Kristin Hardy - Nothing But The Best

Because it was different to get naked with someone than it was to get naked in front of them.

Cilla turned her back to him. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

Even if she’d been unable to hear him, she’d have known he’d stepped close to her by the heat that bridged the gap between them. But she could hear the little shudder in his breath as he leaned in to her, the whisper of silk as he laid his hands on her hips. His breath tickled the fine hairs on her skin. Then she felt the brush of his lips on the nape of her neck and she gave a little helpless sound.

Warm, soft, the touch of his lips made her shiver, made her stiffen.

Made her want.

Desire began to drum through her. She needed to taste him, she needed the feel of his mouth on hers. Weak with anticipation, Cilla let her head drop back. And oh, God, all the waiting was worth it. Pleasure bloomed as he pressed his mouth to hers. For an instant it was as though every nerve in her body was concentrated in her lips, the sensations overwhelming everything else.

Or not quite everything else, because she could feel his hands moving up her sides, tracing the dip in her waist, the line of her ribs. The featherlight strokes gave promise of what was to come when he was touching her, instead. He broke the kiss.

And she waited.

When his hands rose to her zipper, he drew it down slowly, touching only the fabric, not her. Cilla shuddered as the cool air touched the narrow stripe of exposed flesh. She knew when he’d dropped it low enough to realize that she had no bra on; she heard his helpless exhalation.

And with a sound of impatience she turned to him.

HIS HANDS SLID the dress off her shoulders. Cilla gave an absent shrug, releasing the fabric to pool around her feet even as she reached out for his waistband. After a day of temptation, a night of promise, here in the wee, wee hours it was finally happening. She unfastened his trousers and let them drop away.

When she stepped forward to press her body against his, the heat and hard muscle and smooth skin nearly made her swoon. Pleasure saturated her, the feel of his hands running down her back, molding her to him, the insistent pressure of his hard cock against her belly. She wanted him on her and in her, she wanted him—

Cilla broke their kiss and pressed her head to his chest with a groan.

“What?”

“Do you happen to have any condoms with you?” she asked, a little desperately.

His hands froze. “Shit.”

“Exactly.”

After a moment, he began exploring her again. “It’s not the end of the earth, you know,” he murmured, running a line of kisses over her shoulder as he slid one hand up to her breast. “There are other things we can do. We have the technology.”

Cilla laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Not that I’m not flattered that you think so highly of my hard-on.”

Cilla looked down to see it bobbing and jerking. “Looks like it thinks highly of me, too.”

RAND HAD SPENT the better part of the card game trying to ignore the tight coil of tension in his belly, trying to ignore the brush of skin and fabric as his cock lengthened under his clothes. Now, the pressure of her fingers, the motion of the thin skin over the hard column of flesh had his breath hissing in. It was too soon. He wanted to savor the feel of her taut, sleek body, listen to her pleasure, and then, only then, find his own release.

He reached down and stilled her hand, then pulled her to him. She tasted just as she sounded, tangy and sweet, with a complexity that made him linger over her mouth even as he sought his own pleasure by finding her breast. The slight curve of it against his palm gave him a pulse of arousal. He squeezed the hard nipple until she moaned.

And the sound only made him harder. Rand reached for the lamp.

She caught at his hand. “What are you doing?”

“I figured you’d want the lights off.”

“Why?”

“The women I’ve been with like it dark.”

Cilla smiled wickedly. “I’d say you’ve been hanging around with the wrong crowd,” she said, drawing him to the bed.

“Doors open?” This time, surprise crept into his voice.

Cilla laughed and fell back against the mattress. “If they’re up at 3:00 a.m. and have sharp enough eyes to see all the way up here, more power to them.”

In fact, she thought, it was a bit of a turn-on to think about someone watching them together, watching him kneel by the bedside and part her knees so that he could lick his way up her thighs. How was it that she registered the warm, tempting touch inches away from where it was actually happening, inches away in that hidden cleft where she was already slick with wanting?

The first contact was just a tease, a quick brush of soft heat that made her jolt and left her craving more. The second lasted longer, sliding through her sensitive folds to find her for an instant. By then, though, his hands were on her breasts, rubbing the nipples to send quicksilver bolts of wanting through her. She pressed her body against him, needing his touch, needing more, needing it all.

And suddenly his mouth was on her, tearing a shocked cry from her throat.

Cilla’s fingers clutched at the coverlet, then Rand’s shoulders as her hips moved against him. He wouldn’t be rushed, though. He took her close but backed away, leaving her wanting before taking her up again, driving her mindless. Spiraling tension gripped her, making her a slave to the wet heat of his tongue until he gave her that crucial extra second and the good, hard orgasm broke through her.

She didn’t know how long it lasted, the helpless quaking, the incoherent cries, the washes of pleasure that came at her again and again. She couldn’t say how long it took her to recover enough to talk. Finally, she lay still, aftershocks still jolting her body at intervals.

Rand rose to lay on the bed beside her, propping his head up on his hand.

“You know, I kind of like this strip poker,” he said, running the flat of his hand over her belly.

“Give me a minute.” Cilla’s voice was ragged. “You’ll like it even more once I can move.”

“I’ve got time.”

The sound of the fountains in the atrium drifted in through the open French doors. Time was irrelevant. Eventually, Cilla rose to press him flat on his back.

Rand’s cock was still hard. He could feel the throb of the blood rushing through it. Anticipation, he thought. It was almost as good as the reality of sex, the expectation bubbling in his blood, the nerve endings sensitized so that even the drift of air stirred by the ceiling fan had his erection twitching against his belly. And then he felt the warmth of her breath, the nuzzle of her lips. A sigh escaped him.

She didn’t tease, though, seeming to understand how close he already was. Instead, the electric heat of her tongue stroked up the underside of his cock and pure lust slammed through him. When she slid him into the warm wetness of her mouth, he groaned. He fought desperately to stay in the moment, to not let the rhythmic strokes take him past the point of inevitability.

He wanted to prolong it, and when he went, he wanted to take her with him.

“Why don’t you swing around here so that we can both enjoy ourselves,” he managed to say, grinding his teeth as she stopped her ministrations.

“You mean…”

He reached down to help her move into place, running his hands along her long, lovely thighs as she slid his cock back into her mouth.

How much sensation could one person absorb, Cilla wondered as she felt Rand’s tongue trace maddening patterns over her clit even as she savored his erection. The next best thing to having it inside her was the immediacy of having it against her lips, of hearing his groan when she changed her motion, added her hand. But even as she brought him closer to coming, he was doing the same for her, each slippery stroke making the heat and tension rise within her, sometimes making her stop just to moan out her pleasure. In between, she savored him, drawing him closer and closer to that point at which the world ceased to be about anything but sensation.