One Wedding Required!. Шэрон Кендрик
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had turned up, it had seemed the perfect outfit to put on. Because it was a Christmassy colour and also because there was something about new clothes which made a woman feel extra-confident...
Maybe now was the time to tell him about the interview—but Amber didn’t even give it a second thought, because by now Finn was ruthlessly rubbing at one of her nipples through the ivory lace, the pad of his thumb creating a soft, sweet sorcery that had her melting against him again. ‘Yes, it’s new,’ she sighed helplessly against him. ‘I bought it last week. D-do you like it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he mused, as he eased a practised knee between her thighs and followed it with purposeful fingers. ‘I think on balance it looks better off than on.’
Amber gave a little yelp of pleasure as he skimmed a moist path along the centre of her panties, and she couldn’t have stopped her thighs from opening in mute invitation even if she had wanted to.
‘Do you like that?’ he queried unnecessarily.
She shook her head. Sometimes she resented him for this. For reducing her to such a boneless, shaking wreck within seconds of laying one seductive finger on her. ‘Hate it,’ she husked defiantly.
He gave a low laugh. ‘Oh, do you?’ He slid the panties down to mid-thigh, then stopped, and Amber realised that she had been doing a hell of a lot of taking and not much giving. She often felt shy about taking the lead. But that wasn’t really surprising, not when she stopped to think about it. For Finn had been making love to beautiful women since he was eighteen, while she had only ever known him...
With trembling fingers she lightly flattened the palm of her hand against his black jeans, to touch and incite the great throbbing swell of him. Then she began to falteringly unbuckle his belt, wondering whether she would ever acquire his smooth undressing technique, and he gave another low laugh of pleasure.
‘Oh, that’s what I like about you, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his voice sultry with pure elation. ‘The way you tremble and gasp with shock and excitement whenever I lay a finger on you. The way you touch me with hands which are both scared and eager. The way your eyes widen with disbelief when I fill you right up with every inch of me. You’re like a virgin every time we make love, Amber.’
‘Am I?’ For some reason his words fired her up with both rebellion and desire. Was she always such a predictable lover? Didn’t his words imply that she was somehow in awe of him? Gazing on him in wonderment, as if finding it difficult to believe that the great Finn Fitzgerald should be making love to her, poor little Amber O’Neil, from the wrong side of town? ‘But I’m not a virgin, am I, Finn? Because a virgin wouldn’t touch you here. Like this.’ And she boldly splayed her hand across the most elemental part of him and felt him buck beneath her.
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