Then as they roamed over her body, roamed down.
His thumbs gliding along those sensitive lines where the white lace rode high, his tongue sliding under where it lay over her center turned the trembles into shudders. And shudders to writhing as he slowly, so slowly, eased the lace lower.
The pleasure all but drowned her, and still he took her down, further down, into the thick and the hot and the glorious. Soft, slow, dreamy touches that left her utterly helpless.
Blissfully so.
He loved the sound she made, between a moan and a purr, when she was steeped in what he gave her, when she yielded to herself. Then the explosion of her, the break and shock when, with fingers or tongue or both, he slid into the hot and wet.
Her body arched, it quaked as she rode that wild burst of release. Her hands flailed, then gripped the edges of the counter as he pushed her higher, gave her more until she cried out once, twice.
Her world reeled and spun, and there was nothing in it but him. She arched up, wrapped around him, her breath ragged, her skin slick. Clinging there, she gathered herself while his lips pressed to her throat.
Then her hands grappled with his belt, tugged. “I want.” She tossed her head back, met those wild blue eyes. “I want.”
He kissed her, and the ferocity was back. “I want.”
One and the same.
She dragged at his zipper, desperate now, greedy now. Her hands raced over his chest, his back, his hips, as he stripped.
As desperate, as greedy as she, he pushed her back, drove into her. Thrusting hard, deep, over and over, with her long legs hooked around him like chains so he was steeped, he was lost. With his blood racing under his skin, her hands clutched in his hair, her eyes fixed on his, he let himself go into the madness.
Then through it, with her, into the bliss.
When her body went lax, he simply had no choice but to drop his weight on her. He wasn’t sure he had a muscle or bone left in him.
Her voice, when she spoke, came both husky and smug.
“Command center sex. I’ve been saving it up.”
“Saving it up?” He wondered if his brains had been scrambled.
“Until the first Summerset-free night. It was worth it.”
He managed a laugh. “I’m in no position to argue.”
“Maybe we could just slide to the floor, then try to get up again in two or three days.” She locked her arms around him a moment in a tight hug. “Except.”
“Except.” He eased up enough to look down at her. “You know, now every time Summerset goes on holiday, I’ll be expecting command center sex.”
“I figure we mix it up, that way you’ll never know.” After a long sigh, she poked a finger into his chest. “I’ve got to get dressed. I’ve got that work.”
He reached over, picked up a discarded scrap of lace, offered it.
“Get real, pal. I can’t work in that. Or these purple boots.”
“I have a new and extreme fondness for those boots. What do you say we shower, get into comfortable clothes. We can have a meal while you catch me up on the investigation.”
“I want spaghetti, and big, fat meatballs.”
“I could use the same.”
He made her laugh by plucking her up again, tossing her over his shoulder before he started out of the room.
“Now you’re looking for shower sex.”
“And I know just where to find it.”