She loved the feel of him. The thinnest, softest velvety skin over hot steel. But she loved even more what it did to him. The pleasure that overtook his face was something to behold. It made him look fierce and primitive and soft and gentle at the same time. She could feel the raw sensual energy reverberating in the air between them, and knowing that she was responsible, she was in control, was humbling.

She was just starting to get the hang of it when he stopped her. “No more,” he said gruffly. “You are killing me.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?”

He gave her a decidedly wicked smile. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He proceeded to show her exactly what he meant. Very methodically and very thoroughly. He exacted his sensual torture with his mouth, his tongue, and his hands, bringing her to the peak of pleasure before pulling away. Killing her. And it was definitely a good—a wonderful—thing.

First he tortured her breasts. He circled the taut tip through the linen with his fingertip and then with his tongue until she was straining against the fabric, until she barely noticed that he had rid her of the barrier and divested her of her gown. She was too hot and aching, too desperate to feel the warmth of his mouth on her skin to care that she was naked.

The warm suction of his mouth and the light nibble of his teeth set off sharp bolts of pleasure that shot to the very core of her. Which is exactly where he touched her next. She nearly shattered at the first sweep of his finger on her quivering flesh. Her hips rode against his hand. The pleasure he was exacting with his mouth on her breast collided with the hot ache between her legs. They were building, racing toward a cataclysmic finish, but he wouldn’t let her go there—not yet.

Nay, he had other far more wicked plans in mind. At first, she had no idea what he intended. When his mouth suddenly released her breast, she wanted to cry out in frustration. But he hadn’t removed his fingers—thank God—they were still stroking her to mindless oblivion. Which was her only explanation for how she didn’t realize until too late that he’d slid down her body and that his mouth, instead of kissing her stomach, was now brushing the inner part of her thighs.

Shock broke through the pleasure. She tried to close her legs. “Alex!”

He paid her no mind, his big hands splaying her hips to slide around and cup her bottom.

“Trust me,” he said, the warmth of his breath a teasing whisper. “You are going to like this.”

She bucked her hips in protest. How could she like this when the intimacy of it mortified—