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had clearly never been confronted with this situation.
    His hand settled on her hip. ‘That’s good, ’cause neither do I.’ Relief gushed between her thighs at the unequivocal statement. ‘Now shut up, relax and stop panicking.’
    She grinned despite herself. ‘Bossy, much, O’Neill?’
    After Henry, she’d promised herself she would never get bossed around in bed again. But why should it matter with Brent? They weren’t in a relationship; they were bonk buddies for one night only. And bending to Brent’s will felt playful and exciting—instead of humiliating.
    ‘Haven’t you heard?’ The mocking smile seemed annoyingly endearing as he shoved her into the sofa cushions. ‘Bossy is the new hot.’ His thumb glided down between her breasts, skimmed the sensitive skin of her belly, circling her belly button before sinking into the curls guarding her sex. His eyes met hers as his thumb finally parted the slick folds of her sex and glided over the swollen bud. ‘Time to suck on this stiff little clit.’
    It wasn’t a request, it was a demand, but as his fingers teased and provoked, swirling at the perfect spot, her knees parted, the invitation obvious. And she nodded.
    He grinned, the boyish excitement making her picture a kid who had been let loose in a sweet factory.
    Shifting onto his knees, he stroked open palms down her thighs to press her legs even farther apart and hold her open. Instead of feasting, though, he breathed in, his nose skimming the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
    ‘Damn, you smell awesome.’ His thumbs angled down and her heartbeat pounded against her ribcage like a pneumatic drill. He licked his lips, raising his eyebrows at her, his face alight with amusement, anticipation. Spreading her folds, he gazed adoringly at her. ‘Will you look at that, all pink and wet, especially for me.’
    His enthusiasm took her arousal to fever pitch. The guy obviously had some sort of fetish, but if ever there was a fetish a woman could get behind, this had to be the one.
    ‘I’m going to lick every delicious inch of you.’
    ‘Be my guest,’ she urged, her voice a high-pitched croak, which would have been mortifying but for the fact all coherent thought had fled. ‘But could you get a move on before I pass out.’
    He chuckled, obviously enjoying her desperation.
    She bucked as his tongue touched her leg at last and trailed upwards to lick the sensitive seam of flesh where her thigh met her torso. Sensation shimmered, her pulse hammering her collar-bone like a woodpecker on speed, adrenaline making her limbs hum with tension. A low moan escaped as he lapped at the lips of her sex.
    Her skin flushed hot, her muscles going lax, liquid.
    ‘Cup your breasts and squeeze your nipples for me.’
    She obeyed the rumbled command without question this time.
    ‘Harder. I want those nipples puckered up like bullets.’
    She did it, moaning as his clever, inventive tongue flicked backwards and forwards, teasing, torturing the already tender nub. One thick finger entered her, stroking, probing, rubbing the walls of her sex. Then another, stretching her wide as his tongue swirled, steadily, relentlessly.
    ‘Faster,’ she begged, pumping her hips to meet the torturous laps of his tongue, desperate to increase the pace.
    But he held her down, obviously not in any hurry.
    Just as she thought she would go mad from desperation, his lips fastened on the swollen bud and he suckled. She tried to jump off the cushions, shouting out as she soared upwards. He bore down, holding her immobile, her thighs spread, her folds open and vulnerable as he feasted. She crashed over at last, but couldn’t come down or regroup before he began to tease, to torture again. The wave rolled back to crest again, and again, until her moans became sobs, the pleasure unstoppable, addictive, relentless.
    ‘You have to stop,’ she groaned, grasping his head, trying to pull his mouth away. ‘I can’t stop coming,’ she cried, caught