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He hauled her against him, light as a feather, sinewy and soft, every movement pure grace, pure sex. No sweet kisses, all voracious hunger.
She tasted of lemon and honey and contradiction and heat. And her hands were all over him. Tearing at his clothes till he was naked from the waist up. Running through his hair. Scraping down his back till he growled from the pure deep pleasure of her touch.
Fearless, she was, and with a mouth that drove him wild.
Pulsing with a craving he could barely contain, he whipped her top over her head, her tight belly twitching beneath his palms, then her small breasts perfect in his mouth. So sweet, so firm, so sensual. The power in her warm, supple body was killing him.
Mouths open, hungry, a hand at his neck, she dragged him down. As she arched into him her hands found his zip, freed him. She enclosed her palm around him and slid down the length till he had to brace his feet so hard into the floor he saw stars.
She freed him only to wriggle out of her jeans, her body shuffling against him. His blood rushed so hard through his veins he felt as if his very cells were reconstructing, like some damn werewolf at the full moon. Man, he wanted her, with a ferocity he couldn’t remember ever feeling.
“Got something for the big guy?” she asked.
“Wallet,” he managed, “back pocket.”
With a sure hand she found his wallet, taking a moment to caress his backside while she was there. The woman was wholly corrupting, whisking him to the very brink of desperation.
Once she’d freed the square foil from within she tossed his wallet over her shoulder, flicked the condom packet between them, grinning, then tore the thing open with her teeth. Then, dark bottomless eyes on his, she sheathed him. Slowly. Torturously slowly. And thoroughly. Wow. Her fingers traced every inch, and then some.
Her hands moved around his thighs, tugged at a few hairs, sending shards of pleasure and pain through every nerve, then her legs wrapped around him, tight and strong.
He nudged her centre, her slick heat near sending him over the edge. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth sliding open on a sigh, her brow furrowing as if he wasn’t the only one teetering all too close to the edge of eruption. And then with a gifted flick of her hips she enveloped him, deep and tight and gorgeous.
From there Ryder’s vision collapsed till it was the size of the table, everything else a red blur. His ears rang with nothing but the thud of his blood, with her gasping breaths. The scent of her, the feel of her, the sensual glory of her filling him from the inside and spilling out of him with a release so intense it near bled him dry.
He came to from wherever he’d gone, and realised his arm actually shook as it kept him from collapsing on top of her. He opened his eyes and his heart shook right along with it. The woman was an exotic mess. Her pale skin pink and shimmering with sweat, strands of her dark hair having fallen from her bun and spilling over the tabletop, her mouth open dragging in breath, her eyes dark pools of desire.
And he realised with mortification he’d been so far over the edge of need he had no idea if she’d been right there with him. “Did you...?”
“Not yet.” And she clenched herself around him with a strength that made his head spin.
She kicked a leg over his shoulder and rocked, her eyes clenching shut, her mouth open wide as she took in short sharp gasps of air. He had the feeling she knew exactly what she was doing, that she could have got there without any help from him at all.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Not on his watch.
Ryder swore and braced himself on two arms. He felt himself harden inside her, pressed deeper and smiled as her eyes flew open. Then, holding her leg in place, finding it flexible enough to handle the stretch, he slowly lowered himself to bury his face in her neck, drinking in the scent of her. Kissing his way down her neck, her fine collarbone. He traced her knee, ran his thumb down her inner thigh, found her centre right as his mouth found her breast.
He plunged deeper and she cried out, gripping the table with one white-knuckled hand. The other scraping down his back hard enough to hurt.
His tongue traced her nipple, desire knotting his insides. He swirled his tongue as he swirled his thumb, and felt her tremble, and fracture, and melt. Heat slid through him at her acquiescence, at her trust, wiping out all but instinct, pleasure, her.
And when she stilled, when her body contracted around him, as her body trembled and rose and lifted and hovered once more on the verge of collapse he plunged as deep as he dared, his own second release coming from so deep inside he roared till the building shook.
Spent, he collapsed on top of her, her hand sank into his hair, the other flopped over her eyes, and together they lay there until their breaths eased back to near normal.
