By her.
Again.
She took another step, drawn to him by a force she was powerless to control. “And here I thought your penchant for wickedness extended only to bedrooms.”
He gave his head a slow shake. “My penchant for wickedness extends to rooms where I find myself alone with you.”
His words poured through her like molten lava.
She stopped a mere foot away, their gazes locked. She reached out and caressed the side of his face, sharp cheekbones and soft beard beneath her fingertips. She saw in his eyes permission—to touch him…to make him hers for as long as they were alone in this room together.
She would make the most of it.
She pulled his shirt from his trousers and lifted it over his head. One advantage of being a tall woman, she supposed. Though, unlike many men, he had yet a few inches on her. The garment landed unnoticed on the floor.
Solid and bulky from farm labor, he was all gorgeous man in the bright daylight. Her fingers couldn’t resist exploring the ridges and valleys of his sculpted torso before following the dusting of hair down to the waistband of his trousers. “Oh, Rory,” she muttered. “Just look at you.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest.
She met his eyes, unable to match his humor, for she was utterly serious. “I need to see the rest of you.”
Oh, and there was his wickedness twining alongside the humor in his eyes. “As you please, my lady.”
And his mouth when he smiled like that… She needed to kiss it. She lifted onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his, their breath mingling. It was a kiss that promised more…later.
First, she had more exploring to do.
And perhaps other parts of his body to kiss.
She tore her mouth from his and met his dark, wicked gaze. A dare glinted in there. The rigid bulge pressing against brown superfine drew her eye. Instinctively, her palm grazed along the hard length, pulling a rumble from him.
Until this very moment, she hadn’t been certain what to do next. But now, feelinghim, an idea began to form… She could do more than kiss him above his waistband.
She flicked open a few buttons and the fall of his trousers released and therehewas—long, thick, hard…begging for a touch…begging for a lick.
As she lowered to her knees, driven by this novel feeling, he caught her beneath the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is this what you want?”
The answer was simple. “Yes.”
And she continued her descent, one hand instinctively wrapping around his hip to find his taut bottom. She gave it a squeeze.Hard, like the rest of him. Fingertips feathered along the velvety length of his shaft, its pulse throbbing with promise. She breathedhimin…salt…pine…the deep, complex scent of man…musk and earth and vital.
She lifted her gaze and met his eye and held as she dragged her tongue up his hot shaft. She hadn’t any idea if she was going about this the correct way, but the flaring of his pupils, turning his eyes nearly black, told her she was doing something right. How intimate was the smooth, hard, searing feel of this skin against hers. In a strange way, the intimacy of the other night was nothing to this.
Her mouth parted, opening to accommodate his girth as she took him in. His hand found the top of her head, his fingers weaving through her hair and clutching. The room’s only sound was the ragged in and out of his breath as her hand tightened around him and developed a rhythm with her mouth as he penetrated deeper.
Lightning borne of want and need—longing and lust—streaked through her veins, tore through her body, creating a void inside her that opened wider with every slide of his manhood inside her mouth…every flick of her tongue against him…every moan that poured from his parted lips…every uttered, “Juliet.”
Her name on his mouth while her lips were wrapped around his shaft…
This was wickedness.
This was intimacy.
This was all she ever wanted.
“Juliet,” he said again, but a change in his voice. “We must stop.”
Without releasing him, she gave her head a little shake. They’d only gotten started.