One Wild Wedding Night_ Runaway - Leslie Kelly [7]
She’d waited a long time for a night like this with a man like this. No way did she want it to end too soon.
“The whole night?” he confirmed, back to bargaining.
“Uh-huh.” Twining her fingers in his hair, she pushed his head back and murmured, “And all you’ll have to pay me is pleasure.”
* * *
The incredibly sensual young woman was playing some kind of game with him, but right now, with her long hair brushing his face and her delicious body right above him, Slone didn’t really care. She was no street-corner hooker, he realized. The blonde was, judging by her sensual-yet-elegant dress, a highly paid professional. Despite the coat.
So this game she played was obviously part of her routine. She was holding out to ask for more later—a sort of money-back guarantee based on how much she pleased him.
Slone was a businessman, he could understand and respect that. But she was taking a risk that he’d not be satisfied. So she must be very confident of her…abilities.
Staring down into his face, she began to smile, sweet and sensual. She was kneeling a heartbeat above him, her body held a scant inch above his. Slone reflexively jerked up, needing to feel her heat, to lose himself in that feminine moisture that raised his appetite every time he breathed it in. But she remained just out of reach. Teasing, tantalizing, arousing him until he was holding his breath in pure expectation of something very good to come.
Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth and closing her eyes, she swayed—slowly, gracefully—then leaned closer. Her upper body brushed against his, her puckered nipples scraping him through her gown and his shirt. “You’re so warm.”
And she was so incredibly hot. “Let me taste you.”
Unable to stand it, Slone lifted his hands to her hair and tangled his fingers in her long curls. He needed more. He needed to experience every bit of her.
He’d never been with a professional, but he remembered from the movies that they didn’t want to be kissed on the mouth.
Tough. He had to kiss her or die.
Tugging her closer, he held her tight, not letting her refuse him as his lips met hers and parted. She didn’t even try to resist, welcoming him into her mouth, tilting her head to the side so their tongues could play and mate more deeply.
Lowering one hand to her zipper, he slowly tugged it down, traipsing his fingers across her spine, savoring each tiny bump and curve as it was revealed. She was so soft, her skin as pliant and smooth as the velvet of her dress.
Releasing her hair, he reached for the top of the loosened dress, slowly pushing it to the edges of her shoulders. His senses reeling, he finally drew his mouth away from hers, hauling in a deep ragged breath as he reminded himself to slow down. Savor. Enjoy.
Kissing his way down her cheek and jaw, he nuzzled into her sweet-smelling throat, then tasted a path along the shoulder he’d just uncovered. “What’s your name?” he murmured.
Quivering—arching toward his mouth every time he moved it—she replied, “Leah Muldoon. Yours?”
He suspected she knew but played her game anyway. “Slone Kincaid.”
“Slone,” she repeated, her voice throaty, almost a purr. “I like the way that tastes.”
“My name?”
She nodded. “Some words taste good when you say them. Like…serendipitous.”
He got that. Especially on a night like this one.
“You taste good,” he replied, tugging on both sleeves now, watching the dress drift down her arms. It didn’t fall away completely, however, hanging on the tops of the full breasts he’d been coveting since he’d spotted her.
“Use your mouth on me,” she ordered, as if knowing he was dying to do just that.
He lowered his face to the generous cleavage, breathing her in, rubbing his cheeks against the plump curves. Nudging the dress out of the way, he groaned at the sight of her strapless pink bra, which pushed her up invitingly. He did as she asked—tasting her—running the tip of his tongue across the seam