all. A dozen times wasn’t even possible…. Was it?
Stepping sideways, I put space between us, squatted and picked up the keys I had dropped. “Listen, we should not be here doing this. I apologize for letting it happen. I need to lock up everything and get back downstairs. I’m sure Paul’s wondering why I’m taking so long.”
He bent, put his hand under my elbow and effortlessly stood me on my feet. “Who’s Paul, that concierge? That guy hasn’t given two thoughts to what you might be doing.”
His arm came around my waist and his black eyes captured mine. “Miranda. Since the minute I saw you this morning, getting you under me is all I’ve been able to think about. I haven’t felt that urge that strong in a helluva long time.” He bent down and tenderly nipped my lower lip. “Let me make love to you.”
He might as well have thrown kerosene on a fire. Hearing that voice across a pillow sailed into my imagination. When I didn’t reply, he pulled me closer and his mouth took mine in another demanding kiss and I didn’t resist.
Well, making love is different from fucking , my inner voice told me smugly.
Chapter 5
Before I had time to wonder what might happen next, Mr. Tackett and I were half-sitting, half-lying against the dozen or so coordinated designer pillows on the living room sofa and I was confined between his big body and the sofa back. My thighs were draped over his and we were kissing like hormone-driven teenagers in the backseat at Lover’s Leap. Did he plan for us to do it on this sofa? I recoiled at the thought. I didn’t know how much the sofa cost, but I was fairly certain the price tag was I the high five-digit range.
His hand came behind my neck. “I want to see your hair.”
“No, don’t—”
But he had already released my barrette, freeing my long, thick hair. He brought strands of it around my shoulders and fingered them, smiling down at me. “I love your hair.”
He cupped my neck with a large hand and kissed me again, then trailed his opposite hand down my torso, over my hip, down my leg all the way to my feet. He slipped off my shoes, sat up and began massaging my foot and ankle with strong hands and fingers. Good grief!
“I don’t know why women torture themselves with shoes like these.”
The only male who had touched my feet and legs in months was Tran Rung whom I paid for pedicures. I closed my eyes and savored the massage. “Mmm, that feels sooo good.
He moved to the other foot. “Better now?”
I stretched my foot and arched it in his hand. “Ooh, yes.…”
He ran his fingernail up my arch and sensation pricked deep in my sex. My foot jerked and my eyelids sprang open. “Oh…”
He looked back and over his shoulder at me. “Right connection?”
I didn’t dare answer.
He lay back beside me and gave me a quick chaste kiss. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. “You’ve got the most kissable lips.”
Then, his hand was on my knee, easing up the inside of my leg and under the hem of my skirt, leaving goosebumps in its wake. My heartbeat stuttered, but I made not a peep of protest. Oh, he was very smooth. I was so aroused I wanted to part my legs to give him access to more, but I hadn’t quite come to terms with what was happening or with my own emotions. And I was embarrassed that the insides of my thighs and the tops of my stockings were damp.
He broke the kiss when his hand reached the lacy elastic of my stocking tops. He gave a little frown. “What’re you wearing?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of thigh-high stockings.”
He pushed my hem up, all the way to my crotch, his gaze following his fingers.
The potent scent of my arousal bloomed around us. No way could he not know why my thighs and stockings were wet. My cheeks flamed. Dear God . What would he think? I clutched his hand, stopping him and pressed my thighs together. I twisted my face away.
“It’s normal, baby. Don’t be embarrassed. Not with
Stepping sideways, I put space between us, squatted and picked up the keys I had dropped. “Listen, we should not be here doing this. I apologize for letting it happen. I need to lock up everything and get back downstairs. I’m sure Paul’s wondering why I’m taking so long.”
He bent, put his hand under my elbow and effortlessly stood me on my feet. “Who’s Paul, that concierge? That guy hasn’t given two thoughts to what you might be doing.”
His arm came around my waist and his black eyes captured mine. “Miranda. Since the minute I saw you this morning, getting you under me is all I’ve been able to think about. I haven’t felt that urge that strong in a helluva long time.” He bent down and tenderly nipped my lower lip. “Let me make love to you.”
He might as well have thrown kerosene on a fire. Hearing that voice across a pillow sailed into my imagination. When I didn’t reply, he pulled me closer and his mouth took mine in another demanding kiss and I didn’t resist.
Well, making love is different from fucking , my inner voice told me smugly.
Chapter 5
Before I had time to wonder what might happen next, Mr. Tackett and I were half-sitting, half-lying against the dozen or so coordinated designer pillows on the living room sofa and I was confined between his big body and the sofa back. My thighs were draped over his and we were kissing like hormone-driven teenagers in the backseat at Lover’s Leap. Did he plan for us to do it on this sofa? I recoiled at the thought. I didn’t know how much the sofa cost, but I was fairly certain the price tag was I the high five-digit range.
His hand came behind my neck. “I want to see your hair.”
“No, don’t—”
But he had already released my barrette, freeing my long, thick hair. He brought strands of it around my shoulders and fingered them, smiling down at me. “I love your hair.”
He cupped my neck with a large hand and kissed me again, then trailed his opposite hand down my torso, over my hip, down my leg all the way to my feet. He slipped off my shoes, sat up and began massaging my foot and ankle with strong hands and fingers. Good grief!
“I don’t know why women torture themselves with shoes like these.”
The only male who had touched my feet and legs in months was Tran Rung whom I paid for pedicures. I closed my eyes and savored the massage. “Mmm, that feels sooo good.
He moved to the other foot. “Better now?”
I stretched my foot and arched it in his hand. “Ooh, yes.…”
He ran his fingernail up my arch and sensation pricked deep in my sex. My foot jerked and my eyelids sprang open. “Oh…”
He looked back and over his shoulder at me. “Right connection?”
I didn’t dare answer.
He lay back beside me and gave me a quick chaste kiss. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. “You’ve got the most kissable lips.”
Then, his hand was on my knee, easing up the inside of my leg and under the hem of my skirt, leaving goosebumps in its wake. My heartbeat stuttered, but I made not a peep of protest. Oh, he was very smooth. I was so aroused I wanted to part my legs to give him access to more, but I hadn’t quite come to terms with what was happening or with my own emotions. And I was embarrassed that the insides of my thighs and the tops of my stockings were damp.
He broke the kiss when his hand reached the lacy elastic of my stocking tops. He gave a little frown. “What’re you wearing?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of thigh-high stockings.”
He pushed my hem up, all the way to my crotch, his gaze following his fingers.
The potent scent of my arousal bloomed around us. No way could he not know why my thighs and stockings were wet. My cheeks flamed. Dear God . What would he think? I clutched his hand, stopping him and pressed my thighs together. I twisted my face away.
“It’s normal, baby. Don’t be embarrassed. Not with
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