hands, exerting just enough pressure on her thighs to spread them open one more wicked inch. “Do you want me to tell you what I’m going to do now?” He leaned down, running his tongue along her nipple, which had grown hard and taut in the cool air of the late afternoon. ‘To you?“ he added.
She swallowed convulsively. He decided to take that as a yes.
“There are so many choices,” he said huskily, sliding his hands up her legs another few inches. “I scarcely know where to start.”
He stopped to look at her for a moment. She was breathing hard, her lips parted and plump from his kisses. And she was mesmerized, completely under his spell.
He dipped closer once again, to her other ear, so he could make sure his words fell hot and moist upon her soul. “I think, however, that I would have to start where you need me most. First I’d kiss you…”-he pressed his thumbs into the soft flesh of her inner thighs-“… here.”