“We should go slow. Take our time,” Nic whispered against her neck as his teeth and tongue slid down the tendon.
Imogen clutched at his shoulders and jumped to wrap her legs around his waist. “Why?”
“Because …”
“That’s not a reason.”
“You’re a lady.”
“Who has waited almost nine years.”
That got his attention.
His head jerked back as his hands caught her under her butt. “What?”
“Eight years, ten months. To be exact.”
His hazel gaze searched hers. “How is that even possible? I know you said you never dated but…”
She shrugged. “I guess I was waiting for you.”
His mouth took hers again, and this time, the concept of waiting was thrown out the window.
He spun around, clutching her against him, and carried her to the bed. He lowered her slowly to the bedspread before peeling her legs from around his waist.
“In that case, we’d better make this memorable.” He winked before dropping to his knees on the floor. “This fluttery little skirt of yours has been driving me crazy all afternoon. The wind would catch it, and you’d smooth it down. All I could think about was that if I were your man, we’d have words about you wearing such tiny panties under this dress.”
Liquid heat hit Imogen’s center. “Oh, really?”
“No free shows, Imogen. Not my girl.”
She bit her lip, loving his possessive expression as he slid the skirt up her legs.
“And here I was, thinking how devastating you’ve been to them.”
“I’m about to be.”
He reached up and caught them by the thin elastic sides and peeled them down her legs. They snapped before they reached her knees.
“Those were the only pair I have.”
“Good thing I brought you some sweats because there’s no way my girl is leaving this room in that dress and no panties.”
Imogen would agree to just about anything if he saidmy girllike that one more time.
“You did?”
“Of course. T-shirt too. Later. I’m busy now.” His big, tattooed hands wrapped around her inner thighs and spread her legs before he buried his face between them. “Don’t scream,”were the last two words he spoke before waves of pleasure rolled through her like a storm on the Gulf.
The man wasn’t just an artist on canvas … whatever he was doing with his tongue and lipsdefinitelyqualified as an art form. Imogen grabbed at the coverlet and yanked a fistful to her mouth to stifle the cries that preceded the most intense orgasm of her life.
With bones like liquid, she wanted to melt into the coverlet, but he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. She writhed and bucked as he made her come again and again. By the time he slid a thick finger inside her, she was beyond ready for him.
But Nic wasn’t moving on quite so quick. He brought her to the peak again before she collapsed with lungs heaving.
“Oh my God … Nic. Please.”
He lifted his head in the dim light of the cabin and wiped a hand across his slick lips. He rose to his feet and reached for the hem of his T-shirt. As he peeled it off, she wondered briefly if she’d died and gone to heaven. Because surely, that was where men like this came from.