Page 11 of A Talent for Temptation
When she reached down to unbutton his trousers, he not only let her but shrugged them off, then went to work on removing her drawers.
In his haste, he knotted them, and she murmured, “Let me.”
He stood back to watch as she deftly undid them, then dropped them to the floor, revealing the most perfect mound of Venus he’d ever seen—thickly veiled by blond curls he couldn’t wait to delve beneath.
“God have mercy on me,” he choked out as he scanned every inch of her gorgeous female form.
Her eyes went wide. Then she flashed him her Mona Lisa smile—part seductress, part Madonna. “God may. But I won’t.”
In that moment, his control broke. He half pulled, half dragged her to a table so he could lift her onto it and fall upon her like a wolf upon a feast. As she ran her fingers over his shoulders and chest, he indulged his need to stroke and fondle and generally lay waste to the glory that was Meriel naked.
But when he knelt to worship her with his mouth, she put her hand on his head. “What . . . are you doing?”
He gazed up at her. Had her husband really been such a fool? “I told you—I mean to taste every part of you.”
“Oh.”
With his fingers, he burrowed through her pretty curls to the luscious flesh he wanted to devour, then flicked his tongue over it.
“Ohmy,” she gasped.
When her fingernails dug into his scalp, he glanced up at her. “Shall I continue?”
“Yes. Oh my word, yes.”
So he did.
Meriel had never imagined such a thing, but she was more than willing to learn of it. To relish it. Because her dear Quinn used his tongue quite deftly.
Heavens! Her heart pounded in her chest, in her blood, and even in the part of her he was sucking and stroking with his tongue. “You are . . . very good at this . . . too.”
He chuckled against her and went on until he had her shimmying on the table, inching closer and closer to that frustrating point where things had always ended with John.
But Quinn went past that. Within moments he was driving her toward the heavens . . . up and up and up until she shattered in a delicious explosion beyond all her experience.
“Quinn!” she cried as her body quaked beneath his expert mouth. “GoodLord!”
As she was reeling from the burst of wild satisfaction, he rose to shuck his drawers. She got only a glimpse of his magnificent, surprisingly large staff before he murmured, “My turn, love,” and entered her with a thrust that lifted her up off the table, burying him to the hilt inside her.
And she was rapt once more.
He was sostrong, much stronger than she would have imagined. The feeling of having him joined to her was exquisite.
“You are . . . everything I dreamed,” he rasped against her ear. “More than what I dreamed.”
He began to drive into her in a slow dance that warmed her again, roused her again. Lord, but she hadn’t guessed that was possible. “We should have . . . done this a long . . . time ago,” she said. “I hadnoidea . . .”
“I knew.” His black eyes smoldered—coals igniting her heat—and his gaze felt even more intimate than the fullness of him inside her. “I always knew it would be you.”
The words, so like a vow, thundered in her ears as he increased his strokes until she felt that wonderful building of tension between her legs again, felt him engulfing her with his body, making her want . . . so much . . . for this to last forever.
For them to be together forever.
Even as she thought it, he drove deeply and let out a triumphant cry that sent her right over the edge again into ecstasy.
And as they stood clutching each other, she realized that this intimacy was what she’d been waiting all her life for. He was the only man who didn’t demand anything of her but that she be herself. He was alwayshimselfwith her, and all he asked was that she be the same.
Tears rose to her eyes. How was she to give him up? She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
