Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [104]
“No.”
Hmm. “Maybe another time, then.” She tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “No second thoughts, Trace. I swear. I want you. Right now.”
Relief showed in his hazel eyes. “Good.” He slipped his fingers under the shoulder straps of her bra and peeled it down. His gaze was so intense, so hot that she felt it. For the longest time he just looked at her.
“Trace?”
“Damn, you’re beautiful.” And then he bent and drew her left nipple into his mouth.
It was wonderful. Amazing. She felt the stroke of his tongue, the pull of his mouth, all through her body.
He seemed in no hurry now to get on with it. In fact, he took his time, switching to her other nipple and drawing on her, teasing with his teeth until her knees went shaky.
Even when it felt too powerful, too concentrated to bear, his arms locked around her and kept her from pulling away. She could feel his erection again, as big and hard as before. Hoping to encourage him to haste, Priss moved against him, pressing and stroking.
He released her with a low groan. In the next second he had her lifted up and carried to the bed. He laid her flat and went to work on her jeans.
“You have protection?” Priss asked as her jeans got shoved to her knees, then down off her ankles, leaving her in a displaced bra and her panties.
“Yeah.” He kissed her belly, her navel, lower.
Wow.
“I figured we’d get together sooner or later, and I don’t take chances.”
“Responsible men are so sexy.”
He laughed, and given that his mouth was against her, it tickled.
Priss twisted to unfasten her bra and fling it away. “Take off your pants.”
“Not yet,” he said in a rush, staring at her breasts. He breathed harder. “If I do that, I’ll lose control, and this is your turn.”
“My turn?” She wasn’t idiot, so she had an idea of what he meant, how she felt about that. Her stomach flip-flopped and her nipples ached.
Trace slipped his big hand into the front of her panties, touching, seeking. His eyes closed as his fingers parted her. “I want your climax to be a foregone conclusion, because once I get inside you, Priss, I’m not going to last.”
“You aren’t?” That sounded intriguing—not that she could dredge up a lot of rational thought while he played with her.
“Just relax and I’ll explain everything.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TRACE FORCED HIMSELF to pull back. Priss watched him with wide, curious eyes, her body shimmering in excitement. Reminding himself that this was her first time, that she’d been through hell tonight, and that she had a lot of emotional baggage, he gathered himself as much as he could.
He slid his fingers under the waistband of her tiny panties, then said, “Let’s get rid of these, okay?” He pulled them down and off her long legs. After dropping them off the side of the bed, he slowly drew a hand from her ankle to her knee, then up the inside of her thigh until he covered her pubic curls with his palm.
She bit her lip, but said nothing.
Trace sat on the side of the bed, looking at her, breathing in her scent, thinking of all he wanted to do to her and with her.
“I feel exposed.”
His gaze lifted to hers. “You are exposed.” Frowning, he asked, “You aren’t worried?”
“No.” She drew a couple of quick breaths. “It’s just that you’re looking at me like…like you’re examining me or something.”
“I don’t want to miss anything.” He bent and kissed her navel. “You’re beautiful, Priss.”
“Matt did a good job.”
He smiled. “Agreed, but Matt has nothing to do with this.” He kissed her belly again. “Or this.” Stretching out beside her, he kissed her breasts. “Or this.” He moved his fingers between her legs, parted her and, watching her face, pressed one finger in.
Her hips lifted. “No.” She sounded a little shrill. “Matt has nothing to do with any of that.”
“I’m glad.” Gently, Trace fingered her. When she gasped, he bent to her mouth and kissed her, slow, eating kisses that only made him want her more.
Having Priscilla Patterson naked on a bed in a private room, her green eyes heated, her long reddish hair in