“Most women wouldn’t say I hold myself back in the slightest, Francesca. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“Oh. I see,” she said, her cheeks growing hotter yet. Was she depraved because she liked it when he lost himself in the moment and was focused entirely on finding pleasure in her flesh?
A laugh broke free of his throat. “It’s a good thing one of us does,” he murmured, pushing the grape between her lips. Despite his stated confusion, she felt his cock stiffen even further next to her hip. The conversation was arousing her, too, for some reason.
“It’s just . . .” She hesitated as she chewed, meeting his stare. “I know you often hold yourself back until the end.”
“With good reason,” he said, frowning. “I would never want to hurt you.”
“I know, and I don’t want to be harmed,” she assured, adding hesitantly. “But you could be freer with me. Once in a while. It wouldn’t cause any lasting harm. I . . . it . . .”
“What, Francesca?” he asked tensely, the grapes forgotten.
“It turns me on when you use me for your pleasure.”
For a moment, he just pinned her with his stare. Then his mouth shaped a curse. He whipped the blanket off her legs, exposing her full nudity.
“I know you’re trying to tempt me into coming again in that sweet mouth, but it’s not going to work, lovely. Not until I’m ready, it’s not,” he said grimly as he lowered on the bed and rolled over until he was between her spread thighs, belly down.
“I wasn’t trying to tempt you into anything,” she said, laughing breathlessly.
He gave her a half-amused, half-impatient glance. Her breath caught when he lowered his head to her spread pussy.
“Bend your knees and spread your thighs more,” he ordered. She slid her feet along the sheet toward her shoulders, highly aware of his stare on her pussy.
“Ian?” she asked shakily when he plucked another grape. Her eyes widened when he pushed the dusky purple fruit between her labia and pressed it against her clit, up and down, around and around. He pressed hard. The grape’s skin broke, cool juice running over her feverish flesh.
“You said it yourself. I need to eat, too,” he said gruffly before he lowered his head between her thighs and began to feast with a suddenly ravenous appetite.
Chapter Ten
“Oh God,” she muttered, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her fingers threaded into his thick dark hair, holding him against the very core of her while Ian worked his magic. He pushed at the back of her thighs and her feet came off the bed. She abandoned herself to pleasure, her consciousness drowning in it. His mouth and tongue were wet, firm, and delicious on her sex. The whiskers on his moving jaw agitated the tender flesh of her inner thighs, the low-grade burn amplifying her arousal. Despite her rapture, Ian’s focus on making love to her was even more intense. When the pounding started at the cottage front door, it penetrated her awareness before it did Ian’s.
“Ian, stop,” she gasped. She scraped her nails against his scalp to get his attention. He rubbed her clit with a stiffened tongue and she moaned, pushing her to him despite what she’d said. The knocking resumed. She heard someone call Ian’s name. “Ian, it’s your grandfather. Ian.”
He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Her clit twanged in deprivation from pleasure and acute longing when she saw how beautiful he looked, his lower face slick with her juices, his eyelids heavy with arousal, the slits of his blue eyes burning with a barely banked flame. He blinked and for a moment he seemed to come back to reality. His nostrils flared and he inhaled, undoubtedly catching her scent. He gave her pussy a blazing glance and cursed before he rolled off the bed.
“I’ll go and see what he wants,” he said, grabbing his shirt and shoving his arms through the sleeves. He wiped off his face with the napkin near his plate. “You stay here. And don’t you dare get dressed,” he grated out with a hard glance before he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Despite his pointed warning, she did get up and scurry into her clothing, James’s voice resounding from the nearby living room leaving her feeling self-conscious. Besides, she could hear what he was telling Ian.
The front door slammed closed. A moment later, Ian walked into the bedroom. She sat at the edge of the bed, putting on her boots. His gaze ran over her clothed body. He frowned.
“You heard?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said, retrieving his socks and shoes and sitting on a chair to put them on. “I left my phone at the house because I didn’t want to be disturbed coming out here. But you know how Lin gets when she’s on a mission. There’s been a couple glitches with the press conference tomorrow, and I need to get back and deal with them. She couldn’t reach me, so she called the house phone and spoke to Grandfather. After I deal with those things, I really should work on a statement for tomorrow.”
“It’s okay. I understand,” she said truthfully, tying the lace on her boots. She could just imagine the gargantuan task laid before Lin of coordinating a press conference on a day’s notice from across the ocean.
“You’ll come back with me?” he said, standing.
She gave him a knowing, wry glance. It wasn’t really a question. He didn’t want her out here alone. She sighed, not feeling up to arguing with him after their intimate, stolen moments together.
“Okay. I can firm up the sketches I’ve done so far up at the house,” she conceded, putting on her coat and standing to grab her things. He finished dressing and waited for her near the door. He remained unmoving when she approached. She stood before him and looked up at him solemnly.