Page 55 of Diego

His hands, one in my hair, one on the small of my back, pressing me against him. His mouth, demanding and intoxicating. The hard planes of his chest, the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne mixed with the wine on our breaths.

This is a terrible, terrible idea.

It's the best idea anyone's ever had.

He deepens the kiss, and his hand slides up my side, his thumb tracing the underside of my breast. A jolt goes through me, and I arch into him, a silent plea for more.

He takes the invitation.

His hand moves higher, fully cupping my breast, and I moan into his mouth. He squeezes, gently, then again, a little harder, and my knees go weak.

If he wasn't holding me up, I'd be on the floor.

A puddle of useless, wanton, very unprofessional goo.

I pull back, gasping for air.

But he doesn't stop. Just takes his lips on a journey down my throat, as his other hand kneads my breast through my shirt.

"What's the matter?" he murmurs. "Switzerland calling?"

"No," I manage to say. "Just... oxygen. Overrated, but... necessary."

He laughs against my skin. "We can't have you passing out on me."

His hand moves, pulling my shirt out from my skirt, and sliding under to find bare skin. His touch is electric, and I gasp as his fingers trace patterns on my skin, moving higher, higher, until he reaches the line of my bra.

"You have too many clothes on," he says.

"Professional hazard," I breathe.

"I have a solution for that."

His fingers trail up my back, expertly finding the clasp of my bra and undoing it with one hand.

I'm a little impressed. A lot turned on.

"That was smooth."

"I told you. I'm a man of many talents."

His hand slides back around to my front, pushing up my bra, and I lose my train of thought as his fingers brush against my nipple.

It hardens instantly.

He circles it with his thumb, then again, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"None of that," he murmurs, his lips finding my ear. "I want to hear you. Give me those beautiful sounds."

I give up trying to be quiet when he pinches my nipple gently. The sharp, sweet pleasure goes straight to my pussy and pulls a soft cry from my throat.

"That's it," he whispers. "That's what I want."

He rolls the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger, teasing and plumping it, before moving to give the other one the same attention. I'm putty in his hands.

I might do anything he asks right now. As long as he never stops.

The thought is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.