s gentle and his touch is
light and hea一venly. His intrepid fingers move down, and
slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.
“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs reverentially against my throat.
“You’re always ready.” He moves his finger in time with
his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my cla一vicle
and then down to my breast. He torments first one, then
the other nipple with teeth and lips, but oh-so-gently, and
they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.
I groan.
“Hmm,” he growls softly and raises his head to give me
a blazing gray-eyed look. “I want you now.” He reaches
over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking
his weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine
while easing my legs apart with his. He kneels up and rips
open the foil packet.
“I can’t wait until Saturday,” he says, his eyes glowing
with salacious delight.
“Your party?” I pant.
“No. I can stop using these fuckers.”
“Aptly named.” I giggle.
He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. “Are you
giggling, Miss Steele?”
giggling, Miss Steele?”
“No.” I try and fail to straighten my face.
“Now is not the time for giggling.” He shakes his head
in admonishment and his voice is low, stern, but his
expression—holy cow—is glacial and volcanic at once.
My breath catches in my throat. “I thought you liked it
when I giggle,” I whisper hoarsely, gazing into the dark
depths of his stormy eyes.
“Not now. There’s a time and a place for giggling. This
is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how,” he
says ominously, and his body covers mine.
“What would you like for breakfast, Ana?”
“I’ll just ha一ve some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”
I flush as I take my place at the breakfast bar beside
Christian. The last time I set eyes on the very prim and
proper Mrs. Jones, I was being unceremoniously dragged
into the bedroom over Christian’s shoulder.
“You look lovely,” Christian says softly. I’m wearing
my gray pencil skirt and gray silk blouse again.
“So do you.” I smile shyly at him. H
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