“Why does that make me glad?”
He kissed her properly then, his tongue lashing hers as he guided her back to the floor, his hands insistent on her breasts.
Imogen had never known anything like it, but Theo was a master of stirring her body. She ground her hips, lifting them off the ground and he nodded, not moving his lips away from hers. “I know. I want that too.”
He dragged his mouth down her body, finding a breast and teasing it with his mouth while his fingers pushed her pants lower even as she kicked out of them. “You are so beautiful.”
“So are you,” she groaned, tilting her head back as her legs were finally freed and she was naked before him, on the floor of his beautiful lounge room, her breath loud, her blood boiling.
“I love watching you come.”
“Jesus,” she laughed, but it was a husky sound of uncertainty. “I have never known anyone like you.”
“I’m glad.” His smile was hotter than the sun and Imogen dragged her lip between her teeth. She was reaching for him, but he shook his head, bringing his hand to her womanhood, pressing his palm over her most sensitive flesh until she groaned and pushed herself against him, seeking more.
He slid a finger inside of her, rolling it around her warm core until she bucked her hips forward on a grunt. But he wasn’t finished. He moved his thumb over her clit and she bucked, hard, putty in his hands even as she began to cry out louder, harder, faster, her voice just a keening sound in the empty apartment.
“Please, please,” she moaned and he laughed. Even as his finger pulled out and she was alone and desolate, he replaced it with himself, and the satisfaction was intense.
“That’s what I needed,” she said, but the words sort of melted out of her on a wave of relief. He was so big and he filled her so completely. “God, yes.”
She hadn’t even realized he’d pulled his pants off – and it was only his pants. His shirt was still on. She bunched it in her hands and lifted it, moving it over his head and tossing it somewhere across the room, needing to feel his full nakedness. She dug her fingers into his chest – all muscle and sinew, there was not an ounce of spare flesh on the man.
He laughed gruffly. “You’re going to draw blood.”
“Like a vampire.” She laughed but he thrust deeper, lifting his hands and running them over her arms, holding them above her head so that she couldn’t touch. She could only feel. The way he moved inside of her, the way his chest felt as it rubbed against her over-sensitized nipples and the way his kiss stirred butterflies deep within her soul.
“You can be my vampire,” he murmured, and she cried out as her pleasure rode wave after wave, ascending into the heavens, threatening to crash at any moment.
“And you can be my everything,” she moaned, pulling at her arms as the wave began to fall.
But his hand held her so that she was powerless to control the pleasure; she could only let it ride over her, wave after wave after glorious, breath-taking wave.
“Aren’t I already?”
She didn’t know what he was asking but she nodded anyway and he kissed her temple as he thrust into her again, his own pleasure catching hers and falling around her, his guttural groan adding to her own.
They lay there, entwined and breathing almost as one, for a long time.
“Well,” Imogen exhaled, feeling him move inside of her and smiling. “That was nice.”
“Nice?” He arched a brow, his expression teasing. “Careful, agape. I’m trying to repair the damage my drunken performance did to your opinion of me. Nice tells me I’ve got a long way to go.”
“Mmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Then you might just have to keep practicing.”
He laughed. “My pleasure.”
“My pleasure,” she corrected.
He smiled, but there was a hint of something like distraction in his face. “And this is okay with you?”
She shifted a bit beneath him, repositioning herself so she could see his face more clearly. “Is what okay with me?”
“This. Us.” He cleared his throat. “I know we’re going around things in an unorthodox way but … what I’m trying to say, very badly, is that I want to get to know you. To date you. To see you. And yeah. To sleep with you.”
Imogen smiled up at him; the words were hardly a Shakespearean proposal of love and marriage, but somehow they were exactly what she needed to hear. All the more so because she didn’t doubt, for one moment, the truth they held. His awkwardness was as sweet as it was uncharacteristic. “Are you asking me out, Theo Trevalyen?”
He laughed, but the laugh carried a hint of anxiety and that softened Imogen’s heart further. He was nervous? “I guess I am.”