How to Trap a Tycoon by Elizabeth Bevarly (thriller books to read txt) 📕

As enjoyable as that warmth was, though, it was nothing compared to the even more pleasurable sensation of Adam's hand rubbing over her swollen breast. That sensation, too, was soon surpassed, however, when he trailed a series of brief butterfly kisses down her neck, along her shoulder and collarbone, between her breasts and finally, finally over the tender mound of flesh. He opened his mouth wide over her nipple and sucked as much of her inside as he could, laving her with the flat of his tongue before doing his best to devour her whole.

Oh … that felt so … delicious, Dorsey thought. So delectable. So decadent. Her fingers tightened convulsively in his hair, and she urged him closer still, silently begging for more. So Adam gave her more. He licked the undersides of her breasts with long, lingering strokes, taunted the stiff peaks with the tip of his tongue. And with every salacious taste, he pushed a hand lower, loosing the fastenings of her trousers, dipping inside, skimming along the waistband of her panties.

Dorsey was so focused on enjoying the scintillating pleasure she was feeling that she didn't pay much attention to where Adam's seemingly aimless wandering was taking him. Not until he scooped his hand lower, beneath the silky fabric of her panties. Not until he buried three fingers in the damp, delicate folds of flesh that he found between her legs. At that shocking contact, she went absolutely rigid, clenched her fingers more tightly into his hair, expelled a rough sound that wasn't quite objection, wasn't quite acquiescence.

Adam halted his invasion then, as if awaiting a signal from her. Dorsey's gaze found his, and she saw that he was smiling, a predatory little smile that indicated he was enjoying himself immensely. But when she offered no indication that she wanted him to either withdraw or continue, his smile fell some. Not because he was unhappy, she soon realized. But because he had his mind on other things.

The fingers pressed against her moved again, slowly, gently, almost imperceptibly, two of them enclosing that most sensitive part of her, one of them reaching lower, to softly penetrate her. Dorsey's eyes fluttered closed at the keenness of the sensation, and her mouth fell open in an effort to draw in more air. Adam's fingers moved again, backward, forward, gliding effortlessly, insistently, through her slick heat.

"Oh, Adam…" she whispered. "Oh, that feels so… Oh…"

She heard his rough chuckle but couldn't quite bring herself to open her eyes. Because what she was feeling was quite unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she was reasonably certain that she didn't want it to end just yet. Which was good, because he showed no sign of ceasing his actions anytime soon. And with each eager, capable motion of his fingers, Dorsey fell back a bit more until her head lay cushioned on the sofa arm and her body lay open to Adam's onslaught.

Vaguely, she registered the removal of her trousers and her panties, her socks and her shoes. Vaguely, she sensed Adam removing some of his own clothing, as well. Vaguely, she felt him shove a throw pillow beneath her hips. And vaguely, she sensed him drawing near again. But there was nothing vague about her response when, instead of returning his fingers to the damp, raging heart of her, his mouth went there instead. Dorsey's eyes snapped open wide, and she cried out in both surprise and scandal at the sensations that swamped her when he flicked his tongue against her. No one had ever… It was completely unexpected… There was no way she should allow … Surely he wasn't planning to…

She never completed any of those thoughts, so far gone by now was she that she could scarcely remember her own name. She had ceased to be Dorsey, had ceased to be Mack, had ceased to be even Lauren Grable-Monroe. At that moment, she was simply a woman—nothing more, nothing less. And for making her feel that way, more than anything else, she would always be grateful to Adam.

And then even that fey, indistinct thought evaporated, melted away into a capricious whirl of others even less defined. All Dorsey could do then was feel. Feel and marvel at the kaleidoscope of sensation and emotion that wheeled through her, until even those shattered into a billion shards of joy.

She cried out her completion and instinctively groped for Adam. Clutching his shoulders, she pulled him back up to her breast, captured him, clung to him. But before she could say a word, he pushed himself between her legs and coaxed them wider still. She moved her hand between their bodies to find his ripened, rigid shaft and was surprised to discover that it was already sheathed in a condom. But her disappointment that she wouldn't have the opportunity to explore him more completely quickly turned to anticipation when she felt the solid length of him pressing against her hand. He was so … oh… Instinctively, she opened her legs wider, thrust her hips forward, and guided him to where she wanted him to be.

With one swift, arrogant thrust, Adam buried himself as deeply as he could, filling Dorsey in a way she had never been filled before. With that one, single maneuver, he seemed to be everywhere inside her, overflowing places she had never known were empty, warming parts of her she had never realized were cold. For a moment after entering her, he stilled, remained motionless, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had done. Then he withdrew and pushed himself forward again, even more deeply than before. And Dorsey knew in that moment that regardless of where he might be in the future—or, perhaps more realistically, where he would not be—Adam would never, ever leave those places inside her that he had filled. Not completely. He would be with her always. No