A Taste Of Paradise: Addicted to You. Leslie Kelly

breath as he explored her, inch by inch. She was almost crying by the time he stopped at her belly, dipping his tongue into the hollow, nibbling her hipbone, his very breaths hitting all her pleasure sensors.

      “Nate, please,” she cried, begging him to go further, to give her the kind of dizzying climax he could so easily provide. The man’s mouth was perfect for smiling, but even more perfect for oral sex, at which he’d already proved himself a master.

      “Please what?”

      “Please use your mouth on me.” She had no shame with him; he removed every thought in her head but the need to climb ever higher. “Make me come.”

      “Greedy girl.”

      She twisted beneath him, and finally he continued to move down. By the time his jaw brushed against the soft curls between her legs she was on fire, a live wire of sensation.

      She was greedy. With him she was a different woman. With this amazing stranger she was a completely sensual being, in tune with every ounce of pleasure she was capable of achieving.

      “Oh, God, yes,” she groaned when he moved his mouth right where she craved it and stroked her with his tongue.

      He groaned himself as he tasted her, eating her into a mindless frenzy. She’d had oral sex before, but never with someone who seemed to totally get off on giving it. Nate devoured her as if he was starving, his warm tongue licking into her, making love to her, before he returned to her clit and got serious about bringing her to orgasm. The intensity of the sensation was shocking, overwhelming, and she began to shudder, bucking up toward his mouth.

      And then the pressure erupted into a warm sea of waves that rolled through her, relentless as a tide, bringing utter satisfaction. She cried out, stunned by the power and perfection of her release. Nate moved up her body, kissing the sound right off her lips, before the pulsing delight had ceased. And then he was inside her, riding it out with her.

      “I can’t get enough of you,” he growled as he plunged deep. “The minute we stop, I fantasize about starting again.”

      “Ditto,” she muttered, shocked that he could have made her so wet, so ready for him again, when they’d made love more times in the past three days than she had in a year. But every inch of her was attuned to him, welcoming his massive cock, loving the heat of it, the thickness of it, the way he bored into her as if he was an explorer claiming her for his very own.

      She’d always viewed sex as a journey toward orgasm, not realizing quite how remarkable the trip itself could be.

      “I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

      “Neither have I,” she admitted.

      “Don’t leave tomorrow.”

      She tightened her legs around his hips, arching up to take his deep thrusts. “I have to.”

      “Why don’t you come to Miami with me?”

      She laughed, but the laughter melted into a helpless groan when he plunged again.

      “Come with me.”

      “I’m going to,” she said, deliberately misinterpreting. And a few moments later, when he reached his climax, angling his hips to give her just enough pressure where she required it most, she did exactly that. Heather let out a little scream as she fell off the ledge into pure sensory delight all over again.

      “Come with me,” he demanded, staying on top of her, kissing her jaw, her nose, her lips.

      She considered it. There was her shop—her employees were very reliable. Her schedule—she could always change Friday’s dentist appointment. Her houseplants...screw the houseplants. Her parents—they were so in love, they probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone. Her father was capable of taking care of her more-than-a-little-flighty, dreamy, irresponsible mother.

      “My place is right on the beach,” he told her as he brushed his stubbled cheek against hers. “You can walk out my door and be in the surf within a hundred steps.”

      Oooh, tempting. April in Vegas was very nice, but it definitely wasn’t a beach in Florida.

      “Give me a chance to think about it,” she said, sorely tempted to say yes. But she wanted to get away from him, to evaluate the situation rationally. Right now, with his naked body entwined with hers, all gleaming with sweat, both of them so sated and delirious, was no time to make any major decisions. And skipping off to Florida with a football-playing superstar was a major decision.

      “Okay,” he said. “I have to do this charity thing and press junket. But promise you’ll consider coming while you’re lying by the pool, and we’ll talk about it tonight?”

      “I promise.”

      “And if you decide no, be warned—I can be very persuasive when there’s something I really, really want.”

      * * *

      NATE REALLY, REALLY wanted Heather.

      He wasn’t sure why, couldn’t say how she’d embedded herself so deeply in his psyche, but it was true. He’d become addicted to her over the past three days.

      It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, with her long, red-gold hair, pale green eyes and slim figure. He also enjoyed her sense of humor and her kindness, and was attracted to her spirit. She was natural, with not a fake bone in her body, unlike most women he met. Definitely unlike the one he’d planned to marry.

      The difference between gallery-owner Heather Hughes and Felicity Monroe, his bubblegum-pop-singing ex-fiancée, was like the difference between a five dollar bottle of Chianti and Pernod Ricard Perrier-Jouët champagne. They might both get you drunk. But one would leave you with a headache and a sour taste in your mouth, while the other left you feeling pretty uplifted. The fact that he’d ever proposed to Felicity embarrassed him. He was just glad she’d eventually revealed her real, vicious personality behind the sweet facade she’d shown him at first.

      As he stood in a crowded hospital corridor, he tried to force memories of Felicity out of his mind. He was always willing to help out good causes, and didn’t regret saying yes to today’s appearance at a new wing of a children’s cancer center. The press conference afterward would be a pain, but hopefully it would go quickly.

      Then he could return to the hotel and Heather.

      “So, Nate, do you have any comment about Felicity’s news?”

      Nate, who’d been squatting down to autograph a football for a cute five-year-old, tensed, recognizing reporter-tone. He finished signing the ball, tousled the kid’s hair and rose. Before him stood a middle-aged man whose eyes sparkled with excitement. Nothing beats digging into other people’s dirty laundry.

      “The press conference is happening later. If you have to ask about ancient history, save it until then. This is about the kids.”

      Not even curious about what his ex’s news might be, he began to walk away. But another guy with a press label on his jacket stepped in front of him. “Nate, will you support your child?”

      Nate’s whole body went rigid. Child? What the hell?

      “Haven’t you heard about Felicity’s interview on The View this morning?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, desperate to get to a private spot to contact the team’s press office. He’d intentionally kept his phone off for the past few days, being focused on Heather. That must be why he hadn’t heard about this yet, though, obviously, word was spreading.

      The reporter didn’t let up. “She announced her pregnancy, naming you as the father. Felicity said that when you found out, you dumped her. She mentioned a lawsuit for breach of promise.”

      Christ, was that even still a thing?

      “And said she’ll sue you for child support.”

      “This