“I feel you,” he said, the words themselves as exciting as the feel of his mouth brushing over her nipple as he said them. “I promise the only thing in my mind right now is you. How you feel. How you taste. How much I want you.”
Frankie whimpered, not knowing how she managed to hold back the orgasm those words inspired.
“I want you to want me so much you can’t think at all,” she said, shifting the hand trapped between them so she could touch him again. As if anticipating her move, he shifted.
Sliding his body down hers, every delicious inch of him skimming her body on his way down, he dropped to his knees at her feet. His hand still worked her breast, even as he lifted one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder.
Frankie’s breath hitched as she anchored her shoulders against the wall, watching in fascination as Phillip pressed tiny kisses along her inner thigh. Each one a little higher than the other until he reached her throbbing core.
She wanted to watch. She needed the visuals for future fantasies. But the sensations were too overpowering.
Her eyes closed as his tongue swept along her bud, sipping, then sucking.
His fingers, one, two, slipped inside.
Moving.
Swirling.
Plunging.
“Go,” he demanded.
The command, the vibrations of his words against her flesh, the feel of his breath.
She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t stop herself.
She flew over the edge.
Oh, wow.
Colors and shapes exploded behind her closed eyes, her head falling back against the wall. The climax pulsed through her in waves of pleasure. Her heart pounded so loudly, she could barely hear her labored breathing.
Wow.
When he let go, he really let go.
* * *
SHE TASTED LIKE AMBROSIA.
Healing, delicious nectar.
Phillip’s head swam with the power of their passion. He’d never felt this before. Never wanted to. The idea that one person could take over every sensation in his body, could command his complete attention?
He’d have said it was impossible.
But as Frankie trembled, her cries of delight filling his ears, Phillip had to admit, he’d been wrong.
“In me,” she panted. “I want you inside me.”
“Can’t.” His words were a grunt, his fingers gripping the soft flesh of her butt, his lips pressed to her silken belly as he breathed in her scent and grappled for control. “No condom.”
“Shoe.”
“I beg your pardon?” Phillip frowned, opening one eye to peer up at her to see if she’d bumped her head in all the excitement.
“My shoe,” she repeated. She didn’t look impaired, unless absolutely satisfied counted.
Phillip would have preened a little at the look on her face, but he was too confused.
“You want me to use your shoe?”
Frankie’s laugh was breathless and light, her hand curving over his cheek before sliding it through his hair in a way that was both exciting and comforting at the same time.
“They are sexy shoes,” she acknowledged. “And they have a tiny pocket under the ribbons.”
If he’d been fascinated by her before, he was now in complete awe.
His fingers skimming down the gentle curve of her calf, he curled his palm over her ankle for a moment before skimming his fingers lower to find the pocket.
“You have a condom in your shoe?” His laugh was a puff of warm air against her belly.
“Another in the other shoe,” she told him, finally lifting her head to offer a sassy smile. “Shall we put them to good use?”
Having been raised a gentleman, Phillip knew it’d be churlish to disappoint a lady. Especially one standing over him in all her naked glory.
In thirty seconds flat, he had her condomless shoes off, and her naked body on the floor beneath his. A part of him demanded that he slow down, carry her to the bed.
But he couldn’t wait that long.
“Now,” she demanded, in perfect sync.
“Now,” he agreed, sheathing himself.
Oh, God. Phillip thrust into Frankie’s welcoming heat. It felt like coming home, to a home he’d never known. A delicious home. A hot, wet home.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her heels pressed tight against the small of his back.
She met every thrust with a small cry.
She was on the edge.
Phillip wanted her to go over.
This time, he needed to watch her go over.
As if reading his thoughts, Frankie pressed both hands against his chest, forcing him to pause.
“Feel,” she demanded breathlessly.
She wet her lips, her eyes locked on his. Passion glazed her face, but her focus on him was laser sharp.
“Let go and feel,” she said again, her words tight.
What else could he do?
His body was bombarded with sensations. Every nerve was awake and focused on one thing: satisfaction.
Their eyes locked, Phillip slid into her again.
And out.
Feelings, those damned emotions he’d always hated, washed over him as if her words had called them up.
To avoid them, he focused on his body.
On the sensations.
He slipped his hand between them, flicking that tiny bud between her thighs.
Frankie exploded.
Her body gripped his, her cries sending him crashing over himself.
Holy hell.
His mind too blown to be of any use, he tried to take stock of his body. The orgasm had been so intense even his toes were tingling. His heart was still pounding, pulse racing. The echo of Frankie’s cries rang in his ears. He’d never felt anything like that before.
The desperate need clawing at him for more could be a potential issue, but he told himself he had enough command still to keep it under control.
Didn’t he?
Breathless, numb, he shifted to take his weight off her, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Not yet,” she murmured faintly. “Stay for just a little longer.”
Stay.
The temptation was overpowering.
For a second, Phillip relaxed against her again, the bulk of his weight on his elbows. Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers and tried to take it all in.
But he couldn’t find any parameters for what he was feeling that would make sense.
He’d fought in the war. He’d served in combat, parachuted from planes, faced crazed terrorists and been held captive by a sadistic son of a bitch with a needle fetish.
But he’d never been scared.
The thought of staying, though? Of wanting someone