RITAINTHEmoonlight was beauty incarnate. Blessed with a shockingly hourglass figure—shocking because perfect symmetry was rare in nature and yet abundant in her—Rita’s breasts were buoyant and full, exactly the size and density necessary to neatly counterbalance the glorious round peach of her hips and bottom.
Her legs were proportionally long and shapely, her feet adorable, with red-painted toenails.
The cinch of her waist emphasized the balance of top and bottom, while her stomach was an expression of smooth slopes rather than cut definition—just the way he liked it.
By everything that was good and holy, she was sex on wheels.
Jag’s palms itched, ready to be all over her once more, this time unimpeded by the barrier of her clothing.
He wanted to trail hot kisses down her stomach and beyond.
He wanted her from the front, from behind, and on top of him—riding him, holding him in the vise grip of her strong thighs—all at once.
Guiding her to lie, he rose above her, taking in her satiny expanse of brown skin and the way her dark hair feathered around her. Her eyes were huge black pits in the moonlight fixed upon him. She would follow where he led, and he did not take it for granted. Not with this woman, whose ferocious independence had given her the courage to strike out on her own in a world not made for her. And she had made it, had proved to herself and the world that she needed no man to lead her.
But here she was willing to follow, trusting he would take them through the labyrinthine halls of pleasure to both of their benefits. Suddenly grateful for his lifetime of dissolute practice.
Lowering himself over her, he brought his lips to hers in yet another long, lingering kiss. Despite the driving urge to possess her, he’d meant what he said to her earlier. As much as he knew this woman loved speed, what happened tonight between them would be no race.
Trailing kisses from her lips down her throat and over between the valley of her breasts, he began his southward journey, reveling in the out-of-this-world softness of her skin with every press of his lips.
Underneath the blanket of his attention, she writhed and moaned, her hands taking on a mind of their own as her control dissipated in wave after wave of sensation.
Could he thank her without words? Could he send her body into the throes of ecstasy in repayment for the dark and twisted game she had agreed to play with him? Could he repay her for her perfection, her capacity to meet each of his demands and still have more to give?
He could.
Rita was a revelation. Her skin as smooth as satin, its scent reminiscent of the heavy sweetness of night blooms, she beckoned him to touch, caress and taste.
And so he did.
Savoring her textures, he kissed his way down her body. But he did not make a beeline for the heated center of her. There was so much to explore before.
He licked and kissed and nibbled a path, leaving a trail of his marks.
He rubbed his beard along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and she shivered, as responsive to his touch as the vehicles she created.
Had he ever had a lover who was so attuned to everything he did?
She was a woman of eagle-eyed focus, and now all of it was tuned in to the things he did to her. Had he ever had this power?
He had been born a prince. In the desert moonlight, she made him a god.
Trailing his fingertips from the arch of her foot up her inner thigh, he pressed a hot palm against the silky expanse of her skin, gently opening her thighs and exposing her further. She sucked a breath in when the night air touched her most intimate seam, and he had to take a slow breath himself in order not to plunder what lay before him.
He had promised them slow, even if her hips moved in a way that was nothing if not an invitation to dive in. She didn’t know what she stood to miss in a race to the finish line—he owed it to her to show her.
While continuing his oral adoration of her thighs, her brought one palm up to cup her mound, holding her there, his steady grip firm, hot and gentle, and her sensitized sex opened further, its liquid heat evidence of her growing readiness.
He began to undulate his fingers in slow waves with gentle pressure against the sensitive bud at her center, confident the steady, slow motion would take her exactly where he wanted her.
She arched her lower back on a long moan before falling back again with a shiver.
He could not have dreamed up a more responsive lover. Would never dream of another.
Where he cupped her, her deepest layers pulled at him, their slick invitation an irresistible siren call. Deviating from his intention, if only slightly, he pressed the heel of his hand against her core.
Bucking in response, she shuddered out a hiss of a breath, and he smiled again.