She felt the brush of his lips. Or she thought it was his lips, there for a moment where her pulse went wild. Then gone, and it was like being walloped with another storm system.
He was wrecking her. Remaking her.
“Fucking someone through the headboard sounds fun in theory, but no one likes a concussion when all they want is to come,” he rumbled against her neck. She couldfeelit when he spoke. It danced in her. “Don’t you agree?”
But she was lost in a cascade of too-hot, too-bright images of him and her and that bed of his with all its wrought iron, and all Jenny could do was gape at him when he lifted his head.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he said, and even his smile was dangerous.
Then Dylan bent that last little bit and slammed his mouth down on hers.
CHAPTER SIX
THEREWEREVERYfew things in life that exceeded expectations.
And it turned out, Jenny was one of them.
Dylan didn’t waste time on niceties. He claimed her mouth with his, finally.
He’d been building up this particular hunger since the moment he’d met her, and he’d long since given up hope it would ever happen with them, so he didn’t hold back. It didn’t occur to him to hold back.
He’d warned her. He’d given her every chance to back out or change her mind. And despite all that, he knew full well he was the one who was going to have trouble closing this bloody door now it was opened.
But he couldn’t care about that now. He couldn’t tie himself up into knots over the future when there was still now. When there was stillthis.
Her mouth beneath his. The touch of her tongue. And her taste, better than he’d imagined—and sweet Lord, had he imagined it. Over and over again.
Dylan didn’t kiss her sweetly. This wasn’t a fairy tale. He ate at her mouth, holding her face where he wanted it and indulging himself.
At last.
She fit him. He’d imagined she would, year after year, but this... The taste of her surpassed every last fantasy he’d ever had.
Particularly when she kissed him back, hesitant at first, but then meeting him fully. Hot and greedy, just the way he liked it.
Deep and wet and long and perfect, and he had to fight to remember that they weren’t in private. That he had to control himself when that was the last thing he wanted to do. Because it was so good. Because it was Jenny.
Dylan wrenched his mouth away, aware that he was breathing too hard as he dropped his forehead to hers.
“I told you,” he growled at her, and he didn’t even know what he meant. Only that he’d warned her. And there was a madness in him, bright and hot and tangled up deep, and it had her name written all over it.
She was panting and her eyes were closed, and he angled himself back a bit, dimly remembering once again that they were in public. That his cock was so hard already that he was likely in danger of scaring off the tourists, and a chat with the local police was not part of his plans for the night.
Not when he’d finally gotten his hands on Jenny. This wasJenny. He had her taste in his mouth, still. She was in his veins now, the fire in his blood. And God knew she’d been in his bones for years.
She was the ruin of him. But Dylan didn’t feel ruined just then. Or he liked the ruin, maybe.
But her eyes were still closed. And he found himself tensing as he watched her struggle to control her breath. As he waited to see if she’d set him back on his heels the way he’d always imagined she would. That was the way it went between the lady of the manor and an upstart chancer.
It felt like an age or two before Jenny’s lashes fluttered, and she opened up her eyes to look straight at him. The brown of her eyes that he knew so well was shot through with gold. There was a flush on her cheeks that made his cock feel heavy. The look on her face made his fingers itch to tear off her clothes and see where else that flush touched.
“You kissed me,” she said, there was a scratchy sort of awe in her voice. “Wekissed. You and me, Dylan.”
“We did.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, that mouth he’d studied, dreamed about, fantasized over. And could now taste against his own. He wasn’t sure he could believe it. “I did.”
She lifted a hand to touch her lips and he couldn’t tell if her fingers were shaking, or if she was simply hesitant.
And he was Dylan Kilburn. He was renowned for his confidence, though his detractors used other words to describe it. Whatever it was, he had it in spades. He could walk into any room, talk to anyone, raise up empires on the strength of his handshake. And yet this slender creature with soft eyes and an elegant neck made him forget that he was one of the youngest billionaires in Australia—and the world. She made him forget that he was normally treated like a man a good ten or twenty years his senior, such was the power he exuded and the ruthless competency he brought to any given situation.