Libby leaned over and pressed her mouth to his stomach, licking and sucking up the liquid.
“So we’ve completed the toast?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Oh, no,” she purred, her mouth continuing its task. “We’re drinking to your manhood, remember?” She sat up and poured more champagne on his erection, then set the glass on the table. His erection jolted in response as her lips covered the head and took him into her mouth.
“Oh God, Lib.” He grabbed handfuls of her hair as her tongue and lips sucked and licked, her hand cupping his balls. Within half a minute he was dangerously close to coming again. “My turn.”
He pulled her off him and rolled her onto her back in one fluid movement. Laughing, she started to sit up, but he pushed her back down and knelt between her legs. After picking up his flute of champagne, he poured the liquid on her right breast, letting it dribble down to the hollow of her cleavage.
She gasped and her nipple hardened the instant before his mouth covered it, licking and nipping. She moaned as he licked the sticky liquid down to the pool.
“If we’re toasting my manhood, we need to toast your glorious breasts.”
She smiled. “They’re glorious, are they?”
“You have no idea, do you?” He poured more champagne on the left nipple, his erection throbbing as her nipple pebbled. His tongue lapped at the pool between her breasts and then worked its way up the peak to her nipple. “They’re perfect. Not too small, not too big. They fit in my hand with a little bit left over. They’re soft.” His lips skimmed her creamy skin. “And they are so responsive.” He took her nipple between his teeth and she gasped, her hips lifting on the bed.
“Your observation is based on very little hands-on experience,” she teased as his mouth worked its way down the crest.
“How many times do you have to look upon a beautiful painting to know it’s glorious?” he asked in mock disbelief. “You see it and you know. Your breasts are exactly the same. Perfection brought to life. If I could sculpt, I’d make a statue of your beautiful breasts. Now I have a lifetime to enjoy their perfection.”
He leaned up and kissed her, the taste of champagne on both their lips. She pushed on his shoulders to sit up, but he guided her back down.
“I’m not done toasting yet.”
“I don’t see how you could toast my breasts any more than you have.”
His eyebrows rose playfully. “It’s not your breasts I’m toasting this time.”
Her eyes darkened with desire and anticipation as he picked up the flute and slid down her body. He held the glass over the V of her legs and released a slow drizzle, watching as the trickle flowed over her folds and then leaning down to clean it up with his mouth.
“Noah.”
He looked up at her, his erection getting harder at the sight of her—her head thrown back, her fists gripping the pillow beneath her head, her nipples peaked on her full breasts. He brought her to the edge of an orgasm before she pulled him up and rolled him over onto his back.
“Condom?” she asked breathlessly.
“My toiletries bag,” he answered just as breathlessly.
She left him to get the bag, and it seemed like an eternity before she straddled his legs and ripped open the package. “You need to be more prepared, Noah McMillan. This is your last one.”
“Jesus,” he mumbled in panic. “That will never do.”
She rolled it on him, poised over him. “No. It won’t.” Then she lowered down and took the length of him inside her, moving slowly and purposely, the evil grin on her face telling him that she intended to torture him.
He sat up and scooted them to the edge of the bed. He cupped her delicious ass and lifted her up before bringing her firmly down on top of him again. “I want to kiss this next time. Your ass and so many other places.”
“Yes, next time,” she murmured, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, as she rode him, her movements letting him know she was close to coming. He was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life—his Libby, unhinged and wild, taking what she wanted from him. Then she released a cry and moaned his name as her fingers dug into his shoulders and her climax washed over her. He pulled her close and she sagged against him, her forehead resting against his.
He kissed her, gently, softly. Wanting to show her how much he loved her. Adored her. Worshiped her.
He scooted backward on the bed, still inside her as he rolled her onto her back. Moving in and out, slowly . . . all the way in and nearly all the way out, again and again.
He reached his hand between her legs, rubbing her. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
“As much as I want you?” Her breath hitched, her eyes on his.
Her words triggered something inside him, unleashing a tidal wave of passion and desire.
She locked her legs behind his back as he pounded into her with an intensity that caught him by surprise. Worried he was hurting her, he slowed down.
“Don’t . . . stop!” she gasped out.
Instinct took over and he lifted her hips to drive deeper, inflamed by the feeling of her tightening around him.
She cried out and lifted her hips to take him as deep as she could. No longer able to hold back, Noah came hard and fast. After he caught his breath, he rolled her to her side, facing him.
“You’re going to kill me,” she murmured, her eyes closed.
He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. “You are everything I could have ever hoped for.”
“I love you,” she whispered, drifting off to sleep.
Noah held her in his arms, overcome by the knowledge that he had never fathomed what love could be like until he’d held this woman in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Libby awoke on her side, Noah’s stomach pressed to her back. Their nakedness was proof enough that last night hadn’t been a dream.
She was married to Noah. Never in her wildest dreams could she hope to have what she’d shared with him last night. And this was only the beginning of so much more.
She shifted and freed her left arm from underneath his, wanting a better look at the wedding ring.
“We can get you another if you don’t like it,” he murmured, sounding like his mouth was buried in his pillow.
“I love it. It’s perfect. What does yours look like?”
He placed his left palm on top of hers and splayed his fingers so she could see their rings together. “They match.”
“I never took you as a matchy-matchy guy,” she teased.
“Ordinarily I’m not, so don’t expect me to wear matching T-shirts.”
“How about wearing matching shirts with Tortoise?”
“Maybe . . .”
“What about matching Halloween costumes? We can go as Fred and Wilma Flintstone.”
“Only if I get to be Wilma.”
She laughed and rolled over to face him as he propped himself on his elbow to look at her. “Good morning, Mrs. McMillan.”
Happiness flooded her heart. “Good morning, Mr. McMillan.” Then she covered her mouth. “Oh, God. I have morning breath.”
He pulled her hand down. “So do I.” He kissed her, making her forget all about morning breath.