Carnal in Cannes by Jianne Carlo Page B

his shoulders, hard, sharp, and insistent.
    Jerking up, he swept his hand away from her neck and breathed in.
    Shee-it. I fucked up. Too much too fast.
    Determined to set things right, Harry shifted sideways. She lay exactly where he"d left her, wedged into the bench, her head cradled in the corner. One forefinger traced the path his tongue had, following the ridge of her lower lip. Her swollen mouth glistened, her hooded eyes and the shadows concealing her emotions.
    “Martine…”
    Her head whipped up, she elbowed off the bench back, met his stare like an adolescent about to give a double dare, and ordered, “ Montrez-moi .” She shook her head, and her curls swirled and twirled. “Show me.”
    “That was your first kiss,” he muttered. “We have to slow down, Martine. I promised myself your first time would be special—”
    She lunged at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, climbed onto his lap, and smacked her lips hard to his; then her little tongue stabbed at his mouth. He groaned, his lips parted, and she slid inside.

    Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

    33

    Chapter Four

    “Slow down, sugar,” Harrison said, his voice husky and low.
    His lips moved on Martine"s, and a wave of his wine- and orange-scented breath feathered her nostrils. Her mouth vibrated, the sound of his words echoing over her lips.
    Très facile, this kissing. Why did I think it would be revolting?
    He sucked on her bottom lip, his teeth grazing the length, his tongue tracing and soothing in the tingling wake.
    Who knew a tongue could be so délicieux?
    Martine stuck hers into his mouth. His thumb caressed her chin, tugging their lips apart, and he leaned his forehead against hers. The skin-to-skin contact spiraled warmth around her neck, corkscrewed down her torso, and coiled down her legs. He lifted his head, touched a finger to her cheek, and reached over to pick up the wineglass.
    I’m doing it all wrong. He can think. When he does it to me, I can only feel.
    “Have a sip.” He touched the wine goblet to a spot that throbbed and pulsed as if the flesh of her mouth had a life of its own. She swallowed a teaspoonful of the fruity liquor and kept her gaze downcast, centered on his throat, on the rope of muscle binding his neck and shoulders. He set the crystal on the table and kissed her temple. His palm cupped her bottom, and her stomach shrank and hollowed out as a heated flutter rippled across her hips and up her back.
    “I like this position.”
    Mon Dieu, I’m sitting on top of him, on top of his cock, my legs spread like a whore’s.
    The hardness grazing her sex twitched and enlarged and expanded. She couldn"t help but gape in the direction of his cock and couldn"t stifle her gasp.
    Shame roasted her neck and face at the sight that met her eyes—her skirt gathered at the tops of her thighs, her legs straddling his groin, damp spots glistening on his beige trousers.
    A thumb and finger captured her chin and applied gentle pressure, forcing Martine to look at him. “Relax, sugar. This time let me kiss you. I"ve got your back, remember?”
    When he called her sugar, Martine caramelized like thick brown cane syrup turning molten and golden in the bottom of a frying pan. Then his mouth slanted 34
    Jianne Carlo

    over hers, and her thoughts splintered and scattered, and she flew from sensation to sensation.
    His tongue teased her parted lips, tickling, lapping, and licking. She opened her mouth wider, offering her surrender, willing to follow his lead, longing to follow wherever he led. In a zillion years she"d never have believed kisses came in so many varieties. Long, lingering tastes when he swept the edges of her teeth; short, hungry explorations of the roof of her mouth; a tingling suckling of one lip; a toothed sawing of the other.
    When he touched the tip of his tongue to hers, she leaned full against him so they were hip to hip, belly to belly, her breasts flattened on his T-shirt-swathed chest. When his mouth