She was still trembling on the couch, chest heaving, the navy lounge pants soaked dark between her thighs, when Eros stood up.
He didn't speak at first. He simply walked around the coffee table and stopped in front of her, looking down at the beautiful, wrecked woman who had just come twice without a single finger on her skin.
Her gray eyes were glassy and unfocused, lips parted and still glistening with the taste of their kiss. Honey-blonde strands clung to her flushed, sweat-damp cheeks.
The cream silk blouse was plastered to her sweat-slick breasts, her fat nipples stiff and aching, poking shamelessly against the thin fabric like they were begging for teeth. Her bare feet were planted wide on the cushion, toes curled tight, thighs still quivering from the aftershocks.
"Enough of the air," he said softly, voice low and dark, rich with command. "I'm going to touch you now... if you let me."
