“I am ready to eat a horse,” she declared.
“I am out of horse, but I do have beef and broccoli on the way if that works for you.”
Her eyes lit up. “Chinese? I love Chinese!” Her eyes narrowed. “Molly is not going to appreciate you not eating her home cooked meals.”
“I’ll eat them,” he muttered. “And whose side are you on anyway?”
The little witch didn’t even pause to consider her answer.
“Hers.”
Killian glowered. “And why is that?”
Juliette shrugged. “Because she scares me.”
“And I don’t?”
Her head bent to one side and she regarded him with a soft sort of smile. “You did that first night.”
He wanted to tell her that was only a few weeks ago, that she couldn’t possibly stop being scared of someone in that short of time. But then he hadn’t expected to like her as much as he did in that time frame either so maybe it was the same thing. Plus the idea of her being afraid of him bothered him.
“Well, that’s unacceptable,” he stated.
She simply laughed and started for the kitchen. Killian followed, watching the sway of her hips and the bounce of her hair along her back. She walked with purpose. It wasn’t exactly graceful or sexy, but it was captivating. It was the strides of someone who had no time for bullshit. He liked that.
At the island, she spun around on her heels and faced him.
“So, what do we do to pass the time?”
Anything but talk, he thought miserably. Already he’d divulged more in a single hour than he felt comfortable with. She had a way of drawing him into her web and it was dangerous. Not just for him, but for her. Somehow, he needed to remind her that what they shared out in the garden—clearly a huge mistake on his part—could never happen again. There could never be another heart to heart. Their arrangement needed to remain indifferent and physical only. Emotional attachments could get her killed; and, God help him, but he knew he’d lose his fucking mind if he let that happen.
Killian kissed her. He didn’t mean to, but every ounce of his frustration seemed to pour into the single melding of mouths. His hands framed her face, holding her to him as he forced her back. She made a sound, like a squeak when her back came up against the island. Killian released her long enough to grab her hips. He lifted her up onto the smooth marble.
She didn’t protest or try to stop him. Her eyes were dark and watchful, waiting to see what he’d do next.
“Undo your blouse,” he told her.
His own hands moved up the soft, warm flesh of her outer thighs to the lush curve of her hips. His gaze stayed on her hands as they fluttered with ease to the first button. He vaguely recalled the first time he’d asked her to remove her top, back in the limo their first night. He remembered how her fingers had trembled and how tight her jaw had gotten. There was none of that now as she slipped button after button through the neat holes.
Crimson fabric parted to pale skin. Each new inch dipped lower to expose high, beautiful breasts. The bra, he noted with some disappointment, wasn’t the one she’d bought the day before. It was a simple, cotton material in faded black, but in no way did it take away from the sight.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” He’d meant the words to stay in his head, but they filled the kitchen in a guttural whisper.
Her chest swelled with her sharp exhale. The bit of fabric covering her strained, revealing the tight, hard outlines of her nipples. A warm flush crawled up her chest to soak into her cheeks and he followed the line with his lips from the valley between her breasts all the way up to her waiting mouth. His hands curled into the strips of material curving around her hips and he dragged her panties down her legs. She kicked them off and widened her knees.
“Lie back,” he told her, resting his hands on her thighs.
She did a quick check behind her to make sure nothing was there before reclining. Her blouse parted on either side of her like red wings. Her stomach and chest seemed to heave with every ragged breath. But Killian’s only focus was her thighs, her toned, slender thighs, the delicate color of milk. He loved her legs. Hell if he knew why. He’d never been a leg guy before. Breasts, yes. Lips, yes. But never legs. Yet hers fascinated him. He loved how they grabbed him when he was deep inside her and how they tensed and quivered when she was about to come. Her thighs said more than her entire body and it was why he always seemed to start with kissing them first.
Bending his neck, he pressed several open mouthed kisses to her inner thighs in a row up to the junction. The thick, musky scent of her arousal met him before he was even close and he felt himself harden against the front of his trousers; knowing she was already wet and ready for him always drove him crazy.
Lifting his head, he reached over and flipped the rest of her skirt up and over her stomach, baring her to the room and him. Her neatly kempt mound beckoned him. The engorged little bundle at the top peeked out from between plump, pink lips, tempting his fingers to stroke and tease. But he occupied his attention with littering kisses up and along the line of her pelvis. He nipped at her hipbones and drew just close enough to where she wanted him to make her twitch and whimper. His fingers made slow circles mere inches from her core. He let his thumb lightly brush her clit and she swore violently. Her legs jerked on either side of him.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he had a thing for eating pussy. The female body had always been a weakness. But the center of a woman’s body, the apex of her pleasure had always made him curious enough to learn everything he possibly could about it. The number of past lovers was immeasurable, but they had all been a critical part of his discovery. They had all been different, but they all had one thing in common—the fact that they had a pussy. Yet none of them, not one, had tasted like Juliette. They hadn’t felt like her ether, which was understandable, because they weren’t her. With her, everything felt new, like he was learning it all from ground zero.
Carefully, he swept apart her lips to the wet, pink center. Her opening gleamed beneath the pool of her arousal. It trickled in a clear stream to the second little hole, the one he had yet to discover, but had every intention of doing so.
“Will you let me have your ass?” he wondered out loud.
“My ass?”
Gingerly, he brought a finger to the puckered rosebud already glistening and slick from her juices. He circled it once before giving just a hint of pressure.
Juliette cried out. Her hips jerked, but not to get away.
He pressed a little harder and watched her back tear off the counter. Her pussy clenched and more fluid expelled to coat his exploring fingers.
“I want to be in here,” he told her, careful to keep his voice low.
He waited for no reaction or response when lowering his head and flicking a tongue over her clit before moving down to circle her opening with just the tip. The delicious taste of her filled his mouth with every ravenous sweep. His finger continued to tease her back entrance. Her cream mixed with his saliva, creating a slippery enough lubricant to push just past the first bend in his finger. The hot, tight ring gripped him as its owner wailed. It was becoming a task holding her flailing hips steady long enough to lift his mouth to her clit. His free hand left her twitching thigh to plunge two fingers deep inside her pussy.
As multitasking went, Killian was kind of proud of himself. He was somehow able to keep her from leaping off the counter while pumping two fingers in one hole, one finger in the second hole and still maintaining a steady suction on her clit. All the while, Juliette was a writhing, screaming, incoherent mess. Her body was hot enough to cook off of and she was clawing at his head, dragging him close enough to suffocate. But he let her, because there wasn’t a fucking thing sexier than his woman lost in her own pleasure because of him.