Her hips undulated, pressed into his hand so that she tried to ride his fingers. He withdrew them immediately. “Lie still for me, baby. I’m going to eat you. Do to you just what I’ve wanted to do every night we’ve been in bed together.”

His eyes burned her, they were so hot as they moved over her body. His face was a study in raw, masculine beauty. She loved his face, especially when he looked at her with such command, such stark sensuality. He was the epitome of sexy to her. His rough tone coupled with his explicit intent sent more honey and spice spilling from her body in anticipation. She tugged her lower lip between her teeth in an effort to keep her hips still for him, wanting his fingers back. Aching for his mouth.

“When I wake up needing my mouth on your breasts, between your legs, Kitten, do you know what I decided I was going to do about it from now on?”

She shook her head. She was trembling all over now. So hot. So needy, and he still hadn’t even really touched her.

“I’m going to do whatever the hell I want to do,” he said softly and gripped her hips in his hard hands.

The breath slammed out of her. She actually began to feel a little feverish. A little desperate for him. She wanted to plead with him to stop talking and get to it, but she knew that if she did, he’d make her wait longer, building that tension already coiling so tight in her body.

His hooded eyes moved over her then, his carved features stamped with possession. His hands followed his gaze, moving down from her shoulders to her breasts. She waited, holding her breath, needing him to suckle, to lavish attention, to tug and roll her nipples the way he did, but his palms just slipped over her curves and moved down her rib cage to her waist and then lower to her belly.

“I’d like to see that tattoo on you, baby,” he said. “On the small of your back, but right here, I’d like a little ring so I could put a chain around your belly and play with it when I make love to you.”

He was killing her. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to allow her legs to shift restlessly, or her hips to move. He was killing her with the soft brush of his fingers and his erotic images.

“Would you do that for me?”

“If you asked me to,” she admitted. Because she’d do anything for him to make him happy. If that was really something that mattered to him, then it mattered to her. She didn’t mind tattoos. In fact, she loved his. She’d never thought about piercings, but a small belly ring might be sexy.