Carefully setting the ridiculous fondant clown on the counter, Sylvie reached up, slipped her arms around his neck, and brought his smile down to hers.
There wasn’t a scrap of hesitancy this time, no gentle exploration and circling each other. One moment of awkwardness when their noses bumped, before his hands came up to hold her head and they were kissing—long, deep, hungry kisses.
Her hand stroked his neck, sliding over his chest, and she murmured when he tore his lips from hers long enough to drag a jagged breath and kiss her cheekbone, her jaw, her Cupid’s bow. Her lashes fluttered as their mouths were drawn irresistibly back together.
His heart was thumping under her hand as they moved together. Sylvie traced a light pattern over his shirt with her fingertips. Breathing deeply, she whispered, “You don’t taste the way you smell.”
Dominic shifted, his own fingers trailing down her neck, skimming a tantalizing path over her breast that made her legs shake. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.” His voice was deep. Husky.
“The sugar scents cling to your hair and the fibers of your clothes.” She moved her head, gently nuzzling into the silvering hair at his temple. “I thought you might taste like cake twenty-four seven.”
Less husky. “I do brush my teeth.”
“I know. Minty fresh. Delicious,” she assured him. “I’m just saying, I like cake. It would have been nice.”
He shook his head.
She kissed the satiny skin under his ear, and with a sudden movement, he lifted her onto the edge of the counter, parting her legs with his knee. His big hand gripped her hip, pulling her into him. She kissed him, or he kissed her; it was urgent, heated, all shivery sensation, and she didn’t realize she’d hit the point of literally ripping his clothes off until her fingertips were startled by sudden contact with an unfamiliar nipple.
She froze with her hand trapped under the remaining buttons of his shirt. The taut skin over his shoulder joint was hot and smooth; his chest was roughened with hair. It rose and fell quickly beneath her touch. His teeth lightly scraped her neck as his fingers went to her own buttons. “Wait.”
Dominic’s whole body stilled. When he lifted his head, his face was dark and taut with desire—but concern was edging in.
She wrapped her fingers around his forearms, holding him. “We can’t.”
His eyes closed for a second. He breathed in deeply. Twice. “Okay.”
He was still touching her, but she could feel him retreating.
“I’m sorry, but . . .” She bit her lip, and his expression changed. One brow started to lift. Her sigh was an art form of resignation and regret. “No matter how stringent your cleaning regime, it would be very unhygienic.”
She was up and off the counter in seconds, grabbing her purse and bolting for the back hallways. She made it to his office before he tackled her, catching her laughter in his mouth as they stumbled through the door.
With his hand tangled in her hair, he kissed her hard as he kicked it closed behind him.
“You’re a bloody menace,” he said against her lips.
“You can’t say you weren’t adequately warned.”
He groaned suddenly. “I don’t have any protection here.”
She waved her purse before she threw it down to start unbuttoning her shirt. “I do.”
She yanked open his belt, and they kept walking back until they collided with the couch.
Outside of vampire novels, Sylvie had never understood the inclination to involve too many teeth in lovemaking, but the curve above Dominic’s collarbone was so inviting that she had the distinct urge to nibble.
Or just curl up and hang off him like a bat.
As he unclipped the front clasp of her bra and pressed a kiss to the damp skin between her breasts, she asked, “Are we going slightly down or all the way down?”
He stopped kissing. Raised his head. “The latter was the plan,” he said drily. “But I’m happy to take direction if you have preferences otherwise.”
She was standing in Dominic De Vere’s office with her boobs out, he had just expressed an intention to put his mouth between her legs, and she was fully going to laugh out loud. “I meant, couch or floor?”
His forehead dropped against her chest. “This is going well.”
As she laid her hands on his silky hair, any inclination to giggle slipped away.
There was a lovely fluffy white rug on the floor in front of the couch. Slowly, Sylvie lowered to kneel on the ground, tugging on his hands to pull him down with her. Their fingers twisted together. “It is,” she said softly. “Going well.”
An emotion she couldn’t quite read flashed through Dominic’s eyes. And then they were kissing again, and he was pulling away her dangling shirt and bra, tossing them aside. They kicked away the rest of their clothes, and he stretched out at her side, looking at her. The dimly lit office was nicely warm, but Sylvie could feel goose bumps rising on her skin.
She both really wanted to do this and had never felt more self-conscious in her life.
When his fingertips brushed her temple, smoothing back a fallen strand of hair, her shiver was more violent than it should have been.
“Sylvie.”
She finally raised her gaze higher than the scattering of hair and freckles on his bare chest—and saw, in that cool, experienced, always imperturbable face, a reflection of everything she was struggling with.
At sea with the intensity of feeling. The uncertainty of the new. The fear of not being enough.
Her eyes closed when their faces touched. For a moment, they just breathed, Dominic’s fingertips tracing a small, soothing circle on Sylvie’s upper arm.
When their lips met, it was so perfectly natural—and her heart started to beat harder. She stroked his chest and felt him shudder, made a small sound in her throat when he cupped her breast.
His mouth closed over her nipple, and she drew in a sharp breath, arching a little as her fingers wove through his thick hair.
His lips returned to hers, their breath mingling, tongues tangling as the intensity deepened. She was already wet by the time his hand slid up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, stroked inside her.
His groan shuddered from deep in his chest as she closed her fingers around his erection, teasing the length, flirting with the head, before she increased the pressure, gave him the friction he needed.
For long minutes, his muscles were stretched taut, his fists closing, and his legs moving a little restlessly. Abruptly, he loosened her grip and kissed her fingers. It was her turn to tense up as his lips left a burning trail down her abdomen, nuzzling over the stretch marks on her hips, pausing to nip her belly button. His hair tickled her skin and Sylvie squirmed.
She felt a renewed spike of self-consciousness when he parted her legs, but it disappeared into incredibly intense pleasure when his tongue fluttered around her clit. Her breath coming so quickly she was starting to feel light-headed, Sylvie dug her fingers into the rug at her sides, clutching fistfuls of softness when he started to suck.
Two aspects of Dominic’s personality had always been very clear: determination and completionism.
And holy shit, was she reaping the benefits.
She was snapping back, just about bowing in half as she came for the second time, when he at last sat up, breathing hard.
He crouched between her legs, the muscles bulging in his thighs, a thin film of sweat over his chest, as she stared, her arm draped bonelessly over her forehead.