“Don’ wear the damn things,” he suggested, and leaned forward to press his mouth into her center. He loved the taste of her, all that wild lavender honey. He caught her hips with both hands and dragged her to him, his tongue stabbing deep, seeking more honey, drawing it out and devouring her for his early morning pleasure.

She steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders, her soft little cries of pleasure escaping in spite of her desire to stay quiet. Along with all the other things he loved about her, those soft sounds were music to him. She threw her head back as he indulged himself. His tongue teased and danced and he suckled at her little clit, until her legs trembled and her soft cries grew more demanding. She actually fisted his hair to pull his head back.

He grinned at her. “Is there somethin’ you wanted, chere?”

“You, Remy Boudreaux,” she answered back, panting a little. Placing one hand on his chest, she pushed him back until he allowed himself to sprawl across the bed. “Right now. Right here.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re insatiable?”

“You started this,” she pointed out, straddling his hips. “I just intend to finish it.”

She settled over his heavy erection slowly, using a sliding corkscrew motion that forced the air to rush from his lungs and every nerve ending in his body to come alive. Little electric sparks leapt through his blood stream and rushed to a single point in his groin.

Bijou looked exotic and beautiful with her cat’s eyes, the wealth of dark hair falling like a silken cape to caress her satin skin. Every move she made drew his attention to her full breasts, rising and falling, swaying with the rhythm as she rode him. She made those little sounds, that sexy music he couldn’t wait to hear, as her muscles gripped and squeezed every time she made the descent over his rigid cock.

He reached up and cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing at the hard little peaks. As her body rose over his and fell, and the little small circles she made with her hips drove him mad while her muscles gripped with the strength of a fist, he used his fingers to tug and pull, to do some rolling of his own. Her gaze jumped to his, and then she threw back her head, grinding down harder, but still keeping that excruciating, slow pace. A flood of lavender honey bathed him in slick heat.

He transferred his hands to her hips. That slow, easy glide was designed to drive him insane and it was working.

“What’s wrong, leopard boy?” she taunted. “Too much for you? Can’t take it?”