Night Smoke - Night Tales 4 Part 41

"You'll have to wait," he told her. "Until I'm finished seducing you."

"I don't need to be seduced." She arched up to him, offering her mouth, her body, herself. "Let's see."

He covered her mouth with his, softly, dipping in when her lips trembled open. Under his hands, hers flexed, and gripped hard.

How often had he loved her? It hadn't been long since they'd met, but he couldn't count the number of times he'd let his body take control, go wild with hers.

This time, he'd make love to her with his mind.

"I love your shoulders," he murmured, taking his mouth from hers for a slow exploration of the curve. "Soft, strong, smooth."

With his teeth, he caught the thin strap of her dress, tugged it down until there was nothing between him and flesh. Warmth, her taste, her scent, were all warmth. Absorbing them, he trailed his tongue over her shoulder, along the elegant line of throat, down again until the other strap gave way.

"And this spot here." He rubbed his lips just above the silk that curved over her breast. Teasingly, devastatingly, he dampened the skin under the silk with his tongue until her body moved restlessly beneath his. "You should relax and enjoy, Natalie. I'm going to be a while."

"I can't." The gentle brush of lips, the solid weight of him, were tormenting her. "Kiss me again."

"My pleasure."

There was a flicker of heat this time, bright and hot, before he banked the fires again. She moaned, straining against him, wanting release, craving the torture. He made the choice for her, kissing her with a focused intensity until her fingers went limp and her rushed breathing slowed and thickened.

Smoke. She could all but smell it. She was rising up on clouds of it, weightless, helpless, unable to do more than float and sigh when his mouth left hers to trail down again. A gentle nip at the jaw, and then light, slow kisses down her throat, her shoulders.

His body s.h.i.+fted downward, his hands still covering hers. Inch by inch, he tasted her, nudging the silk down. She felt his hair brush her breast, then his mouth traveling around the curve, nuzzling at the sensitive underside. His tongue slid over her nipple, shooting an ache down to her center. Then he caught the peak between his teeth, making her moan his name, and her body began to throb to a low, primitive beat.

He wanted her to absorb him, and all the pleasure he could give her. Her eyes were closed, her lips just parted. And much too tempting. He needed to taste them again, and when he did, he let himself sink into the texture, the flavor.

Time spun out.

There was power here, in tenderness. He'd never felt it before, not in himself, and certainly not for anyone else. But for her he had a bottomless well of tenderness, of soft, sumptuous kisses, of endless sighs.

He took his hands from hers to shrug out of his s.h.i.+rt, to feel the thrill of his flesh against her flesh. Sliding smooth, building heat.

With a murmur of approval, he slipped his hand through the slit of her skirt, lightly caressing, teasing the edge of some frilly something she wore beneath.

He flicked open a b.u.t.ton, then two, then the third, fascinated by the way the material slid and parted under his hands. Nuzzling along her bared hip, he fought back a sudden, vicious urge to take when her hands brushed, then pressed, at his shoulders.

More, he promised himself. There was more.

For his own pleasure, he slipped the silk aside. And found more.

Beneath she wore a fancy of silk and lace, the same color as the dress that pooled beside them. Strapless, it hugged her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rode high up her hips. Letting out a long breath, he sat back on his heels and toyed with one lacy garter.

"Natalie."

Weak... she was so gloriously weak she could barely open her eyes. When she did, she saw only him, the firelight teasing the red out of his dark hair, his eyes nearly black. She reached out, her arm heavy, nearly boneless. He merely took her hand, and kissed it.

"I wanted to tell you how happy I am you're in the lingerie business."

Her lips curved. She nearly managed a laugh before, with one quick flick, he detached the first garter. She could only utter a helpless moan.

"And how beautiful you look." Flick went the second garter.

"Modeling your own products." With his eyes on hers, he rolled the stocking down thigh and knee and calf.

Her vision hazed. She could feel him. Oh, G.o.d, she could feel him-every brush of fingertip and mouth. Surrender had come gliding through her like a shadow, and had left her completely vulnerable.

Whatever he wanted. Anything he wanted, she would give, as long as he never stopped touching her.

There was the low, steady heat from the fire. It was nothing, nothing, compared to the slow b.u.m he had kindled inside her. As if down a long, velvet-lined tunnel, she could hear the music still. A quiet backdrop to her own trembling breathing. The scent of flowers and candle wax, the taste of him and the wine that lingered on her tongue, all melded together into one stunning intoxication.

Then he slipped a finger under the lace-edged hem, sliding it slowly toward, and then into, the heat.

She erupted. Her body quaked and reared. His name burst from her lips, even as the staggering pleasure careened through her system. She was wrapped around him as the power of the climax built in force, then echoed away and left her drained.

She wanted to tell him she was empty, had to be empty. But he was peeling away the silk and lace, exposing her with those clever fingers, swallowing whatever words she might have spoken with that relentlessly patient mouth.

"I want to fill you, Natalie." His hands weren't as steady as they had been, but he laid her gently back on the carpet so that he could tug off his clothes. "All of you. With all of me."

While the blood pounded in his ears, he began a slow journey up her legs, stroking the fires again, waiting, watching, for that moment before she would flash again.

He felt her body tense, saw the power of what was to come flicker over her face. Even as she cried out, he was inside her.

It was almost painful to hold himself back. And it was very sweet.

Seeing her heavy eyes open, seeing the glaze of pleasure cloud them as he fought to keep from racing for the finish.

Swamped by a swirl of sensations, all but suffocating in the layers of them, she groped for his hands. When their fingers locked again, her heart was ready to burst. Her eyes stayed open and looked on his as each thrust rocked them, pushed them closer.

Then she was cartwheeling off the edge, reeling, tumbling free.

His mouth came to hers, his lips forming her name as he leapt with her.

Twice on the elevator ride to her office the next morning, Natalie caught herself singing. Both times, she cleared her throat, s.h.i.+fted her briefcase from hand to hand and pretended not to notice the speculative looks of her fellow pa.s.sengers.

So what? she thought as the elevator climbed. She felt like singing. She felt like dancing. So what? She was in love.

And what was wrong with that? she asked herself as the elevator stopped to let off pa.s.sengers on the thirty-first floor. Everyone was ent.i.tled to be in love, to feel as though their feet would never touch the ground again, to know the air had never smelled sweeter, the sun had never shone brighter.

It was wonderful to be in love. So wonderful, she wondered why she'd never tried it before.

Because there'd never been Ry before, she thought, and grinned.

How foolish she'd been to panic when she realized what she felt for Ry. How cowardly and ridiculous to be afraid, even for a moment, of loving.

If it made a woman vulnerable, comical, if it dazed and baffled her, what was wrong with that? Love should make you feel giddy and strong and soft-headed. She'd just never realized it before.

Humming to herself, she stepped out of the elevator on her floor and all but waltzed toward her office.

"Good morning, Ms. Fletcher." Maureen glanced surrept.i.tiously at her clock. It wasn't up to her to point out that the boss was late.

Even three minutes late was a precedent for Natalie Fletcher.

"Good morning, Maureen." She all but sang it, and thrust out a clutch of daffodils.

"Oh, thank you. They're lovely."

"Everyone should have daffodils this morning. Absolutely everyone." Natalie shook back her hair, scattering raindrops. "It's a gorgeous day, isn't it?"