Only dancing? Hah! Who was she kidding? Slow dancing with Luc was like making love.
As if to emphasize that point, Luc released the hand held against his chest. He had one arm still wrapped around her waist, but now used his free hand to roam her back and buttocks, the whole time persuading her with soft, barely coherent words to move even closer, perfecting the fit of their two bodies—breast to chest, groin to groin, and thigh to thigh. Every beat of the slow dance gave her proof of his arousal.
When Sylvie could stand no more of this exercise in torture, she rubbed her breasts against his chest… back and forth… just once.
A low hissing sound came from between Luc’s teeth, and she thought she might have moaned, but it was hard to tell, so overwhelming was the intense pleasure emanating from her nipples, which yearned for more abrasion. She wore the silk blouse and slacks she’d had on when they’d left Houma, but, oh, how she wished she were a more uninhibited woman. She would like nothing more than to feel her bare breasts against Luc’s chest… to have him kiss her there… and place his lips… oh, too many wicked thoughts and impossible wishes assailed her. Too much to assimilate, especially when Luc was moving his lips along her jawline, closer and closer to her mouth, which she clamped shut for fear he might hear the sound of her panting.
Sylvie should stop this now. She was way out of her league with a man like Luc LeDeux. If she didn’t put a halt to this, he would soon discover just how inexpert she was in love matters… how pathetic she was in her need for him.
“Luc, no, wait,” she tried to say as he whisked his mouth briefly across hers.
“Shhh, Sylv,” he said against her lips. “Let me… oh, please, just let me…”
Sylvie didn’t really want him to stop… she had to admit that. Instead of pushing him away, she arched her neck and made a low purring sound deep in her throat.
The anticipation of his kiss was a carnal joy… a goal in itself. But, no, he was kissing her now, and she was wrong. The kiss itself was so much more than the anticipation.
With a sigh, she allowed his coaxing lips to open hers and kiss her with a hunger that would have frightened her with its ferocity, if it didn’t match her own.
Amazingly, the whole time this was going on, Luc was leading her in a sensuous slow dance… not around the room, but in a small circle… enough to still call it dancing and not foreplay. Except, it was that, too.
Luc was a really good dancer, she observed. But even more important, Luc was a really good kisser. Really good!
He touched her soul with the gentleness of his clinging kisses, then seared her libido with the rapacious appetite of his wet, open-mouthed kisses. She could not say which she preferred. When he buried himself deep in her mouth, and encouraged her to do the same with him, she felt as one with his arousal. He would not travel this erotic road alone, he was making sure of that.
Dragging his mouth from hers, he stared at her swollen lips through smoldering eyes, then nodded as if satisfied with his work. Before she knew what he was about, he moved to new territory, pulling her blouse from the waistband of her slacks, releasing the buttons in front, while he resumed nibbling kisses along the sensitive curve of her neck.
And the things he whispered to her then… wicked, wicked words of what he would like to do to her… caused Sylvie’s knees to go weak and almost collapse. With a joyous laugh, he caught her and held her upright.
They stopped dancing, and with the expertise of a cat burglar, Luc somehow managed to remove her blouse and bra. The soughing of his breath could be heard above the sound of Luther spinning his magic with “Your Secret Love.” All Luc said was, “Oh, Sylvie.” Then his T-shirt was gone as well, and they were dancing again, bare chest to bare chest, and nothing, nothing, in Sylvie’s life had ever felt this good. He used one hand at the small of her back to guide her in the dance, but the fingers of the other hand were doing delicious things to her breasts… skimming, kneading, thrumming.