[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.With a smoothness undoubtedly borne of practice, he lifted her breasts out of the pink satin.The bodice formed a shelf, pushing them up high.Ivy looked in the mirror on the opposite wall to see her eyes dark and wide with shock.And excitement.He’d dropped to his knees in front of her.Ben’s golden head filled the space between the lapels of his coat.It obscured her view of her lacy pink bra as he nuzzled along the edge of it.His hand traced the same route on the other side.And then her eyes rolled back in her head from the feel of his tongue swirling around her nipple through the fabric, and she stopped looking.Oh.My.God.Everywhere he used his mouth, his hand duplicated.His heavy thumb rasped the fabric against her suddenly oh-so-sensitive nipple.It drew circles; lazy, slow circles that spiraled need straight to the hot, pulsing place between her thighs.“You really are like cotton candy.Every layer I find is pink and soft and melts in my mouth.”Ivy moaned.It was all she could manage.Words required too much thought.She was beyond thought, existing on a plane of pure sensation.Whatever ridiculous fantasy she’d had of keeping up with him, even leading him on, evaporated.All she could do was hang on for the ride.She fisted one hand in his thick hair, wordlessly encouraging him to keep going.Do more, longer, harder.Her hips rolled in response, a seeking gesture.For all he gave, it wasn’t enough.Ben stood, never breaking contact.“Put your legs around me, sweets.” Ivy jumped, latching on around his waist.She crossed her ankles for support, but needn’t have bothered.He held her, a rock-solid arm under her ass and one around her back.Ben walked them out of the elevator.Smug with the power of her sexuality, Ivy noticed his steps weren’t quite so steady.He might have been doing all the work, but she definitely wasn’t the only one weak in the knees.Still, the dexterity he showed in navigating the hallway with his lips buried in her neck deserved recognition.Leaning her head to the side to give him better access, her cheek brushed the satin strap of her dress.Not the wool and poly blend of a tuxedo across her shoulders.“Oh, no.Ben, I think your jacket’s still in the elevator.”“Hope it enjoys the ride.”Ivy laughed, giddy with desire and the joy of the moment.She’d dated men, far less spontaneous men, who would’ve immediately turned around and gone back for the coat.The fact Ben didn’t, and in fact hastened his steps to his room, proved how turned on he must be.And she’d caused it!“Grab my key.Left side.My left,” he amended hoarsely, as her hand delved down, patting through the wrong pocket.Lingering when she ran up against something far larger and more solid than a keycard.“For the love of God, find the key!”“Working on it,” she trilled.Nice to turn the tables, to be the one putting the slightly wild look in his unfocused eyes, the color of an angry ocean.But she wanted in as badly as he did, and concentrated on finessing the plastic rectangle into the slot.Once through the door she dropped the key.Inside, outside, who could tell.Who cared? Her hands ripped at his shirt, studs pinging as they flew across the room and hit something metallic.Finally, finally she could feel him.A light mat of hair springing beneath her fingers, she reveled in finally touching his skin.Warm skin stretched taut over muscles that rippled at her touch.Ben toed out a chair in the darkness from what she imagined to be a desk, or maybe a table.Didn’t matter.All that mattered was that when he sat down, everything lined up perfectly.His hardness rubbed against just the right spot, even through her voluminous layers of skirt and slip.The sound of her zipper lowering was the only sound in the room.Then, a frenzy of rustling as he pushed her dress above her hips, and she unzipped his pants.Unfortunately, the cummerbund had to stay.No time to get it off, and no room with him pressed against the back of the chair.Didn’t matter.Ivy could feel his chest, and soon she’d feel even more.His hands now lifted her breasts out of her bra, the straps snapping from the pressure.His mouth closed over a nipple, the sensation a thousand times more and better than when he’d done the same over her bra.The warm wetness combined with the swirling pressure from his tongue almost sent her over the edge.“Ben, do you have a condom?”He chuckled, a dark, sexy noise low in his throat.“You don’t? Little Miss Plans-For-Everything?”“Of course I do.I’m no fool.Desperate groomsmen pay up to fifty dollars a pop for one in a clinch.But it’s in my purse, which might be still at the bar, or in the elevator, or across the room
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]