Page 83 of A Certain Appeal
I break the kiss. “You just did that.”
He shifts to his side, running his hand over the front of my thigh, stopping at the fastener there. Taking hold of the tiny ribbon between the rubber grip and the stocking, he tugs. The catch releases. He gives me a smug smile I’d have half a mind to wipe off his face if it didn’t light up every nerve in my body. “I did my research.”
Rising to his knees, he maintains a gentle hold on my thigh, keeping it elevated. He smooths his palms down the length of my leg to roll the fishnet stocking from me. He twirls it on the tip of his finger, looking a little too pleased with himself.
I narrow my eyes. “Beginner’s luck.”
He grins, letting the stocking fling from his finger, and slides his other hand up the length of my leg. He pauses to kiss the inside of my knee, then higher on my thigh, before lowering my leg to the bed.
I rest on my elbows and lift my other leg for him to take care of thesecond stocking. He makes short work of both fasteners, rolling the stocking down my leg just as before. The moment it’s off my toes, he tosses it behind him and leans over me.
“I looked up how to take off the belt, too.” His hand slides to my back, feeling for the catches there, and his lips meet mine again. We kiss with an urgency that builds with each hook and eye he releases. The garter belt goes slack.
He moves to his side and crooks a thumb beneath my bra strap. Eyes on mine, he guides the strap down my arm until the cup starts to follow, then watches its progress. The gauzy material slowly peels down, clear of the pastie, until the flesh of my breast is exposed. Light fingertips trace along the sensitive underside before palming me entirely. My body is molten.
He thumbs the pastie. “Will it hurt to take this off?”
“A little,” I answer, voice husky.
“I’ll be careful.”
The three words are so reassuring my breath falters. I bite in my lips and nod.
The discomfort is minor as he tentatively edges around the starburst, prying it up with care. I look down, belatedly relieved the double-stick has remained adhered to the pastie and not my nipple, though the distinct wrinkling of tape is clear on my areola.
“You okay?” Darcy says it with a tenderness matched by the gentle caress of his thumb over the erect pink tissue. I nod, his touch ridding me of speech, and he smiles, cockiness and insecurity dancing in his dark eyes. “This helping?”
“Yes.”
“Then this would probably be better.” He lowers his mouth to my breast. The wet warmth is fresh torture, his long, gentle pullsinflaming the ache between my legs. I clutch at his neck, wanting to keep him put but desperate for him everywhere at the same time, not wanting to deny any part of my body his adoration. He kisses along my chest to the other breast, pulling down the bra cup quickly. The edge of my pastie catches on the material, tugging sharply enough that I yelp, then—oh—moan.
Darcy’s brows go high, and I open my mouth to assure him I’m fine, but nothing comes out. The foreign mix of pain and pleasure mingles with my desire, and I swallow hard, weighing my response. “That was... good.”
Understanding lights in his eyes. Watching me, he moves to the pastie, kissing and nibbling his way, drawing his teeth along the underside of my breast until I gasp. He maneuvers up, then eases his teeth to get a grip on one of the points of the starburst.
I take in a long breath, steadying myself. Then another. “Do it,” I command, though it comes out a rasp.
He jerks his head and the pastie wrenches free with a sharp, clarifying pain that has me arching my back. I let out a gasping cry. My pulse throbs in my raw nipple, the beat there almost as insistent as the one between my legs, and Darcy’s mouth closes on me, his tongue laving my aching bud. I lose my words on another rasp of pleasure as Darcy grips my hips, tongue and lips soothing the buzz of pain from my breast. One of his hands slides between my shoulders, unhooking my bra, and I pull my arms free of the straps.
His fingers press at the inside of my thigh. The responding surge of desire is so extreme, I flinch. He lifts his head from my chest, fingers pulling away, but I catch his hand. “No, it’s not—” I can’t complete a sentence. “Yes. Please.More.”
He searches me for any hesitation as his hand drifts along theinside of my thigh to the corner of my panties with painful slowness. The heel of his palm presses against my sex, and I cry out his name. I angle myself against him, feeling him hard against my thigh. “Please,” I pant. “I want you.”
His eyes lock on mine. He’s breathing hard, too. “Say it again.” An echo of our fight last week, the counterpoint to every ugly thing I’ve ever said or thought about him.
“I want you.” I guide his hand from my inner thigh to press against the seamless waist of my panties. “I want you, Darcy.” My voice breaks.
He hooks his fingers into my panties, then pulls them down. He straightens, observing my form now clad only in the lights coming in from the window behind him. For a long moment he takes me in, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest. I quake in anticipation of his touch.
“Condom?” I rasp.
He retrieves the jacket he placed on the couch and produces a foil square from one of the pockets. Then he pulls down his boxer briefs, springing from the confines of the dark material. My fingers curl, wanting to touch his length, to feel him warm in my palm, and I shift against the velveteen slipcover. He takes in another long breath; at no point have his eyes left my body, and with each small movement from me, his body grows tighter, more ready.
Kneeling at the end of the bed, he takes hold of my calves and pulls me down to meet him, and my legs splay, revealing what’s left of me he hasn’t seen. He draws a hand over me slowly. “Jesus, Bennet.” His eyes glaze. “You feel so good.”
I writhe as he makes another pass across me, aware of the easy glide of his hand over the slick folds. I watch through hooded eyes as he coats his shaft in my wetness.
He leans over me, a hand resting beside my head as he positions himself at my entrance. “Ready?”
