Flustered, she stared.

“That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I like the shape of you. The high arch of your feet, the muscles in your calves. They draw my eye especially when you’re wearing heels.”

“That’s the point of heels.” Her throat was dry; her pulses skipping.

“I like the line of your neck and shoulders. I’m planning on spending some time on those later. I like your knees, your thighs.” His hand slid up slowly, barely touching, then again, just a little higher until he found the lacy top of her stocking. “I like this,” he murmured, “this little surprise under a black skirt.” He hooked a finger under the top, eased it down.

“Oh, God.”

“I plan on going slow.” He watched her as he worked the stocking down her leg. “But if you want me to stop-I hope you won’t-just say so.”

His fingers skimmed over the back of her knee, down her calf, her ankle, until her leg was bare, and her skin humming. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Have some more wine,” he suggested. “This is going to take a while.”

Twelve

SHE ALREADY FELT DRUNK, AND THOUGH SHE considered herself fairly adept, Layla didn’t think she was quite adept enough to casually sip wine while he undressed her. By the time he slipped off the second stocking it was all she could do to set the glass aside without spilling it.

He smiled, and pressed his lips to the arch of her foot. Excitement shot straight up to her belly, and pulsed there like a second agitated heart. He took his time, stirring and seducing, kindling little fires under her skin, exploiting odd and wondrous points of pleasure. When he gripped her ankles, slid her toward him in one smooth motion, she let out a sound of surprise and gratitude.

Now their faces were close, so close the rich, golden brown of his irises mesmerized her. His hand-callused fingertips-glided up her legs, under her rucked-up skirt. Slowly, slowly. And down again while his mouth toyed with hers. A brush, a taste, a bare whisper of torturous contact even when her arms locked around his neck, even when her needy body pressed to his. Once again, the easy touch, the easy taste, left her drained and dazzled.

His hands cupped her hips, lifted her. The quick shock had her gasping, instinct had her wrapping her legs around his waist as he rose with her. This time the kiss was deep and seeking as he stood with her eagerly twined around him.

“My head’s actually spinning,” she managed as he began to walk.

“I plan on keeping it that way awhile.” In the bedroom, he sat on the side of the bed with her straddling him. “I figured candlelight for the first time, but we’ll have to save that.”

He trailed his fingers over her shoulders, over the soft wool of the pretty blue sweater, along the tiny pearl buttons down the front. “You always look just right.” He drew it down her arms to her elbows, left it there. “You’ve got a knack for it.”

With her arms roped in cashmere, he pressed his lips, just a light hint of teeth, to the side of her neck, down her skin to the edge of the little sweater she wore beneath.

He loved the light tremor that ran through her, the sound of her breath quickening, thickening. And the look of her, flushed, just a little anxious. He ran his hands down her arms until both his fingers and the cashmere cuffed her wrists. Then he took her mouth, ravishing it, saturating himself with the taste of her, devouring the quick, helpless sounds she made while her pulse thundered under his hands.

He eased back, a whisper back, and smiled into her dazed eyes. “We’ll save this one for later, too,” he said and released her hands.

He watched her face as he drew the little sweater up and away; he watched her face as he played his fingertips over her warm, bare skin. Then he pleased himself, looked down at breasts clothed in a fancy bra of blue lace. “Yeah, you always look just right.”

Reaching behind her, he eased down the zipper of her skirt.

She felt as if she moved through water, warm, softened with fragrance. Her heart thudded, slow and hard as she unbuttoned his shirt, as she found the hard muscles of his shoulders, his chest, his back. When he kissed her again, when he lowered her to her back, she was the water. Warm, soft, and fluid. His hands, his lips played over her, tirelessly, relentlessly. She had no defense against them, against her own need, and wanted none. When he freed her breasts, she arched to him. Thrilled to the steady greed of his lips, of his tongue.

He worked down her, coating her with pleasure until he drew the matching lace away and exposed her.

Then came the whirlpool. She was caught in it, a mad spin that dragged her under to where the water whirled hot and fast. She cried out, shocked, her hands fisting in the sheets for purchase as the orgasm ripped through her. Even when she sobbed out his name, he didn’t stop. When she came again, it was like going mad.

Her body quivered and writhed under him, clawing at what was left of his control. She sprawled over the tangled sheets in absolute surrender while the dim light of the dying evening spilled over her and sheened her in gold. Once more he cupped her hips, lifted them. Once more his eyes met hers, held hers as he filled her. As he trapped himself inside her. He watched her eyes as he thrust deep. Watched them as he took her, and as she wrapped tight to take him.

Watched until they closed on the peak of her pleasure, and until his own needs swallowed him whole.

SHE WASN’T SURE SHE COULD MOVE, OR THAT THE bones in her body would ever solidify again and hold her upright.

She wasn’t sure she cared.

He sprawled on top of her, dead weight, and that didn’t seem to matter either. She liked his weight, his warmth, liked feeling the thunder of his heartbeat so she knew she hadn’t been the only one to fly.

She’d known he’d be gentle, and that he’d be fun. But she hadn’t known he’d be… astonishing.

“Want me to move?” His voice was thick, just a little sleepy.

“Not especially.”

“Good, ’cause I like it here. I’ll get the wine and maybe order us some dinner at some point.”

“No hurry.”

“Got a question.” He brushed his lips over her cheek as he lifted his head. “Do you always match your underwear to your clothes?”

“Not always. But often. I’m a little obsessive.”

“Really worked for me.” He toyed with the glittery chain she wore around her neck. “So does this, or the fact that this and earrings are all you’re wearing.” He lowered his head again to kiss her, and while he lingered over it, released the chain to rub his thumbs over her nipples. His lips curved to hers when she let out a little moan.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured and slipped inside her again, hard as steel.

Her eyes went wide. “How can you-don’t you have to… Oh God. Oh God.”

“You’re all soft now. Wet and soft and even more sensitive than the first time.” He moved in her, long, long, slow thrusts, leaving her shuddering on each stroke. “I’ll take you deeper this time. Close your eyes, Layla. Let yourself take what I’m giving you.”

She had no choice; she was beyond will. Her body was so heavy, while inside it a thousand small eruptions burst. He touched her, his hands alighting needs she thought had gone quiet.

So she went deeper, into pleasure both intense and foreign.

“Don’t stop. Don’t.”

“Not until you get there.”

When she did, it was like plummeting out of the sky, a tumbling free fall that stole the breath.

SHE WAS STILL LIMP WHEN HE BROUGHT HER A glass of wine. “I ordered pizza. That okay?”

She managed a nod. “How do you… Can you always recover that quickly?”

“One of the perks.” He sat cross-legged on the bed with his own glass of wine, and cocked his head. “Hasn’t Quinn mentioned it? Come on, I know your breed talks about sex.”