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I lick my lips as I trail my fingers over the impressive length of his erection. His eyes narrow, his breathing harsh and uneven as he flicks a finger over the pink bow at the top of my black lace panties, his gaze dropping to follow the back-and-forth motion of his finger.
“A bow,” he whispers. “How perfectly ridiculous.”
Then his fingers are slipping beneath the elastic, pulling my underwear to the side as he bends down, lowering his head and tasting me.
I cry out in surprise at his unexpected boldness, my hands dropping to his head, fingers in his hair at the gentle but confident swipe of his tongue.
He presses even closer, the flat of his tongue licking me in unapologetically carnal strokes as his hands spread my legs wide.
I don’t know what I’m feeling—something like ecstasy and torture and maybe a little bit of shock about how wrong I am about Andrew Mulroney.
The man whose head moves insistently between my legs is nothing like the buttoned-up lawyer who has spent the past few months ignoring me. This man is raw and primal, his touch sure and possessive, as though every part of me is his and he’s always known it.
I’m desperate now, my fingers clutching at his hair, wanting, needing everything that he’s offering.
A long finger eases inside me as his tongue begins circling in perfect rhythm to my every cry.
A second finger joins the first, the pressure of his tongue increasing, quickening, and I shatter like crystal in his mouth, the pleasure so savagely intense I’m not entirely sure how to survive it alone.
Except I’m not alone.
It’s like he knows the exact moment I’m too sensitive to take any more, and he straightens, drawing me to him, holding my face against his shoulder, stroking my back through the rest of the tremors, letting me catch my breath.
When I finally come back to reality, he presses his lips to my ear. “Stodgy, huh?”
I laugh, a short, exhausted sound. “I may have been wrong about that.”
“Perhaps I should convince you once and for all.”
His hands go to my waist, tugging me forward, supporting me as he pulls me off the counter, lowering me to my feet.
I start to move to the right, thinking he means for us to go to the bedroom, but his fingers close around my wrist, lifting my hand to his face.
The kiss on my palm is gentle, but the way he spins me around, pressing my belly against the kitchen counter, is anything but.
I gasp at the feel of cold marble on warm skin, but the contrast is unexpectedly arousing, as is the way he shoves my underwear down until it’s in a tiny pile at my feet.
I kick the fabric aside and then gasp in delighted pleasure as I feel the undisguised evidence of his arousal against me.
Andrew’s hand moves to the right side of my face, gathering my hair in one hand and pushing it over my left shoulder.
He presses a kiss to the nape of my neck. “Do I need a condom?”
I tilt my hips back in invitation to hurry the hell up. “Birth control and religious about my doctor’s appointments. And I’m going to guess that’s just one more thing you’re anal about.”
“Well then, Georgiana,” he says huskily as his hands find mine, flattening my palms to the edge of the counter and pushing me forward slightly, “better hold on.”
I catch my breath, wanting—needing—the thrust. Instead I feel the velvety tip of him, teasing among the wet folds. Making me wait. Making us both wait.
Then his hips rock forward and I cry out, my body welcoming the hard invasion like it’s meant for this, meant for him.
Andrew’s fingers grip my hips as he pulls out, slowly, tauntingly, only to thrust forward hard, pressing me to the counter. I meet him thrust for thrust, bracing myself on the counter as I arch my back, angling my hips to take all of him.
His fingers tangle in my hair, his other hand palming my breast, pinching my nipple as he pulls my back to his chest, his hips moving ever faster.
I tilt my head back and to the side, begging for a kiss. He gives it to me, his tongue sliding into my mouth as a hand slides down over my belly, two fingers pressing against my clit.
Once more my body is utterly his, and his mouth swallows every cry, his body absorbs every shudder. And while Andrew Mulroney might not be stodgy, he is a gentleman. He waits until I’ve had my pleasure for a second time before he takes his own, his arm wrapping low on my waist as he thrusts into me a final time, his release coming with a helpless, savage growl.
