The combined effect of heat beneath her hands, restless agitation in her veins, and the languid caress of his tongue pushed her into sensory overload. Too much at once. Not enough. Oh, Lord, she needed to breathe.

Natalya tore her mouth away and turned her face aside, gasping for air. His equally hard breath stirred her hair. He brought his hand to the crown of her head and guided her cheek to his shoulder. For several moments they stood unmoving, the only sound, their jagged breathing.

Brandon broke the silence first. “You know where we’re going, Natalya.” His hand skimmed around her ribs to fit between their bodies and cover her breast. Her lips parted on a silent gasp as he flicked his thumb over her aroused nipple. “You know how this ends, and you want it too.”

Yes, she did, and she couldn’t remember a time when she’d wanted a man the way she wanted Brandon Moretti. But the easy way he reduced her to warmed honey unnerved her more than the fierce desire that clamped her womb into a knot. She didn’t know how to just surrender to pleasure, to yield the control, and Brandon wrested that control out of her hands effortlessly.

Naturally.

She couldn’t allow that to happen. Couldn’t lose herself that far.

She stepped back, intending to extract herself from the magic of his fingers and escape. When she could discipline her body and mind, she could entertain Brandon’s suggestion. “Yes, but—”

He followed her retreat, forbidding her to flee as he cupped her other breast in his free hand. His fingers gently worked the soft flesh, his gaze never breaking from hers. The burn in that tawny stare sent rivulets of excitement thrumming through her blood. He knew what he wanted, and damned if she was going to stop him.

Brandon took a puckered nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Natalya felt the pinch all the way through her womb, and her pussy contracted with need. Her thong was damp, the ache between her legs crying out for the stroke of his hands, the intrusion of his cock.

“But?” His voice was husky against the backdrop of reverberating bass. “But what?” He released her breasts to slide one large palm down her side, over the curve of her hip, and along her thigh. Gathering her skirt in his fingers, he exposed her bare leg at the same time he popped the solitary button of her dark green suit jacket. His gaze seared through the red lace that covered her breasts, warming her skin.

“I don’t—I mean, I’m—”

“Wet,” he murmured as his fingers crept beneath the curve of her bottom and slipped between her legs. He ran a solitary knuckle over the damp scrap of cloth that covered her pussy. “So very wet.”