Nancy Warren - British Bad Boys

“Oh,” she cried as he put his mouth on her, and began to remind her why this was her absolute favorite thing in the world. He kissed her intimately, savoring her with his mouth the way he’d enjoyed her food earlier.

She wanted to hold back, to take the time to enjoy and luxuriate in the exquisite experience of his mouth on her, but he was stroking her, swirling his tongue over and around her hot button, and she knew she couldn’t last. When she began to thrash, she felt the beginnings of delight take her, and suddenly, he changed his technique. Now he was light, stroking with little touches like butterfly wings that only teased, keeping her hovering over the peak but not giving her enough momentum to fly.

“Oh, oh, that’s so good,” she moaned, her head thrown back, feeling a drop of sweat roll between her breasts.

He spread her wide and she didn’t care, she didn’t care that her thighs were built for stamina, not bathing-suit modeling, and that she had too much lust as well as too much of everything else. She let him look. Let him touch, feel, taste.

Every second he kept her on the edge was agony, and yet the most intense pleasure. She couldn’t hold on, couldn’t float this high without bursting into flame, and still he controlled her, holding her airborne, but not quite setting her free.

It seemed to go on forever; her heart stuttered, her breath caught, her body grew tenser, and then, when she thought she would absolutely expire from the sweet torture of those feather-light touches, he gripped her hips, holding her in place, and tongued her with deep, strong strokes. If he hadn’t held her, she was certain she’d have hit the ceiling as he took her over the edge, letting her soar, staying with her until she was spent.

She waited for him to come inside her, her eyes shut and her body floating lazily in lapping waves of pleasure. She needed to open her eyes, at least one eye, and remind him about condoms, but for a second she wanted to stay here in the afterglow, enjoying the bliss.

She jerked and her eyes flew open when she felt his tongue on her again. “I can’t!”

“You can.” He was so sure. It was as though he’d known her body as long as she had.

And, of course, she could. Only after she’d sobbed out his name did he kiss his way up her body and reach over her for the condoms he’d placed on the bedside table.

“Rule number three,” he murmured. “Always give a little extra of yourself.”

“I have some rules too, you know,” she said, watching, propped on her elbow as he sheathed himself.

“What are they?”

“One, never let a guy have too much control,” she said. Tucking her strong, sturdy legs around him, she flipped him to his back and mounted him. When she took him into her body, she couldn’t resist kissing him, feeling so intimately connected to this man on his first entering her body.

“Rule number four,” he said, “never take love lying down,” and he flipped her.

She laughed as they rolled back and forth, teasing each other, exciting each other, her taking him and him taking her, until they ended side by side, his hand on her hip, hers on his shoulder. He stared into her eyes and the intimacy was almost more than she could bear. She kissed him, allowing her eyes to close, and they rocked to oblivion.

She snuggled up against him. Loving the feel of his body against hers, the way his heart still pounded, which she’d caused.

Today had ended up being a surprisingly good day-the best she’d had in ages. Also exhausting, she realized, as she began to drift.

She jerked herself awake.

“I should get going,” she said after a minute.

His arm tightened around her. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

She stared at his profile, shadowy in the dark. He had a strong, almost beaky nose and a no-nonsense jut of a chin. She wished she could read his mind. She wished she knew her own. To stay or not to stay.

So many things urged her to stay. Her body, replete and satisfied, but not so satisfied that she couldn’t imagine waking in the middle of the night to another bout of amazing sex. But then, what if Maxine was up early? Or George or, God forbid, Wiggins.

“Let me think about it for a minute,” she said.

“Is there anything I could do to convince you?” he said, skimming his hand down her front, bringing her tired body suddenly back to aching life.

“Yes,” she said, pushing up against his hand. “You could definitely convince me.”

He rolled her over, and she found she couldn’t care less about what her sister or George or even Wiggins might think when she stumbled back to her room tomorrow morning.

He had her peaking before she’d even thought about it. She cried out an almost obscene number of times before they’d finally exhausted themselves and each other.

As they lay snuggled together, her head comfortably resting on his chest, his hand making idle patterns on her back, he said, “You are, without doubt, the most amazingly responsive woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of taking to bed.”

“I got a little carried away,” she admitted, turning her face into his chest.

“My dear, you have a body that was made for pleasure.”

“I wish you could have seen it a year ago.”

“Why?”

“A year ago I was running. I was more toned, more trim. Not so flabby.”

“Flabby?” He raised his head so he could look into her face. “I’ve never known a woman who couldn’t find something wrong with herself. You are perfect. I think you’re the most truly sensuous woman I’ve ever known. You make art out of food, you take pleasure in eating, in touch, in your body, and in your partner’s. You are a rare and special woman.”

She wanted to believe him, she did, but she’d had a crappy year and her self-confidence wasn’t exactly hitting an all-time high. “You don’t think I’m fat?”

He shook his head. “I think you are perfect.”

Well, she was far, far, far from perfect, but if he wanted to think that, hell, if he just wanted to claim he thought she was perfect while they were lying here together naked, she was not in the mood to stop him.

With a sigh, she snuggled against him and closed her eyes, her lips still curved in a smile of satisfaction.

She awoke in the cold, gray light of dawn. She wouldn’t have woken at all had she not felt cold, for which, she realized, she could blame Jack, who had left the bed. So long as she’d been curled against him, warm and occasionally very, very hot, she’d been content. Now she found herself alone under crisp white sheets. She not only felt cold, but extremely naked.

The shower was running. By squinting her eyes at the clock she saw that it wasn’t even six. She could roll over and go back to sleep, and chance that Jack would catch her drooling on her pillow, or that the housekeeper would find her here when she came to do the room. No. Better to haul herself out of bed now, at once.

Rachel had never been a morning person. Working in the restaurant business hadn’t made her any less nocturnal, but she managed to heave herself out of bed and shove herself back into her clothes before the shower had been turned off.

Jack crept out of the bathroom a few minutes later with a furtive glance toward the bed. “You don’t have to worry about not waking me,” she assured him. “I’m up.”

“Ah,” he said, looking as good in a towel as he had in nothing at all. “Sorry to disturb.”

“It’s okay. I should get back to my room. Before, you know…”

He nodded. He glanced at the clock and shed the towel with no embarrassment, dressing with speed. He didn’t even kiss her good morning. Obviously, his thoughts were already in London.

“Well,” she said, “I’d better get going.” She took a step toward the door. It had been fabulous, amazing. The best night of her life. She wasn’t going to spoil it by wishing for more.