Impassion (Mystic) (10 page)

Her weight returned his leg as she arched, sliding his hand to her neglected breast, and his speeding heart skipped a dozen beats. When the overwrought organ resumed its race, he took a calming breath and kissed his way to her lips.

Leaving his hand to its task, she grasped his jaw, kissing urgently and without regard for modesty, so he took the opportunity to free his itchy fingers. He slid his thumb to her nipple—small, hard and surrounded by puckered flesh. Then he drew a circle around it, adding pressure as his fingers toured every contour of her shapely bust.

Her hips were out of control, so he considered giving things a break, but he wanted to test his restraint, and he hated the thought of quitting on her. After one more solid squeeze, he slid his hand to the waistband of her skirt. Then he held his breath as he slipped his fingers beneath it.

Her lips stilled, but there was no mistaking their idle state for one of unwillingness. Her fingers clutched his jaw, keeping him close, and her body surged with her lungs.

Inhaling every breath she took, he slid his fingers to her side, then ventured lower, tracing the curve of her hip bone. When he found the hem of her panties, a wave of increased desire punched him in the gut. He’d never been with a woman who wore them; witches didn’t bother with modest undergarments—a shame apparently, because they increased his arousal tenfold.

He traced their outline then slipped his forefinger beneath the hem, following the seam from one hip to the other, but he didn’t travel further. Instead, he abandoned her panties and slid his palm to her thigh, finding it flexed and trembling. She arched into his touch, and he compensated, making sure she didn’t do something she might regret. She did this several times, which he loved, but each time he eluded her alluring snare. His success seemed to fuel her determination, and her lungs quickened as she stretched, tilted her head back, and lifted her hips higher.

He used his palm to push her back down. Then he looked to her heaving chest, nearly choking as his heart leapt into his larynx. Her shirt was pulled up, exposing one of her breasts, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Full and perfectly round, it was large for her size, but her pinched nipple was petite and pink.

She wiggled, trying to press herself against the fingers between her legs, and he swallowed the lump in his throat while moving his hand to her outer thigh. Their game would have to end soon, but he wasn’t the least bit upset. The heavenly experience would stick with him for the rest of his life.

He slid his hand from her skirt while burning the image of her unveiled breast into his mind. Then he covered the temptation and looked at her face. Her expression held both pleasure and pain, and he longed to remove the burn, but he merely curled her up and hugged her to his chest.

She didn’t say a word or open her eyes, so he touched his cheek to her curls, not regretting a moment of what they’d done. He hoped she didn’t either, but now wasn’t the time to check.

Just when he thought she might be falling asleep, she whispered into his neck. “No one’s ever touched me like that.”

He tightened his hug and stroked her hair. “I would say that’s too bad, but I like that I was the first man to make you feel that way.”

He wondered if she was completely untouched. Surely not. A woman as beautiful as her must have been taken to bed at some point in her twenty-one years, if only by a man-child who had no idea the value she held. Quin downed a healthy dose of jealousy at the thought of her with another man, but rather than upset him, the envy flexed his determination to ensure her first experience with him qualified as the most pleasurable of her life. Not that he felt competition with the men in her home state. Clearly she’d never been treated the way she deserved.

When she didn’t say anything else, his wondering turned to worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly terrified he’d taken things too far. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

A tense moment passed before she responded. “Well, you could say that, but the discomfort was mixed with a lot of wonderful feelings, so yes, I’m okay. Better than okay.”

Quin watched her aura, seeing everything she felt in it. “May I ask why you’re embarrassed?”

She pressed her hot face further into his neck as her aura rushed inward, expressing increased mortification. Several seconds passed as she worked up the courage to answer, and he patiently waited, reading her colors and flow.

“Well,” she finally replied, “I’m embarrassed about a couple of things.”

“I can’t imagine what you have to be embarrassed about, so maybe you’ll feel better if you tell me what they are.”

Layla had to steel herself to say it, and there was no way she’d be able to say it to his face, so she kept hers tucked away. “I’m embarrassed I moved your hand, and I’m embarrassed about the way my... the way I reacted. There,” she huffed, clutching his shirt. “I said it, and I’m still humiliated. I’m not that girl, Quin. I don’t pull guys’ hands to my tits and press my hips into them. I’ve never acted that way. Ever. It’s embarrassing.” No, saying it out loud hadn’t helped at all.

He laughed as he nuzzled her hair. “The way you reacted wasn’t just a turn on, it was heavenly. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about those things, because I hope you’ll do them again next time.”

With a few simple words, he’d somehow made her feel better. If he didn’t think she was some out of control floozy, she could accept what she’d done much easier. She released her death grip on his shirt and smiled up at him. “Next time, huh?” She didn’t want to wait for a next time. She wanted to do it again now.

“Next time,” he confirmed, sliding a thumb to her lips. “Unless you want me to do things differently. If it really makes you uncomfortable to show me what you want, I could take the liberty, but then I run the risk of doing something you’re not ready for.”

Unable to maintain eye contact, she looked down and nervously chewed her lip. “Like what? Sex?”

“We’ve already determined you’re not ready for sex, but there are things we can do without crossing the finish line, and I’d be honored to do them.”

She looked up and furrowed her eyebrows. “Doesn’t it bother you to take things so far without finishing them?”

She thought there would be a hesitant moment of introspection, but he answered without pause, his tempting lips curving toward deep dimples. “I’ve discovered it bothers me in the most amazing way. I would do what we just did and more over and over again without a second of regret.”

Layla didn’t understand how that could be true. She’d been around enough guys in high school to know they didn’t like getting shut out right before the big bang. Granted, Quin was twenty-two years old and a far cry from the boys she went to school with, but a man’s maturity level wasn’t the deciding factor of his sexual appetite. “Really?” she pressed.

He laughed and raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to prove it?”

Warmth flooded her cheeks, belly and thighs as she thought about him proving his willpower. “How would you do that?”

“Hmm...” he murmured, moving his mouth to her neck, and it seemed like he stayed there forever. By the time he pulled away, her curiosity had reached its limit.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, trying to hide her impatience. “Why?”

He searched her eyes then looked at what must have been her aura. When his gaze returned to hers, he slid one arm under her knees and tightened his grip. “Because I’m going to prove myself to you.” He stood and carried her to the bed. Then he settled in beside her and propped his head on one hand. “If you’ll let me.”

Oxygen entered Layla’s lungs in quiet gasps, and she knew her rapid heartbeat must be visible to him. “I still don’t know how you intend to do that.”

“I intend to show you,” he countered, resting his hand on her chest, “not tell you. Do you feel comfortable enough to let me?”

Layla closed her eyes as she considered the situation. How much further could things go without going all the way? She was dying to find out, so she opened her eyes and answered. “Yes.”

“Excellent,” he whispered, moving his hand to her cheek. “If I do something you’re uncomfortable with, you have to tell me. Okay?”

She swallowed and gave a nod.

“I need to hear you say it,” he stipulated. “Will you let me know if I make you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah,” she managed, breathless and blushing.

“Good,” he approved, “because that’s the last thing I want to do.” His fingers slid from her cheek to her trembling lips. “Now, I have a favor to ask.”

“Favor?” she breathed, trying to hold still, but vibrations shook her from the inside out.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I want you to remember there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I know it won’t go away completely, but try not to let it stop you from taking what you want.”

“I’ll try,” she squeaked.

“That’s all I ask,” he replied, scanning the air around her. Then he smiled as he found her eyes. “My questions are done now. No more asking for permission. I’m going to do what I want, and if you don’t like it, you’re going to have to tell me.”

She nodded as a shudder rocked her body. Just the thought of him doing what he wanted with her had her hips twitching like mad. When did she become so damn libidinous?

His satisfied smile stayed in place as he leaned close, perching his lips on hers. Then he softly kissed before pulling away. When his hand left her face, his t-shirt disappeared.

Layla flinched and blinked. Then she laughed as she rolled her eyes at herself. “That’s convenient.”

She looked at his exposed torso, and the next thing she knew, her fingers were on his ridged abdomen, like they had a mind of their own and were determined to explore every groove. She’d known he was muscular, but seeing him shirtless was like the unveiling of Michelangelo’s
David
, only way better, because Quin’s bronze skin felt nothing like cold, uninviting stone. Warm and smooth, it stretched over immaculate angles, tempting her to cuddle him like she would a fuzzy pillow or a furry kitten. He was beyond perfect, and she felt quite blessed her sense of touch was alive and well.

As she ran a fingernail along the defined indentation below his abs, a chill swept over her, and she looked down, gasping at her bare breasts. Her tank top was gone! She was shirtless!

She frantically tried to hide herself, but folding so soon wasn’t on Quin’s agenda. He grabbed her wrists then stretched them over her head, watching her face and aura to make sure she wasn’t scared. She was embarrassed and insecure, with flaming cheeks and lips, and round eyes bigger than he’d ever seen them, but she didn’t fear his actions, only his gaze.

Keeping her wrists in one hand, he slid the other to her flushed cheek. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Layla. You have a beautiful body.” What he’d seen of it was beyond beautiful; it was flawless, but telling her so would only brighten her blush.

She swallowed and fidgeted, but she didn’t fight his hold on her wrists or ask him to cover her up. Instead, she closed her eyes and forced herself to hold still.

Quin smiled as he glanced at her aura. Then he let his gaze roam to her chest. He’d never seen a more perfect pair of breasts, and his years of experience with beautiful women suddenly seemed inadequate. None of them could have prepared him for Layla. She was on an entirely different level than his previous lovers, and for a tiny second, he doubted his ability to step that high. His determination, however, was unwavering.

He didn’t want to startle her, so he maintained skin contact as he moved his hand from her pink cheek to a nipple of the same color. It puckered under his thumb, and his heart stuttered as he bowed his head, flattening his tongue over textured flesh. Her chest fell as her lungs deflated, and he followed it down, dipping his tongue into the warm cleft between her breasts. As his taste buds ascended supple skin, seizing her other nipple, she arched, flooding his senses with her sweet scent. Her wrists wiggled, trying to escape, so he let go, hoping like hell she wouldn’t push him away.

She didn’t push him away, but pulled him nearer, diving her fingers into his hair and filling his mouth with billowy flesh. More thankful than he’d ever been, Quin groaned and scooted closer, cupping her breasts in both palms. His muscles were achingly tight, but the burn was a small price to pay to indulge in her ambrosia.

Her grip eventually eased as one of her hands slid to his shoulder, flexing in time with her quiet gasps, so he let her nipple slip from his lips, nuzzling it with his nose while she caught her breath.

He looked up, taking a moment to scan her aura. Then he found her face. Her eyes remained closed, but he could tell she was ready for more, and he was ready to give it to her. He took a calming breath, making sure his body and mind were ready for a dose of raging temptation. Then he turned his anxious gaze to her skirt.

The waistband stretched from one hip bone to the other, smiling below her cute bellybutton, which was framed by lean abs and a tiny waist. The view was amazing, but not what he was looking for, so he vanished the skirt, revealing white cotton panties that were innocently modest yet sexier than hell.

She didn’t struggle or tense, which told him she didn’t know her skirt was gone, and he had no plans to bring it to her attention. She would figure it out soon enough.

He took his time scanning her lithe legs and curvy hips, yearning to run his hands from her toes to her nose, but he wouldn’t get the opportunity tonight. She was far too insecure to feel comfortable with it and would spend more time worrying about what she looked like than how she felt. He would relieve her worries soon enough, and honestly so, for every inch of her was flawless. Toned muscle rolled beneath incredibly smooth skin, following a petite frame angled in all the right places. She was shapely yet tiny, and so dainty in comparison to him he feared he might break her if he wasn’t watchful of his force.

He slid his hand from her cheek to the side of her neck, curving his thumb over her jaw, and his other hand left her breasts, drifting toward the only article of clothing she had left. He had no intention of sending the underwear away. He wanted them to stay, and what he planned to do could be worked around them. Or, to be precise, under them. Eventually, if hope prevailed, he’d get his chance with her sans panties, but he’d save that hurdle for a later date.