He's the One by Linda Lael Miller Page B

way.” He took her with his mouth then, by turns soft and gentle,
     demanding and aggressive, and yet when she was a quivering, desperate mass—which took
     all of two minutes—he pulled back again. “Anyone else ever make you feel this way?”
     he murmured, nudging her legs even wider with his shoulders, cupping her bottom in
     his big hands, making himself at home while she let out urgently needy, panting sobs.
     “Ella?”
    “No one,” she admitted in a strangled voice, crying out when he finally sucked her
     into his mouth, his own uneven pants against her captive flesh sending her even further
     onto the edge. “No one,” she managed to say. “But you.”
    He rewarded her by moving to the preciously correct spot, unerringly laving at her
     with his tongue in the rhythm he knew she needed. Each heartbeat, each breath, shoved
     her closer to the unrelenting, building heat threatening to consume her, and she went
     willingly. Her fingers slid out of his hair and went to his shoulders, roped with
     lean muscle as he bent to his task. Her skin tightened, her muscles began to shake.
    “Mmmm,” he murmured, lapping her up like cream, sliding two fingers deep inside her,
     stroking her both inside and out now, in a way she couldn’t have resisted if she’d
     tried.
    “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she panted as water lapped at their lower bodies.
    “I won’t,” he promised, and then she was coming, bursting apart at the seams really,
     with the water hitting her at mid-leg now, the dark night sky drifting over them,
     and James doing as he promised, not stopping, licking her more softly now as he held
     her frantic hips, slowly bringing her back to earth.
    Her hands fell to the wet sand at her sides as she fought to catch her breath. “My
     God. What was that, a hurricane?”
    His hair brushed over her as he turned his head and kissed her inner thigh. “Hurricane
     James.”
    She laughed breathlessly. “F-5 strength. I think I have sand in all my parts,” she
     said, but then the laughter caught in her throat because James surged up to his knees,
     gripped her hips in his hands, and stared down at her with burning eyes.
    “I have something else to fill you with,” he said, and in one smooth, controlled thrust,
     buried himself to the hilt.
    Her pleasure-filled cry comingled with his. Wrapping both her arms and legs around
     him, she tipped her mouth up for his crushing kiss as he began to move. Water continued
     to lap at their feet and calves, the sand warm and giving beneath them. The light
     hair on James’s chest teased her nipples as he stroked her smooth and sure, then harder,
     grazing her already sensitized, wet flesh with each flex of his hips.
    Then he tore his mouth from hers and lifted her hips higher for the thrusts she couldn’t
     get enough of. The breath plowing in and out of her lungs, she felt her body tighten
     again, but she struggled to hold back, to wait for him.
    “No, you don’t,” he growled, and spread the fingers of the hand on her hip so that
     he could glide his thumb over her clit.
    She exploded again, from an even deeper, darker place than she had before, and even
     as she let go and cried out his name, she knew. God, she knew.
    She was still hopelessly, helplessly in love with him.
     
     
    When she came back to herself she realized he was still hard as iron inside her, holding
     himself rigid. He hadn’t come. She ran her hands down the taut, damp, quivering muscles
     of his back.
    “Don’t,” he choked out. “Don’t move, don’t touch.”
    “But—”
    “Don’t talk, either.” He buried his face in her hair and took several long, gulping,
     deep breaths before speaking in a tight, guttural voice. “I don’t have a condom.”
    He was barely clinging to control, and a burst of warmth and affection for him nearly
     overcame her, so much so she could hardly breathe. “But I do.”
    He lifted his head, his eyes black and glittering.
    “In my purse,” she