Her Book Of Pleasure. Marie Donovan

him right for having her wear the sexy shoes to bed. Although he was on top, she tried to take the upper hand. He angled his thrusts, pushing deep and shallow, building her desire then easing her down. He pulled all the way out and brushed the head of his shaft across her moist folds.

      She was close to coming again, squirming and moaning despite his teasing. A peach-colored flush spread from her breasts to her face, her mouth gasping and rosy. “More, more.”

      “Not until you’re ready.” He slid over her clit, his balls rubbing against the entrance to her slick passage.

      She raised her head and bit his nipple.

      He reared back in shock, inadvertently driving his cock deep inside her. Locking her legs around him, she lifted her ass and grabbed his balls with her hand.

      “Michiko!” He threw away all pretence of finesse and slammed against her. Her hot sheath contracted around him as she rubbed her diamond-tipped breasts against his chest. Her fingers cupped his sac, squeezing and molding him until he swelled and threaten to burst. He gritted his teeth, anxious to get her to climax before he lost it.

      He balanced on one forearm and rubbed the swollen nub right above where his body joined hers. She gave a short scream and scratched her nails across his shoulders. He winced, but the stinging sensations spurred a fresh rush of blood to his cock. He fingered her harder and nipped at her neck. She thrashed her head as he licked her earlobe, whispering dark, erotic words into the curve of her ear. “Come hard for me, so my cock can explode in your slick little pussy.”

      Michiko emitted a wordless cry as she shuddered under him, her tight wetness sucking him in with thousands of tiny pulsations.

      He lost control and pounded against her, sinking into a sensual abyss. Just as he was drowning in her mysterious depths, he shattered, calling her name in a long groan. The waves of his orgasm buffeted him until he could hardly breathe.

      She held him tight as he gasped for air and collapsed on top of her. The salty scent of sex rose around them. He withdrew carefully, disposing of the condom before he rolled over.

      “Rick?” She leaned over him, her thick hair tickling his face. “Are you okay?”

      “Mmmm.” He pulled her onto his chest, nuzzling her soft neck and breathing in her spicy perfume. “Better than okay.”

      “Me, too.” She rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m so glad we did this tonight.”

      That sounded like she wasn’t planning on seeing him again. “Tonight and many more, sweetheart,” he emphasized. She’d wrung him dry and he couldn’t stay awake any longer. “Need a quick nap.” He yawned. “We’ll go back to the reception together.”

      She nodded sleepily. “Back to the reception.”

      He drifted into oblivion, dreaming of the gorgeous woman he held in his arms.

      3

      MEG OPENED HER EYES slowly and slammed them shut as the dimly lit room spun. Too much damn sangria and whiskey. What a revolting combination. Having Rick’s heavy arm slung across her middle didn’t help, either. She eased from under him and pushed up from the king-size bed. He slept on his stomach, limp with exhaustion.

      She wished she could hop back into bed with him, sleep all night and wake him with a round of morning nooky. She had to content herself with brushing away the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He stirred at her touch.

      She froze as he rolled over, his big body sprawling across the mattress. Her mouth grew dry as the sheet slipped below his belly button, the bulge of his penis outlined in 300-thread count cotton. She wished they could’ve had more time together, more time for her to fully explore his body, touch all the secret places that drove him wild, drive him over the edge with her mouth.

      But there was no time for that, despite how her previously sated flesh quickened at the sight of him.

      He reached to where she’d been sleeping and murmured something. Was it her name? He quieted, falling into a deeper sleep.

      Her gaze flew to the red numbers on the clock radio. It was 11:00 p.m. She’d been gone for over two hours. Where were her clothes? Okay, her bridesmaid’s dress lay on the chair. She wriggled into the wrinkled green thing, which now resembled a wilted lettuce leaf. Yanking the zipper, she stuffed her breasts inside the bodice. Her hair was a disaster. Her tiny purse didn’t contain a comb, and she felt weird about borrowing Rick’s. Pretty strange, since they’d already done plenty of things more intimate than that.

      Her stockings were a write-off too, since Rick had ripped off the elastic bands as he thrust inside her. Her shoes could wait until she got downstairs, but where was her underwear?

      Meg scanned the carpet in the dim light cast by the table lamp. Her panties weren’t under the crumpled comforter. She tiptoed to the bed, lifting the pillow next to Rick’s head. Not there. Short of stripping off the sheet and waking him, she couldn’t look anywhere else.

      Commando it was. She took a few experimental steps, enjoying how the dress’s cool lining rubbed across her bottom and sent a shudder through her.

      She’d miss Rick, had never expected to feel such a deep connection to a man she’d only known for a couple of hours. If only they’d met last summer before her disaster with Ethan, when she hadn’t been afraid to trust a man. At least she’d been able to drop her guard enough to enjoy herself with Rick.

      She turned to gaze at him again as he slept, trying to memorize the breadth of his chest, the soft brownish-red hair that covered his hard muscles.

      Who was she kidding? Everything about him was etched in her brain. Would he track her down? Would he even try? All she had to do was tell him her real name and phone number. Or tell Rey to pass her info along.

      She shook her head. The ball was in his court now. If she didn’t hear from him, either he wasn’t interested or she’d console herself that he was a lousy investigator. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough on her plate right now with her career.

      She closed the door and walked to the elevator barefoot, her sandals dangling from her fingers. The elevator opened and she got a 200-watt view of herself. If she did have cat’s eyes as Rick had said, they now belonged to the cat that had swallowed the canary.

      Now she had to sneak into the dressing room and try to do something to wrestle her hair back into submission. She probably also smelled pretty strongly of Rick’s cologne. His face had gone some interesting places, she mused, noticing the exact spot in the lobby where she’d bumped into him for the first time. Had it only been a couple hours?

      “Look who decided to show her face.” The cold Swedish accent grated on Meg. She turned slowly.

      “Hello, Inga.” Play it casual and then run like hell. The big ones were usually slow on their feet.

      The Amazonian blond bridesmaid curled her lip. “Rey’s been waiting for you. She said she wouldn’t toss the bouquet without her maid of honor.”

      “Bouquet toss?” Meg felt sick. Her time with Rick had fried her brain, obliterating her promise to Rey in a gigantic blaze of lust.

      “Let’s go.” Inga strode off, taking the steps to the ballroom two at a time, even in her long bridesmaid dress. Meg climbed the other side, not wanting to be crushed into a Swedish pancake if Inga slipped and fell backward.

      Meg halted in the ballroom doorway. All the guests had retreated to the edge of the dance floor. Rey stood near the DJ’s equipment, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. She caught sight of Meg and beckoned to her. Meg crossed the empty dance floor, her bare feet dragging. Two hundred curious guests stared at her wrinkled dress and mussed hair. Her only consolation was that no one knew she’d left her panties in a suite upstairs.

      “Where on earth have you been? And what happened to your hair?” Rey’s blue eyes widened. “Who was he?”

      “He?”