after all. Then his fingertip traces along the bottom of my foot. I arch back, surprised and delighted. The touch is featherlight and almost tickles, and when he does it again, I release a shuddering breath. My whole body stiffens as I concentrate only on that one spot. I feel the sparks shoot through me, and realize that I’m aroused.
I clutch the edge of the bench and let my head tilt back farther. A few tendrils of hair brush the nape of my neck. The combination of sensations—his touch on my feet, the soft caress of hair—is overwhelming. My head truly is spinning now, and not from the champagne.
He increases the pressure, using the pads of his thumbs to work the soreness out of my feet, then gently strokes the sensitive spots where my shoes have rubbed. It’s slow. It’s intimate. It’s confusing as hell.
I’m breathing hard, and I can’t deny the small knot of panic that is beginning to unravel in my stomach. I’ve let down my guard. I’ve let things progress. I’m edging dangerously close to where I never, ever go—but damn me, I don’t know that I have the strength to turn back.
“Now,” he says.
I open my eyes, confused, and the rapturous expression on his face almost does me in.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and before I even have a chance to process his words, his palm is pressed against the back of my head. Somehow, he’s shifted our positions, and it’s no longer my feet on his lap, but my thighs, so that our bodies are close and he’s bent over me, his lips pressed against mine. I’m struck by how soft his mouth is, yet firm, too. He’s completely incharge. Demanding. Taking exactly what he wants—and what I’m so willing to give.
I hear myself moan, and he takes advantage of my parted lips to dip his tongue inside.
He is an expert kisser, and I lose myself in the pleasure of it. I don’t know when, but at some point I realize that one of my hands is clutching his shirt and the other is twined in his hair. It’s thick and soft and I make a fist around a handful and use that to leverage his mouth even harder against mine. I want to lose myself in his kiss. I want to let the fire that’s spreading over my body grow. Maybe it will consume me. Maybe, like a Phoenix, I will rise again after being incinerated by Damien Stark’s touch.
His tongue strokes mine, sending erotic sparks dancing through me. My skin, already so sensitive just from his proximity, now seems like an instrument of torture, because the anticipation of his touch is simply too much to bear. A low, demanding ache builds between my thighs, and I press my legs together in both defense and in an attempt at satisfaction.
He makes a growling noise and shifts me in his arms. Suddenly, his hand is on my hip and the soft material of my skirt caresses my skin as he glides over it toward my crotch. I tense, aroused and nervous, but I don’t push him away. My body is pulsing, my clit throbbing, and I want release. I want Damien.
His entire body is hard against mine. He holds me close and deepens the kiss as his hand slopes down toward my sex, just slow enough to drive me crazy. I shift, leaving one leg on his thighs, but our position is awkward and my other leg slides off. I press the ball of my bare foot to the ground for balance even as I feel a rush of cool air find its way in underneath my skirt to tease my damp panties.
In this position I’m wide open and vulnerable, and Stark cups his hand over my sex and moans into my mouth. Even through the material of my skirt and the satin of my panties, I can feel hisheat. He strokes me through my clothes, his fingers teasing my clit, making me so wet I think I will melt.
My skirt is hitched up, but it still covers my thighs. Even so, he’s close—so close to the secrets I don’t want to share, and I know that if he tries to stroke my inner thighs that I will bolt. I’m nervous. Afraid, even. But danger and fear have added an edge to my excitement. I don’t think
I clutch the edge of the bench and let my head tilt back farther. A few tendrils of hair brush the nape of my neck. The combination of sensations—his touch on my feet, the soft caress of hair—is overwhelming. My head truly is spinning now, and not from the champagne.
He increases the pressure, using the pads of his thumbs to work the soreness out of my feet, then gently strokes the sensitive spots where my shoes have rubbed. It’s slow. It’s intimate. It’s confusing as hell.
I’m breathing hard, and I can’t deny the small knot of panic that is beginning to unravel in my stomach. I’ve let down my guard. I’ve let things progress. I’m edging dangerously close to where I never, ever go—but damn me, I don’t know that I have the strength to turn back.
“Now,” he says.
I open my eyes, confused, and the rapturous expression on his face almost does me in.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and before I even have a chance to process his words, his palm is pressed against the back of my head. Somehow, he’s shifted our positions, and it’s no longer my feet on his lap, but my thighs, so that our bodies are close and he’s bent over me, his lips pressed against mine. I’m struck by how soft his mouth is, yet firm, too. He’s completely incharge. Demanding. Taking exactly what he wants—and what I’m so willing to give.
I hear myself moan, and he takes advantage of my parted lips to dip his tongue inside.
He is an expert kisser, and I lose myself in the pleasure of it. I don’t know when, but at some point I realize that one of my hands is clutching his shirt and the other is twined in his hair. It’s thick and soft and I make a fist around a handful and use that to leverage his mouth even harder against mine. I want to lose myself in his kiss. I want to let the fire that’s spreading over my body grow. Maybe it will consume me. Maybe, like a Phoenix, I will rise again after being incinerated by Damien Stark’s touch.
His tongue strokes mine, sending erotic sparks dancing through me. My skin, already so sensitive just from his proximity, now seems like an instrument of torture, because the anticipation of his touch is simply too much to bear. A low, demanding ache builds between my thighs, and I press my legs together in both defense and in an attempt at satisfaction.
He makes a growling noise and shifts me in his arms. Suddenly, his hand is on my hip and the soft material of my skirt caresses my skin as he glides over it toward my crotch. I tense, aroused and nervous, but I don’t push him away. My body is pulsing, my clit throbbing, and I want release. I want Damien.
His entire body is hard against mine. He holds me close and deepens the kiss as his hand slopes down toward my sex, just slow enough to drive me crazy. I shift, leaving one leg on his thighs, but our position is awkward and my other leg slides off. I press the ball of my bare foot to the ground for balance even as I feel a rush of cool air find its way in underneath my skirt to tease my damp panties.
In this position I’m wide open and vulnerable, and Stark cups his hand over my sex and moans into my mouth. Even through the material of my skirt and the satin of my panties, I can feel hisheat. He strokes me through my clothes, his fingers teasing my clit, making me so wet I think I will melt.
My skirt is hitched up, but it still covers my thighs. Even so, he’s close—so close to the secrets I don’t want to share, and I know that if he tries to stroke my inner thighs that I will bolt. I’m nervous. Afraid, even. But danger and fear have added an edge to my excitement. I don’t think
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