He dipped his tongue downward between her labia. “Aw, Jesus, you’re so wet. You taste so good.”
She convulsed in a distilled spasm of pleasure as he laved her clit. She jerked in his hold, shocked by the sharp sensation. He held her in place with a spread hand at her waist and continued to press his tongue against her, his movements concentrated and eye-crossingly precise. She whimpered helplessly, Everett’s head in her lap, his tongue shooting her straight to heaven.
The pleasure he wrought was hot, forbidden and completely, utterly inescapable. He lapped at her, pressed her clit like it was a magic button, and before she knew it, she was riding the crest of the wave of climax.
Her muscles clenching tight, she thrust her hips against his warm, wet tongue and came in a delicious, pounding rush of release.
She gasped in the aftermath, her brain still spinning in the vortex of pleasure, her flesh still vibrating and singing in the aftermath of bliss.
She opened her eyes at the sensation of Everett’s open, warm mouth kissing her thigh.
Holy shit, she thought dazedly as she gasped for air. It’d felt like he’d plunged her straight into the center of passion . . . the heady, intoxicating experience of being alive. Had she been so dead—or so afraid of death?—for so long now that she’d forgotten the experience?
Had she ever known what it was to feel alive to this degree?
It took her a few seconds to fully comprehend that Everett had stood and was walking toward the hallway.
“Where are you going?” she asked, disoriented.
“I should leave,” he said shortly.
“Everett?”
He paused and turned toward her. Joy lowered her dress and raised the fabric over her breasts. Her confusion altered to bewilderment when she saw how rigid his face was with arousal, how regret flickered across his features when he saw her hurriedly cover herself from his gaze.
“I really did just come here to talk to you,” he said hollowly.
“Oh,” Joy said stupidly. She stood and watched as he stalked out of her living room. She heard the sound of the dryer door opening and closing, and then the bathroom door shutting behind him. Disappointment smacked into her like a physical blow.
Of course it would be better to cool off a little, to take things slower. Joy wasn’t even sure what was happening here. Whatever was going on between her and Everett was extremely powerful and potentially volatile. Better not to go so fast that she was utterly consumed.
Of course she was lying to herself. How could she not long to leap into the blazing flames with Everett?
She pulled herself together and was in the kitchen rinsing out their mugs when he returned a minute or two later, completely dressed. She set the cups in the drainer and turned to face him. His hair was starting to dry, turning the color of it to a mélange of dark gold, pale blond and burnished light brown. He often was photographed wearing hats. Joy had a flash of understanding as to why. His hair was truly his crowning glory. He would draw attention and stares from quite a distance if he didn’t routinely cover it.
; She wiped her hands on a dish towel and glanced toward the windows. “It’s still raining outside,” she said shakily.
He grinned and glanced significantly down at his clothes. “It’s okay, I’m already wet.”
So was she. She could feel the wetness between her thighs, the tingling sensation in her pussy from his masterful lovemaking.
“So, we’re definitely on for tomorrow night, right?” he asked.
She blinked in amazement at what she was seeing. Everett Hughes? Looking uncertain? Worried, even? Did he think she wasn’t going to agree to go out with him because he’d taken her on a mind-blowing afternoon ride to heaven?
“Absolutely,” she said with a tone of conviction.
He looked relieved. “I’ll come by and pick you up—say at around six o’clock? We’ll have a late dinner after the premiere,” he said.
“Sounds great.”
She followed him as he headed toward her front door and watched him step into his shoes. She was a little bewildered by the contrast between his raw sexual intensity just moments ago and his slightly uncomfortable, practical manner at present.
He slapped his wet cap on his head and turned to her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shoved one hand into his jeans pocket and reached for the doorknob with the other.
“See you tomorrow night,” he said.