He slanted his mouth over hers once more, tormenting her left nipple with his fingers before trailing his hand down to delve beneath the hem of her dress.
He stroked up one satin-smooth thigh, the sensation of silk and lace against his fingers.
The temptation to take her from the wall to the bed a few feet behind him powered through him. But he knew there was no way he could stop this if they both ended up on the bed.
His fingers dipped beneath her panty line, unerringly finding her damp heat.
He groaned. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.” Her words were barely audible.
He stroked her, gritting his teeth against the need powering through him. The need to throw all caution to the wind and fill her up, possess her until neither of them could breathe.
Her hips jerked against his ministrations, a sweet moan falling from her lips as he stroked her, circling the bundle of nerves that made her head drop against the wall, her eyes closed, as she chased her pleasure.
The picture of Amelie in the throes of passion was indescribable.
This had to end. But before it did, he increased the tempo of his strokes, his hungry gaze absorbing every flicker of passion over her face, every escalation of bliss that told him she was nearing her peak.
And when that peak arrived, he watched her delve headlong into rapture. Jaw clenched tight to resist taking this to the next level, joining her in that sweet climax, he waited until she quieted.
Then he released his hold on her and stepped back.
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