Page 14 of Stolen Faith
“Both.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re nowhere close to need yet. Before we’re finished, you’ll be begging.”
Brennon was as diabolical as Rowan, whose kisses, while getting closer to where she really wanted them, still weren’t close enough.
He ran his fingers over the bodice of her dress, the touch muted by the material and boning. She was tempted to demand they take the dress off her, but there was something scandalously sexy about having a gorgeous man buried beneath her skirts.
Running his fingers along the top of her breasts, Brennon nuzzled her cheek, his clean-shaven jaw stubbled when compared to hers. “Tell me what he’s doing under there, Izabel. I’m a visual man. Describe it.”
Rowan must have heard Brennon’s request because he placed another kiss on her inner thigh, just an inch or two away from her panties.
“He’s teasing me,” she repeated.
“How?” Brennon asked. “Be specific.”
“He’s kissing my inner thighs.”
“Mmm,” Brennon hummed. “I can’t wait to see you naked. Can’t wait to bury myself between those sexy legs of yours.”
“You haven’t seen my legs; how do you know they’re sexy?”
“Oh, they’re sexy,” Brennon assured her. “I can tell.”
“God,” she gasped as she felt Rowan’s hot breath drawing even closer. She jerked slightly, Rowan’s fingers lightly tracing a line down the damp crotch of her panties. The touch was too light, but enough for him to discover exactly what he was doing to her.
“So wet,” Rowan said in that deliciously deep voice of his, muffled by her skirts but audible.
“Is he touching you now?” Brennon asked.
Rowan ran his finger along the same path, more firmly this time.
“Yes,” she gasped.
Brennon wasn’t happy with her lack of description. “How is he touching you? With his lips? His tongue?”
“Fingers,” she replied, her hips shifting lower, trying to steal more when Rowan stroked her again. If she could move, she’d stand up to strip away her own damn panties, but Rowan’s broad shoulders thrust between her spread legs made that impossible.
She felt light-headed as Rowan’s finger began stroking up and down the center of her panties.
Why hadn’t she thought to wear a thong?
Because, while she’d hoped, she hadn’t really expected things to go this far tonight.
Rowan, the bastard, chuckled when she huffed out an annoyed breath.
He knew exactly what she wanted, but apparently he wasn’t finished teasing her. Dipping one finger beneath the elastic of her panties, he tapped it against her clit, the clever man finding that magic button right out of the gate.
“Again,” she demanded when his finger vanished.
Brennon cupped her breast with his hand, kneading it hard enough for her to feel. “Keep talking to me, Izabel.”
“His fingers were under my panties.”
Brennon groaned, his lips planted on her throat, stroking a path from her ear to her shoulder then back again. “Fuck. Yeah.”
Rowan drew her panties aside with one hand, his fingertips grazing her mons. Every stroke—intended or accidental—continued to drive her out of her mind.
Brennon nipped her earlobe, the bite a sharp reminder for her to keep talking.