Page 71 of Sterling Heat

His teeth have been an amazing start.

“This okay?” His hands coast over my belly, swiping below my breasts, and trussing them up a bit. They tingle as he spreads his fingers, causing his thumb and forefinger to form a perfect cup to lift my breasts, pressing them together without actually covering them with his warm palms. “I’ll be back to pay you homage another day, you beautiful tits.”

The words zing down my midsection, like a shot of something spicy and strong, warming my insides.

He lazily drags his palms down my sides and over my stomach, which I suck in as I sit straighter.

“Why’d you do that?” He rubs his nose along my neck and around the shell of my ear.

“It’s just . . . Adara again. My belly isn’t what it once was.” Firm. Trim. Flat.

“Since I’ve only known you as you are, I love what I feel”—he squeezes at the fleshy pooch—“You’re sexy as hell, sugar.”

He continues moving down my body, slipping both his hands between my legs, and forcing me to spread my legs wider, like a burlesque dancer on a thin chair. His hands cover where I’m warm and damp. Then Sebastian is fisting the skirt portion of my dress and lazily scrunching up the material, like the rising curtain on a Broadway show. I’m the main attraction and when his hand brushes over my underwear, wet with desire, it’s like the spotlight flipped on. I’m center stage.

“Getting eager, baby?” he teases, smiling against my neck while I squirm against the heat of his palm covering me.

When his fingers skitter over my soaked underwear, I flinch. Like when the first spark of rock against rock sparks, a crackle, a hint of flame, a tease that warmth is coming.

I sharply inhale, relieved by the sensation while eager for the full effect of fire.

“Still okay?” Sebastian wraps one arm around my middle, locking me in place while he peppers my neck with kisses. His other hand skims down my thigh to my knee before slowly gliding back along my inner leg. He squeezes at tight muscles, tugging my legs open a little wider.

My breathing is ragged. My heart hammers. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I clasp his thighs and relax into his chest. Tilting my head against one of his shoulders, I turn my face toward his.

“What do you want, sugar?” His voice is all seduction and promises of pleasure.

“Touch me,” I beg.

He rushes his finger to my center, tickling over my panties once more before pushing them aside and delicately stroking over sensitive folds and slick skin.

“Pure fire,” he exhales into my neck. “My flame.” Praise fills his voice as his fingers lightly caress, tenderly teasing. It’s like stage lights narrowing in, following the curves and twirls of a dancer.

I’m breathless.

“Did you think about me when you tried on your own?”

“I did.” My answer is one long exhale of admission.

“But it didn’t work.” His voice is strong, confirming. Almost emphasizing, of course it didn’t work on my own. He completes me. “Our imagination is never as good as the real thing.”

He hums near my ear. “Because I’ve imagined touching you a million times, but nothing I dreamed up compared to how this feels. How you feel, soaked and needy against my fingers.”

“Oh God,” I whimper, as he brushes over the sensitive nub, triggering me to curl forward and clench at his thighs.

“Ah,” he groans. The sly bastard knows exactly what he’s touched, and the intensity of his fingers increases, circling and flicking. Picking up the pace and deepening the pressure.

“More,” I beg.

“I’m trying to be patient, sugar. Tender.” He peppers my neck with whisper soft kisses. “But it’s so fucking hard, Enya. I’m fucking hard.”

I shift so my backside rubs the firm wedge in his jeans. I hadn’t considered how much I might turn him on. We’ve been playing cat and mouse with our attraction, and he’s repeatedly rejected me. But there’s no missing the hard, firm length in his pants, trapped but eager to be released.

“Sugar,” he warns as I swipe my backside against him, seeking friction there as well.

“I need you.” With my fingertips digging into his thighs, I shamelessly lay myself bare to him. I need him.

His fingers work their magic, taking me higher, making me wired. In a frenzy of desire, my hips thrust. His fingers dance. I’m out of control. My insides have gone from a fluttering stir to an arousing spiral.