Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [53]
I nodded, lifting a hand to his face, touching his lips, his nose and the thin scar by his eye. “I am absolutely sure.”
That seemed to get rid of any last inhibitions. With a half smile on his lips, he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. It was sweet at first. And soft. Then his lips parted and our tongues met in a slow but hungry dance of give and take, demand and surrender.
With my heart pounding wildly and my body almost quivering in anticipation, I shifted and turned so I could wrap my arms around his neck. Simon responded by sliding one hand down my body, stroking the bottom of my breast, then cupping the indentation of my waist, the top of my hip. Finally he reached my thighs and slid between them, his fingers brushing lightly against my swollen, aching lips.
Gasping against his mouth, I arched toward his hand, wanting more. He complied, finding my clit and caressing it until I was almost crying at how good it felt. Keeping his thumb there to continue that pleasure, he moved his fingers down, exploring, playing. When he finally slid one finger and then another inside my tight body, I squeezed and clenched and came right there in the tub.
Not even able to keep kissing him, I let my body sag back while it shook with slow bolts of hot pleasure that seemed to stretch and extend, on and on, more intense than any orgasm I’d ever experienced.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered when I was finally capable of speech.
Simon said nothing. Instead, he rose to his feet, then tugged me up. When I was standing, he bent and lifted me, one arm bracing my knees, the other behind my shoulders, carrying me over the side of the tub as if I were some petite fragile flower instead of a tall, buxom woman.
I liked it. Oh, yeah, I so liked it.
“I have to be in you,” he said as he stepped over to the bench he’d vacated minutes before. “Let me in.”
Sitting on the bench, he turned me around—did I mention the man’s strength?—until I was facing him, sitting astride his thighs.
When I glanced down and saw that he’d already taken care of the birth control issue, I wanted to burst into grateful song. Instead I simply writhed on top of him, sliding up and down, wetting his shaft with my body’s juices.
He resisted for a moment—long enough to drop his mouth to my breast and suck my nipple back into a throbbing tip of sensation. Then, with a low, helpless groan, he gripped my hips tightly and slowly began to ease into me.
I was dripping wet and more aroused than I’d ever been. But it had been a long time and he was of more than generous proportions, so I tensed a little. I savored the invasion—loved it—but I was also the tiniest bit tentative.
He seemed to understand. Lifting a hand to cup my face, he brought me close for a sweet, drugging kiss that made so many promises, none of which I’d asked for, or even expected. I knew he would never hurt me. Knew he’d stop if I asked him to. Knew I could set the pace, take control. Whatever I wanted.
Which made me only want him more. So wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed against him, taking him all in one deep plunge that filled me to my core. It was like exploding and imploding at the same time, being filled and fulfilled. For the first time in my life I felt as if I was truly part of another person, joined in the most elemental way possible. I didn’t mean just the physical.
With every slow, steady thrust he made, he was imprinting himself on me somewhere deep inside. Making a home, carving out a permanent position in my body, in my life and, I knew now, in my heart.
“Lottie?” he whispered as he kissed my throat and continued those sweet, mind-blowing thrusts that went from short and shallow to slow and deep, then back again. “I don’t regret this.”
I knew what he meant, and I knew why he’d said it. “Neither do I,” I replied.
Wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, I kissed his cheek, his temple, his scar, letting him take