“Sensitive,” I gasped, then blinked as I realized he had undone the top three buttons of my shirt and I’d not noticed. I inhaled as he shifted my shirt open to my shoulders to show my chemise underneath, his fingers lightly tracing my outlines. My hands sprang to his hair, burrowing into his silky strands as he tugged my chemise free of my waistband.
God, yes, I thought when his fingers met my skin, and I shivered as he traced the lines of me up until he cupped a breast. His head bowed, and I tightened my legs around him as he kissed my shoulder, his lips becoming more demanding as he inched lower, lower.
There wasn’t enough room, and I shoved Ivy’s papers aside, arching back on the table, my legs wrapped around him as he supported me with one hand as he pushed my chemise up . . . his lips finding me at last, tugging, pulling, bringing me alive with a tingling sensation that went all the way to my curled toes.
Moaning, I looked at the ceiling, gasping when he pinched too hard, hoping he would do it again. Ivy’s binder clips were in my back. There were better places to do this.
But Trent was working to get my pants off, and I sat up, breathless. I’d managed his buckle, and I let my legs fall away from him as I undid his zipper, pressing into him and biting hard just under his ear, one hand buried in his silky hair.
His motion hesitated, and he came back even more demanding. Smiling wickedly, I jerked his pants down, then shoved them even lower with a foot to tangle about his feet. The question of boxers or tighty whities was answered, and I smiled.
“My turn,” he said, lips lifting from me long enough to pull me off the table to slide my pants down, his hands making a trail of sensation on the way back up. Thank God I was barefoot, and I kicked my pants off, scooting back up onto the table, much to his dismay until I again wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, my hands encircled about his neck and me pressed up against him.
I shivered at the cool air as my shirt came off, and I broke from him so my chemise could follow. Everything. Everything had to go, and a button popped as I tugged his shirt off. His eyes met mine as I pulled his undershirt, so proper, off him. It was all I could do not to sigh, and I tantalizingly traced his abs as his shirt hit the floor. His muscles tightened, and I leaned in and kissed his neck, feeling him respond, his fingers becoming demanding as they skated over me. The memory of his skin glistening in the shower flitted through me.
Pulling back, I eased my hold on him, my hands between us moving lower until I found his thighs, strong from his horsemanship. His fingers were at the base of my spine, and I sent my hands drifting inward until I found him.
His nibbles on my neck became rougher. Velvety smooth, I traced the length of him, imagining him inside me, and I shuddered, wanting it all. Wanting it now. It was just him. No ley lines, no magic, and it was . . . indescribable.
“Trent,” I breathed, shifting closer, hands at the base of his back as my legs wrapped around him, tugging him to me.
I looked up, watching the emotions cascade through him as he pulled me closer and slowly slid into me. My breath caught, and I clutched him to me, shuddering. Oh God, he was perfect.
“Not yet, damn it,” he whispered, thinking I was going to climax, and I looked up, lips finding him, moving against him, showing him there was more. We could find so much more before this reached the end.
“Couch,” I demanded, and his hands on me tightened. “I’m not doing this on the floor of my kitchen.”
I felt him move in me, and passion zinged a jagged path. He was looking behind me at the table, covered with Ivy’s stuff.
“Couch,” I demanded again, gripping him tighter with my legs, arms wrapped about his neck, my lips just under his ear. “Oh God, Trent. I can’t touch you where I want to if I have to keep holding on like this.”
That did it, and he shifted his grip, his hands lacing under me as he slid me from the table. “Hold on,” he said, voice strained with more than my weight as he shifted back, carrying me in a slow, shuffling motion, his pants about his feet.
Arms wrapped around his neck, I nibbled his ear, knowing he was helpless to stop me, knowing he’d probably do something deliciously wicked to get me back for it. I breathed him in, smelling cinnamon and wine, feeling loved.
“Okay,” he said as he found the couch. “If you hold on, I think I can . . .”
He could, and I held him still inside me as he awkwardly lowered us to the couch. The cushions eased up around me, smelling of vampire and warm to the touch. I eased my grip, letting him pull back as he rose over me. He was beautiful, his skin glistening, bare to the world. I ran a hand over his chest, his back, stretching to reach his thighs, finding the rise of his bu**ocks.
His eyes were doing the same to me, and a quiver went through me. “You are amazing,” I said, hands exploring the tightness of his backside. Damn, the man had a tight butt.
“From where I am, you’re the amazing one,” he said, and I reached for his shoulders, protesting as he slipped out of me.
“No,” I moaned, but it was only so he could send his lips over me, biting gently at my neck, leaving little spots of sensation at my breast, and dropping lower, making me gasp as he found my middle. My fingers could almost reach him, and with a desperate sigh, I found him, bringing him tense as he rose again to my breast, nibbling, pulling, tugging, driving me crazy until I moved my hips suggestively against him, luring him into finding a common motion.
He shuddered as my hands left him, but his lips gave way to the hint of teeth. My grip on his shoulders spasmed, and he bore down harder. Delirious with passion, I moaned, and he came within an inch of too much.
Legs wrapped around him, I reached to find him, guiding him to me, head thrown back when he slipped inside me once more, an instant of coolness dissolving into heat.
“Oh God, yes,” I moaned, my hands making a soft pop as they hit his back. He found my mouth, and I almost died as we kissed, his hands massaging my breast and our rhythm becoming demanding. I could not . . . think . . . and with a groan, I felt the first hints of my passion climaxing. “Trent,” I gasped, trying to let him know. It was too soon. I wanted this to last, but I couldn’t help it. He was . . . he was . . . “Oh God, Trent!”
My eyes opened, lips parted as I felt him climax. “No,” he groaned, clearly wanting us to share this, but it tipped me over the edge, and I cried out, clutching him to me as wave after wave crashed through us both.
With a guttural groan, Trent pushed deeper as ecstasy swept through us both, ebbing and flowing like the tides of ever-after until it was spent, leaving nothing but a contented shush of emotion.