“Do you prefer the table or the couch?” He should at least give her a choice of where he’d finally ravish her. After all, he was old-school and French.
She cast a look at the table, then the couch, then back at him. There was a wicked glint in her eyes, sending a shockwave through his loins. God, she was actually contemplating the table, wasn’t she?
“What’ll feel better?”
He couldn’t suppress a grin. “Chérie, no matter how—or where—I take you, it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.” He would make absolutely sure of that.
“Amaury, you’re so full of shit!”
Now he had to prove something. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “Why don’t we settle this little argument when you have all the facts?” Oh yes: he’d drive those facts home inch by inch, stroke by stroke.
Amaury lifted her off the floor and carried her to the couch, swiping a clean table cloth off one of the shelves. Before he dropped her onto the couch, he spread the white cloth over it. He caught her surprised look. Had she thought he was going to fuck her on the filthy couch, subjecting her to God-knows what germs?
“Nina, you have a lot to learn about me.”
“Then let’s start with the lesson right now.” She pulled him down to her, her arms locking behind his neck. Now she spoke his language.
“What would you like to learn?” He brushed his lips against her cheek then nibbled his way along her jaw. Nina was softer than a vampire woman, her fragrance tantalizing, drawing him in. The aroma of her blood drifted into his awareness and drugged him. He remembered the taste of it from when he’d licked her wounds. How he wanted to experience the same moment again, over and over until he would feel drunk on her blood.
“Everything,” she said.
Amaury looked into her eyes, and her rich brown irises sparkled like fire. Nobody had ever looked at him like that, captivating him so easily, stealing his sanity. As he noticed her gaze drop to his mouth, he couldn’t help but lick his lips. He was salivating for a taste of her.
Deliberately slowly he moved his head closer to hers, until his lips all but touched hers. Her breath mingled with his, and he inhaled her scent. Nudging his lips at hers he made contact and felt her sigh. How so light a touch could create such heat in his body. No woman had ever had this effect on him, as if he was burning up just touching her skin.
What would happen when he finally took her, buried himself in her? Would the heat destroy him? Would his blood boil?
Her lips parted underneath his, asking, no, begging for his invasion. There was no need to conquer what was freely given. It didn’t make the victory any less sweet; on the contrary, when he allowed his tongue to dive into her mouth and tangle with hers, he felt the value of it increase tenfold. A kiss so openly given was a gift to cherish. A gift he rarely ever got.
Amaury ran his tongue along her teeth, traced the inside of her cheeks and dueled with her. With long and deep strokes he teased those endearing sounds of pleasure out of her. How he welcomed them, knowing that each was a direct response to his touch, an encouragement to continue, a confirmation of what she wanted.
He gave her no reprieve, but angled his head for a deeper penetration, unable to get enough of her taste. Rarely had he found kissing alone this satisfying. But the little minx had a way of kissing him back that knocked him out of his boots. Kissing had always been only a precursor to sex, but with her it could easily turn into the main event.
Nina pressed her body against his, her hands clamped together behind his neck, forcing him closer. Was she afraid he’d stop, when he would find it impossible to let go of her silken tongue and her smooth lips? Silly little kitten. Like Cyrano would let go of Roxanne. When lips fit so perfectly together, tongues danced in perfect harmony, and breaths mixed to become the most intoxicating French perfume, complementing each other, there was no letting go of that.
Amaury let himself drop flat back onto the couch and took her with him, bringing her on top. His hands went to her back, then slipped lower, resting on the swells of her enticing derrière. Squeezing her firm ass in his hands, he elicited a loud moan from her. How he liked a woman who responded so freely.
His hands roamed, and he found the zipper of her short skirt and lowered it. Sliding underneath the fabric, he shoved the skirt over her hips and down her legs, baring her ass to his hands. Her tiny panties provided barely a barrier to his touch, but nevertheless, they had to go. It was skin he wanted. Naked, smooth skin. Delicate softness and warmth greeted his needy palms and welcomed his probing fingers.