Page 56 of Masquerade

She trusted him with her body, and what a delightful discovery to make. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and settled more comfortably on him. His cock stirred between her thighs, making her feel simultaneously powerful and precious.

“About having rules. I’ve changed my mind about having rules.” She undid the top button on her shirt, then slipped the next and the next while he watched her. The heat in his gaze encouraged her to draw out the slow striptease.

Rocking herself slowly on him, she built the tension, tormenting them both. “My two rules are—enjoy the moment and no regrets. Does that work for you?”

A slow smile split his face.

“That works.” He swung his legs to the ground and staggering slightly, stood, keeping her in his arms as he headed towards the bedrooms. “My room or yours?”

“Yours. I was tempted to join you last night and the night before,” she confessed, linking her hands around his neck and nuzzling behind his ear in search of his sweet-spicy, hint-of-balsamic scent. With a sigh, she inhaled deeply.

“I wish you had. I thought I’d pissed you off with my attitude to Rory.” His breath was warm against her ear.

“Better tonight. There’s just us in this room.” She trembled, realising the risk she was taking. A fantasy would have given her a place to hide, an excuse if her fingers lingered in one place too long, if a word slipped out she should have left unsaid, if her sigh suggested regret at the agreed boundaries.

When he reached the bed, he slid her down his body until she stood loosely in the circle of his arms. “One more rule.”

Catching the front of his shirt in a fisted hand, she dragged him closer. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his Roman nose. “I’m dying here. Tell me this caveat.”

“No commitments.” He stared at her intently, his eyes the colour of dark charcoal.

With painful insight, Kate understood he needed to emphasise this point. To explain he would always be alone, even as they teetered on the brink of taking each other to bed. An honest lover providing chapter and verse about why he made no promises. Betrayal had made him ration both trust and love.

No commitment was his fantasy, even if he didn’t realise it.

Still, she couldn’t deny him, didn’t want to deny herself. If she didn’t have his capable, sensitive hands taking advantage of her body in the next minute she’d go crazy. Her opening salvo was a kiss to the tantalising cleft in his chin.

“I can accept that.” She released his shirt and stepped back. He needed their agreement to be water tight. “This is about now.” She slipped the last button on her shirt, shrugged out of it, then dropped it beside her. “It ends when it ends.” But neither he nor she would ever know if they wanted more if they didn’t love once.

“Let me.” The twinkle in his eyes and a curve to his mouth were wickedly inviting. He moved behind her to unclip her bra, tugging it off her shoulders. Pausing, he dusted a string of kisses along her shoulder. He was fluent in the language of touch and translated eloquently, bringing verbs and nouns and adjectives into the room to drench her in desire. “I like the black lace, Kate.” His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them until they sang in response. Stepping closer, he nudged her with his erection. “Did I mention I want you?”

Turning in his arms, Kate’s hand brushed against his arousal. She understood his wariness and could match it. He was giving her tonight, and she’d seize the chance with both hands. “Then we’re equal. Now, strip.”

“I’m getting the sense you’re in a hurry.” He unbuckled his belt while shrugging out of his shirt.

“And you aren’t?” Giving his crotch a cheeky pat, she sat on the edge of the bed to kick off her boots.

He ditched his trousers and jocks in a single move.

With her gaze on the erection arrowing up his belly, she stood, dropping her trousers and knickers before stepping out of them.

Kate closed her hand over his length—smooth as satin, weighted to please. Squeezing him gently, her body clenched in response. The hum inside her rose to a drumroll. Passion was always a roller-coaster. Passion shared with Liam opened a whole new world.

Closing his eyes, he arched backwards, and thrust into her hand. “Yes,” he groaned.

“Lie down.” She gave his shoulder a gentle push.

He took his cue, ceding control to her. She welcomed it, scrambling over him and letting his hands guide her until she nestled on his cock. Driven by a need she couldn’t slow, she moved on him. Her slow undulation teased his length, each slide along his penis a step in a dance that was new to her and that she didn’t want to muck up.

“Steady, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Top drawer.” His grip on her hips tightened.

He was letting her take the lead, even as desire soared. He was giving her devotion, which was a commitment he probably wouldn’t acknowledge.

She rocked herself forward until her mouth was inches from his, brushing her thumbs across his nipples. His swallowed growl and refusal to rush gave her the confidence to play.

“I’d like to sheath you,” she whispered.

“At the risk of disgracing myself when you touch me, yes, please.” His hoarse confession was another type of foreplay.

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