I drink it all in, every muscle and every bit of flesh, from his strong thighs to his washboard abs and those biceps that are well-defined but not outrageously big. His smooth chest begs to be kissed and licked, but my gaze keeps drifting back to that mouthwatering cock, framed by his lean hips.
He saunters to the bed and climbs onto it, kneeling at my feet. While he explores my body with his gaze, he groans softly. "Elena, you are a work of art."
If anyone else told me that, I'd think it was bullshit. But Chance isn't the kind of man who lays on the phony compliments so thick you need a shovel to dig your way out of it. I know he means it.
I watch him while he keeps exploring me with his gaze, loving the way his lips part and his pupils grow larger. He skims his hands up and down his thighs like he's imagining doing that to me. I want him to touch me so badly the weight of it settles low in my belly and triggers a molten slickness between my thighs.
He lowers onto his hands and knees, his face poised over mine. The blue of his eyes mesmerizes me, and I feel like I'm spiraling down into their shimmering depths, lost in an ocean of desire. He touches his lips to mine, tenderly at first, then with more pressure. When his tongue flicks out to taste my skin, I can't stop myself from opening for him, all but begging him to claim my mouth. He slips inside, oh so slowly, and the sensation of his tongue on mine elicits a soft moan from me.
God, the flavor of him. It's indescribable, and it intoxicates me like no liquor on earth could. I give in to the feel of his tongue coiling around mine, teasing and tempting me with every leisurely swipe, until I'm clutching his arms and making sharp moans that verge on whimpering.
I haven't experienced his body on mine yet. He holds himself up on his arms, hovering over me without touching me.
He breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes.
The intensity of his gaze burns into me, setting my body on fire, a tingling wave of heat that stuns me. I want him so much it almost scares me. But I can't be afraid when I'm with Chance. He's the best combination of everything---safety and risk, lust and tenderness, dirtiness and sweetness.
"Elena," he murmurs, nuzzling my throat. His husky voice weaves my name into a seductive spell.
"Yes," I whisper, raking my fingers through his hair. "Yes, Chance."
We've said almost nothing, but it means everything.
He kisses the corner of my mouth. "I love the way you say my name."
"I love saying it."
A breath rushes out of me when he drags his mouth along my throat, then kisses his way down to my breast. His tongue slides around the nipple, moistening my skin but never touching the stiff, aching peak. I bury my hands in his hair, but still his body lingers above mine, not touching me. I arch my back, desperate to reach him, but I can't quite get there.
He flicks his tongue over my nipple, only once, so swiftly I wonder if I hallucinated the sensation. Then he blows a current of cool air across the peak.
I gasp and arch my back again.
"Elena," he says. "Beautiful, sweet, sexy Elena."
Wetter. Hotter. Hungrier. I need him inside me but can't find my voice to tell him.
He draws my nipple into his mouth and suckles it.
A sharp cry erupts out of me. Helpless to stop myself, I grip his arms and throw my legs around his hips. He grunts but keeps his mouth sealed around my nipple, consuming it like he can't survive without the taste of my flesh on his tongue. Though I buck my hips, struggling to find his erection and take it inside my body, that part of him is still out of my reach. My moans become whimpers that tacitly beg him to take me.
"Not yet," he growls, releasing my nipple.
"Please, Chance."
He crawls backward until his face is above my hips. Staring down at my mound, his eyes narrowed to slits, he utters a single syllable that he draws out into a throaty groan. "Fuck."
I spread my thighs.
Chance mutters something else, something I can't make out, and lowers himself onto his elbows. His face is directly above my sex, and I know I'm so aroused he must smell and see it. He gently separates my folds with two fingers, concentrating on the task like it's the most vital thing he's ever done. With my core exposed to him, he freezes.
The air teases my swollen flesh and the wetness that coats it. I moan for the millionth time, but I don't even care if I sound desperate and pathetic. A coil inside me tightens more and more with everything he does to me.
He shimmies backward a little more, and his head dives between my thighs. Groaning deeply, he glides his tongue up and down my cleft, first on one side, then the other.
I clench the sheets so hard my fingers ache, but other parts of me ache even more.
Up and down he strokes me, over and over until I'm gasping and writhing. He stops suddenly, his face between my legs but his tongue no longer touching me.