Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her again; a deep, long, wet kiss that shut down what little brain power he had left. She tasted warm and sweet and innately female. She tasted like the solution to his restless loneliness. She tasted like she was…his. “I want more than Spencer got,” he murmured. “I want more than the kiss. Tell me right now if you don’t, before this goes any further.”
“That elusive word more again…” she whispered, staring at him as she pulled his head back down. “Kiss me, Stone. Take what you want.”
He would. He did, taking what he wanted without apology, showing her what he was beginning to realize he felt. A fact that amped up both his heartbeat and the mood, which went from calm and lazily aroused to hot-as-hell wild frenzied as they went at it, their hands fighting for purchase, tangling in each other. She was letting out those helpless little pants as she tried to get under his clothes, the sexiest breathy sounds he’d ever heard, which were going to make him go off so he grabbed her hands and pressed them high above her head. This brought his entire weight down on her, which she welcomed by spreading her legs even further and wrapping them around him, bringing him in tighter against her. “God,” he murmured, his mouth on her throat now. “God, Emma.”
“I know,” she gasped, latching her mouth onto his shoulder. It was crazy how fast the air changed, how fast it sparked, and lit fire.
Crazy. Take what he wanted? He wanted it all.
“Stone—”
“Tell me.”
“You. I want you.”
The words were no sooner out of Emma’s mouth before he ripped off his shirt, and then hers, both following the same air path over his shoulder and across the room.
He popped open her bra and bent his head, kissing her jaw, her throat, her shoulder, and then a breast, gently pulling it into his mouth and sucking, a motion so perfect that it arched her right off the couch and further into his mouth. An inarticulate sound left her, one that conveyed shocking need and hunger, which might have horrified her if she’d been alone in this.
But she wasn’t. For once, she wasn’t alone at all, and given the sound that escaped his throat—one of equal need and hunger, and also of thrilling impatience, he felt it too as he lifted up enough to unhook and unzip her pants. Still teasing her ni**les with his tongue, he slid a hand down her leg, bending it so he could reach to yank off her shoe.
She went to work on his clothes, and had his sweats opened and her hands inside when he twisted to get at her other shoe. Tangled up in each other, they lost their balance and together fell off the couch and onto the small space on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
“Jesus.” He arched up to slide his hands beneath her head as she dissolved into laughter. “Are you okay?” he demanded.“Yes.” She held onto him when he would have pulled away. Her bra was caught on her elbow, her pants half on and half off, both hampering her movements. He lay over her, no shirt, his sweats halfway down. His chest was warm and deliciously hard against her. She realized he had a leg thrust between hers, one hand still cradling her head in a protective gesture that melted her as his other hand, low on her back, moved lower to cup her bottom. “Very okay. You?”
His eyes were lit with heat and humor as his mouth curved. “I could be better.”
“You have a nearly naked woman in your arms and you could be better?”
“I could be inside you.”
His words liquefied her bones. “I suggest rectifying the situation. Stat.”
“I love it when you get bossy.” He pushed with his thigh, just a little, which opened her legs to him further, and then he settled into the spot as if he’d been made for it as his fingers slid between her legs and stroked.
She cried out, she couldn’t help it. She’d never been amused and excited at the same time before, never, and it confused her brain, flipped a switch somewhere deep inside, making it feel so intense she almost couldn’t take it. “Not to criticize your technique,” she panted. “But what’s taking so long?”
With a grin, he lowered his head and licked her nipple, rasping his tongue over the tip, and then again, while she sucked in a breath. “I’ve never been a fast mover,” he said against her flesh.
As if to prove the point, he slid his way down her body, kissing her ribs, her belly button, her hip. His fingers idly, almost lazily, hooked in her pants. He lifted his head and watched her as he tugged.
But since he’d only gotten one of her shoes off, they got stuck on her leg. He didn’t seem concerned as he dropped his gaze to see what he was doing, and ran a finger over the elastic on her bikini panties. “Pretty,” he said of the navy blue and white sailor stripes. He slid them down, sucking in a breath at all he’d revealed. “God. Look at you.”
“Stone—”
“Open.” Accompanying this gentle demand, he settled a hand on her thigh and nudged it, wedging his shoulders between her legs, giving him quite the front row view.
“Um.” Trapped, she lay there on the floor between the couch and the table, her legs held open by his wide shoulders, with nowhere to escape. She could have pushed him away, could have sat up, could have stopped him in a hundred different ways, but instead, when he leaned forward and lapped at her like she was a bowl of cream, she sank her fingers into his hair and held on for the ride.
She cried out again. And then again when he added his fingers. She was burning up, from the inside out, trembling with strain, her every muscle taut and seeking release as she clutched at him with a horrifying desperation.