Page 31 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"Rap," he interrupted.
Oh. My. God. "How did you know?"
"You like your music to energize you. It has to be bold, loud, and hard. I can tell."
Heat crawled up my cheeks as I thought about how I'd attacked him on the couch. I knew how he could tell.
Rick was closer now, leaning over me so that I could feel his breath on my cheek. "I know one more thing about you, mi cielo."
"What?"
"You are compassionate to a fault. Someone who cares deeply about others."
I turned toward him and touched my forehead to his. "I do care about people. It's why I became a nurse. Even though I struggle with relationships, I care."
My heart picked up its pace, and the scent of the outdoors washed over me again, even more complex, with a hint of honeysuckle. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply until my insides twisted, begging me to kiss him. My head felt light again. His face, his body was so close. He wanted to kiss me and maybe more, I could feel it. But it was like he was waiting for something-maybe a sign of consent on my part? I knew I shouldn't rush into things, but all the blood had rushed from my brain again to someplace lower on my body.
I leaned forward and feathered my lips up his cheek to his ear. "What do you know about kindred souls, Rick?"
"They usually think alike. And right now, I'm thinking about kissing you."
I nodded, a dimwitted gesture necessary because my mouth had grown useless with desire. Whatever promises I'd made to myself about going slow melted in the heat of the arm that wrapped around my shoulders and lowered me to the velvet. Balanced above me on his elbows and cradling my head in his hands, he brought his lips down on mine. I opened my mouth, accepting his probing tongue. I could sense his need for me in the kiss, and it was more than sexual. It was like he was drinking me in, trying to climb inside my skin.
I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his full weight on top of me on the blanket. I could feel his erection through our jeans, and I thrust my hips up to rub against him. Electric ribbons ran the length of my body from the sweet spot of pressure between my legs.
He moaned into my mouth. I'd rested my palm on his spine, beneath his shirt, and a ripple cascaded under my touch.
"Mi cielo, you make it difficult to preserve your honor when you tempt me so."
I giggled. The way he said it was so old-fashioned. After the story he'd just told me about Monk's parishioners and the stoic faces in the painting, I wondered if his historical knowledge had bled into his present life. Maybe being in the cemetery made him feel like what we were doing was inappropriate. But my body ached for him, absolutely pouted for his touch. I couldn't get close enough.
"It's a good thing it's not sixteen ninety-two then because, last I checked, preserving a woman's honor isn't a requirement." I reached for his lips with mine, picking up where we left off.
He explored every corner of my mouth, then kissed his way down my neck, running his tongue in wet trails over my pulse. My nipples strained against my cami. Rick pulled the lace down, exposing my breasts to the soft afternoon breeze. Bolstered by the fabric, they perked to attention. He flicked his thumb across one before lowering his mouth to tease the other with his able tongue. I reached for the buttons of his shirt like they were the bow to a birthday present I desperately wanted.
"No, mi cielo. I want this time to be for you, just you." Straddling me, he pressed my wrists to the velvet above my head. His fingertips brushed feather-light down my wrist, along the inside of my arm, the side of my breast, and lower, to my navel. Working his fingers under the bottom of my cami, he pushed it up under my exposed breasts. He buried his mouth in my stomach, nuzzling, kissing, licking his way to the top of my jeans. My button released between his teeth.
Waves of desire washed over me, every cell of my body ready, yearning for his touch, aching for more, leaving me wet. I could feel myself opening, blossoming under his heat, a flower in the sun. He worked my jeans down past my ankles, leaving me exposed to the blue sky, stretched long across the blanket with my arms above my head. Returning to hover above me, his upper thigh rubbed my core as his elbows came down on either side of my chest. His contained erection throbbed at my hip.
I reached for his face.
He stopped, grabbed my wrists. "No moving these," he said insistently, planting both wrists above my head in the velvet again. He kissed me, long and deep, before reaching down to slide his hand from my knee to my inner thigh and then teasingly to my bikini briefs.
I thanked my lucky stars I'd worn the cute black ones with the pink piping instead of the comfortable beige ones.
He worked his fingers under the waistband and rubbed me with tantalizing pressure. "You are so wet."
Responding to his breathy words, I arched my back, pressing myself into his hand. When his fingers entered me, it was like he had a map. No man, no boyfriend had ever known just where to touch me without being told.
I moaned, working my hips into his hand. The pleasure built, rising like the tide, lapping my body with a million tiny tongues. Slowly at first, he stroked inside me, increasing the rhythm at just the right time as if he could feel what I was feeling. He was going to bring me with his fingers. I gasped at the intensity and moved my hands to his hair. But just as I neared that golden edge, he slowed his pace.
"Oh no, not yet," he said into my lips. He pressed my wrists into the velvet above my head once more. "Don't move these or I'll stop."
I squeezed my eyes shut, swearing silently that I might never move my hands again. His head moved down my body. Teeth grazed my nipple. Hot, wet, tongue trailed down my stomach. The stubble of his cheek brushed my inner thigh.
I heard a ripping sound and realized my panties weren't on any more. Then his lips moved down my thigh to the place where his fingers kept working in and out slowly, coaxing the ache between my legs. His tongue flicked across me, soft as butterfly wings and right up the center, igniting a trail of fire that burned up my spine and out to my fingertips. The next lick was harder, pressure and languid heat. He picked up the pace. He sucked and lapped while his fingers rubbed. I couldn't see him from my position with my hands above my head, but I could hear him, the sound as erotic as the way his tongue felt between my legs. His black hair was just visible over the mound of my breasts.
Everything was wet-hot. In a rhythm of intense bliss, his mouth did sinful things: tongue licking, teeth nibbling and sucking me again and again, coaxing, teasing, until every neuron in my body fired at once. The orgasm poured out of me in a ray of energy that made me call out his name.
