48. Byron
48
BYRON
W hen the minx asked for Belvedere 10, I was amused. And a little horrified. The last thing I wanted was for her to be thinking about BB. But what was life if not filled with obstacles to overcome?
I wanted Meg here, with me , not with the guy who knew she could tie a cherry stem with her tongue. Or knew that her first real kiss happened at fourteen, with Johnny Barbieri, in the back of a church while her baby cousin got baptized by the 1oo- year-old priest.
So, imagine when she pulled out The Alchemist. Of all the books in that bookcase, it had to be that one. And then I knew she was with me in body, and oh, was she ever. But there was no doubt that a part of her was with BB.
I knew, somewhere deep down, that the only way out was to come clean. But the thought of confessing and it all blowing up in my face, terrified me. For now, though, my mission was simple. Make her forget about BB and get her to fall in love with me.
The nickel tour was very short, and when we got to the bedroom, there was no more tour.
I put a small leather pouch and the bottle of Belvedere 10 on the nightstand. For all the sexual urgency dancing in the air, the minx let curiosity get the better of her, and she picked up the leather pouch and opened it.
“This is a first. Custom-made condoms. Well now. And what’s this lubricant? Little tip, we won’t be needing that.”
And then she walked right up against me, her gaze never leaving mine. And this was when our clothes were getting in the way.
I moved to unzip her dress, slowly, each inch of fabric I pulled down a slow burn. She let me take my time, just as I let her do the same, her fingers grazing my chest as she worked at the buttons of my shirt. As the last of her dress pooled at her feet, Meg became a little more impatient and slipped out of her underwear in a rush.
And when she stood in front of me in the nude, I was momentarily struck mute.
Meg’s body was a work of art, curves in all the right places. Full, gorgeous hips, a waist that tapered perfectly, framing her hourglass figure. Her breasts, full, soft and rounded, the dark pink pebbled tips a blatant invitation for my mouth and tongue.
She was a painter’s muse in the Renaissance, poetry in motion, a goddess. And I was her reverent pawn. “Your turn,” she said as she crawled over the bed.
I was out of my clothes in a snap, keeping only my boxer briefs on, and followed her across the bed. She stretched out and sighed, which I took as a silent clearance that she was all mine to do with as I wished.
I followed the curve of her body, my hands gently gliding over her warm satin skin, along the line of her hip, trailing down, fingertips skating across the softness of her inner thigh like I was tracing calligraphy I’d only just learned to read.
My fingers finally slipped between her legs, and she was soaking wet. And when I pressed deeper, her breath caught in that exact way I’d been fantasizing about.
She gasped and tilted her head back.
“You’re wet,” I murmured, lips grazing hers like the echo of a kiss. “Did I do that, Megan?”
She blinked at me, all flushed cheekbones and biting wit. “Unless Henry Cavill is standing behind the curtain, then yes. It’s all you.”
I bit back a grin, trying very hard not to laugh. The moment was too perfect. But god , she was impossible .
Her hips shifted under my hand, searching for more than my teasing fingers were giving her. She became restless. Needy. Deliciously close to desperate.
I didn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet.
Instead, I kept the pressure light. Teasing. Barely there. A feather across skin that’s begging for fire.
She groaned, her tone pitched somewhere between amused and furious. “Byron.”
And my name sounded so good on her lips.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she said, the words catching in her throat like it cost her to say it.
“That’s the idea,” I murmured, dropping a kiss to her collarbone, then that sensitive spot below her ear. “You’ve been tormenting me for days. Consider this… Punishment.”
I trailed my lips down the column of her neck, taking my time, because every soft noise she made was a reward in itself.
And then her breasts. Perfect. Full. Waiting. Flicking my tongue over her nipples, I felt the shiver trembling through her. I licked and sucked each pebbled point until she was cursing under her breath and muttering threats that would make a pirate blush.
I gave her more. With my mouth. With my hands. I let her ride that edge of pleasure, let her push closer while I held the reins with maddening precision. And when she was panting, writhing, murmuring my name like it was the only word left in her vocabulary, I went lower.
And then, finally, I settled between her thighs.
She watched me, flushed and quivering, eyes wide and wild. I didn’t break eye contact as I lowered my mouth. And when I tasted her, it was hot and slick and dizzying. She gasped, fingers tangling in my hair.
My tongue glided through her slit, tasting every inch of her like she was the last sin I’d ever commit, and she shuddered so hard I had to hold her down by her hips.
She moaned, seeking friction, release, salvation, sputtering out breathless words. “Where did you learn how to do that…damnit.”
My fingers slid back inside her, coaxing, curling, making her come apart one breath at a time.
“We all have our skills. Lie still for me, please.”
Which of course, she didn’t, and I had to lock her down, my hands gripping her thighs, my tongue moving in tight, perfect rhythm, matching every desperate thrust of her hips.
When she finally came, she cried out as she shattered under my touch, her body pulsing with every wave of release, and I kept going, tasting her, feeling her, wanting every last drop of her as she fell apart.
And there it was. That sound Meg made when she came. The sound I’d chase across continents to hear again and again.
She was still panting when I kissed my way back up her body, slow and unhurried. When I finally reached her lips, she pulled me into a savage kiss and mumbled, “I need more.”
We were definitely on the same page because I desperately wanted to be inside her. And when I yanked down my boxer briefs, it was Meg’s turn to be struck mute.
“So, it wasn’t my imagination in the kitchen,” she rasped breathlessly
“Thanks for reminding me, I need to punish you for that too. Walking into me like that. Like you didn’t know I was right there.”
She laughed, and of course, she couldn’t keep her hands off me, and when she curved her hand around my shaft, a lightning bolt struck me at her touch.
“Not the best idea right now, I’m hanging on by my teeth as it is,” I muttered hoarsely, which made the minx laugh even more.
I slid between her open legs, heat and wetness everywhere, and as I entered her an inch, her laughter died abruptly.
My mouth slanted over hers, her body vibrating beneath me, tightening around me with a heat that sent a jolt through my spine.
The slow simmer between us ignited into something all-consuming and all too real, and I sank deeper into her, pushing myself through her wet warmth until I was all the way inside.
Her fierce whimper followed my groan, and the world fell away.