Page 65 of Stolen Dreams
Strong arms snake around my waist and hoist me off the floor, our kiss feral as he pads across the room. Then he lowers my legs, my feet landing on a soft rug, the edge of the bed grazing the back of my thighs. His hands coast up either side of my body, over my shoulders, along my neck to cup my jaw.
Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead on mine, a hint of trepidation rimming his eyes. “Please tell me you want this.” His gaze drops to my lips. “Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”
I weave my fingers through his hair. “I want this. I wantyou.” I fist his thick strands and give a slight tug. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before his lips seal mine with a scorching kiss. A kiss that puts all its predecessors to shame.
Inch by mile-long inch, my hands drift down his chest to the hem of his shirt. The need to touch him, to feel him skin to skin, overrides everything. I shove his shirt up, skim my fingers over each delicious ridge and dip of his abdomen. He tears his mouth from mine long enough to tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then his lips are on mine, our tongues tangling as if it’s the first time. And the last.
My body sighs as he caresses the apples of my cheeks, grows hot as he trails the length of my neck, wobbles as he roams the lines of my collarbones. Delicately, precisely, his fingers slip under my dress, ease the strap off one shoulder, then the other. The cotton puddles at my feet as I tear my mouth from his, tip my head back, and gasp.
He doesn’t stray from my body for a single beat. Greedy lips kiss the line of my jaw. Eager fingers caress my bare back until they reach the hooks of my bra and set them free, the lingerie joining my dress on the floor. Goose bumps freckle my skin and I shudder.
His tongue darts out and he tastes the sensitive skin beneath my ear, licks a trail of fire down the length of my neck, traces the hollow of my throat, then nips and sucks and savors the swell of my breast.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips and fingers memorizing my curves. “Absolutely perfect.”
A desperate ache blooms low in my belly, an insatiable hunger pooling between my thighs and dampening my panties.My nipples pinch and stiffen to hard peaks. My body vibrates, desperate for more.
Instinct takes over and I reach for his shorts, clawing at the button, greedy for more of him. Every kiss, every touch, every breath in this moment feels essential. Primal.Feral. It’s too much and nowhere near enough.
I pop the button of his shorts and drag the zipper down the teeth. Groan when they hit the floor with a resoundingthump. Then his mouth is back on mine, starved and wild. His hands clutch my hips, kneading, bruising. Then he eases up. Gives me more of his weight as he guides me down onto the bed.
“So soft,” he whispers against my lips as his fingers caress the curve of my breast. “Delicate.” His thumb circles then rolls over my nipple. He takes my mouth in another searing kiss, then nips my chin and drifts down to explore my body. I gasp as his tongue flicks and teeth graze a trail from one breast to the other.
Nip.
My fingers dive into his thick locks, my body writhing beneath his weight.
Lick.
Kneading fingers massage their way down my sides then hook in the waist of my panties.
Suck.
Frenetic energy coils around my spine, expands low in my belly, and screams for relief. With each touch, taste, hum of his approval, I crave more. Beg for more.
If I’m a dormant fire, he is the oxygen triggering my explosion.
Slowly, purposefully, he slides my panties down my hips, my thighs, then tosses them to the floor. The room goes impossibly quiet as I lie bare beneath him. Every inch of me on display, vulnerable, exposed.
Those rich, dark eyes lock with mine as he kisses his way down my body slower, with more tenderness, affection. As he worships me from my navel to the apex of my thighs. As he hooks one thigh, then the other over his shoulders.
“Dreamed of this moment,” he confesses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Tasting you.” Fire flares in his eyes. “Fucking you with my tongue.”
His admission fuels the roaring fire inside me. Makes me impatient, ravenous. More brazen than ever. “Then taste me.”
His eyes flare as he clutches my thighs in a bruising grip.
Gaze anchored to his, I wet my lips and swallow. “Fuck me.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, giving my thighs another squeeze. Then, with his eyes still hooked to mine, he drops down and drags his tongue through my center. A feral growl vibrates against my skin as his nails bite my flesh.
My fingers dive into his hair. My back arches off the mattress. Again and again, he flicks my clit with his expert tongue. But it’s not enough. I need more pressure, more of his rough stubble.
I dig my heels into his upper back. Rock my hips into him. Tug his hair.
He burrows deeper and fulfills my silent request for more. Moans his approval against my clit and devours me libidinously, without shame.