A triumphant feeling settled in her chest, curving her lips into a self-satisfied smile. “Time for fun and games, then.” She put her hand flat against his chest. “Starting now, you cannot touch me without my permission, and be assured that I will not always give you permission. You, on the other hand, I can explore all night if I wish.”
His wicked laugh settled into her pores, permeated her skin, shot heat and pleasure through her. He was by far the baddest man she’d ever met, sure in his masculinity, tough and fair and sexy as hell. She already wanted him to take her, but she pushed that need aside. Another time. Tonight was to prove to herself that Sister Kate was gone.
She showed him her back. “Unlace my dress,” she ordered, and soon felt the warmth of his fingers as he untied the ends of the laces, releasing the pressure of the dress against her shoulders and collarbone. She leaned back against him and reached up to twine her arms around his neck. “Take it off.”
From his vantage point, she was aware that he could see her cleavage and he’d get the full view of her lacy bustier. His breathing increased. She could feel his chest expand and the material slipped off her shoulders, down over her breasts to pool at her waist.
His hands poised to touch her, then he remembered her edict.
“Kate, may I touch you?”
“No. Now push the dress off my hips and let it fall to the floor.”
His hands encased her hips, she watched as he cupped her, taking full advantage of her order. She chose this particular dress for the silky texture of the material. Jericho’s senses would be heightened by the feel of the material against his palms, making him even more desperate to touch her skin.
As the dress slipped off her waist and over her hips, the glorious slide of material caressed her body all the way to the floor. It was an exquisite sensation to have Jericho undress her like this.
“Kate,” he said, his body shaking with the desire she could almost sense in the air.
“No.”
He sighed. She moved away from him, bending over to give him the full view of her bottom with only the tiny heart cutout nestled in the small of her back. He groaned and she smiled.Perfect.
She rose and turned. His eyes swept down her body, taking in the bustier, the scrap of black lace at the juncture of her thighs, and the garter belt around her waist, supporting the black stockings against her taut calves and thighs.
Dangling the dress from her curled fingers, she held it out to him. “Hang this up. There’s a hanger on the bed.”
It was a ploy to make him wait, to let the anticipation build; calling attention to the bed also heightened his desire to lay her across it to slake his desire. Need coiled in her groin, but she overcame her sudden desire to strip him and have her way with him.
She walked around to the side of the bed while he hung the dress in his closet. It looked exotic there, like a sapphire-plumed bird among plain dark brown, blue, and tan hens. So feminine and delicate surrounded by his masculine clothes.
He turned toward her, the fire in his eyes raging.
“Come here,” she whispered, running her fingers along the footboard and across the brocade bedspread. With her other hand, she pulled out the pins in her hair so that it came tumbling around her shoulders and all the way down her back, past her butt. When she moved her head, she gave him a tantalizing peek-a-boo at the black lace heart and her bottom.
Jericho growled and she could feel the heat of his body as he came up behind her. She set the pins on the nightstand and took a brush.
She reached back and handed it to him. “Brush my hair.”
He took the brush and started at her left temple, dragging it slowly, seductively, through her hair. She shivered and felt his awareness against her back like a lick of flame. He brushed her hair methodically, his fingers grazing her temple. Strong, masculine hands that were very good at holding a woman, stroking, caressing. Every stroke seemed intimate beyond her belief.
“Can I press myself against you?” he asked.
His words were soft and needy. Desire flared in her hot and urgent. “Yes,” she replied.
His lower body pressed up against her softly rounded buttocks. His heat scorched her. She could feel the hardness of his arousal press into her, and an aching need tied her stomach in knots, sent a rush of heat over her exposed skin, and sparked a fire that began to burn.
He lifted her heavy hair off her left shoulder, pushing the mass aside. The brush stilled.
“Can I kiss your neck?”
“Yes,” she replied on barely a breath. Then she felt his lips on the curve of her neck, and the heat burst through her. Right now, everything seemed as it should be. God help her, but she desired him, his touch, his body. His mouth moved to the top of her shoulder, and she dipped her shoulder down away from his lips.
She wanted to turn around and throw her arms around his neck, tell him with words and lips that she desired him more than any man in her life.
He went back to her hair.
His fingertips brushed along her scalp, sending prickles of heat into her neck as he gathered her hair together. With deft movements, he finished, taking every opportunity to touch her skin all the way down her back. The rogue.