Free A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2) by Cara Nelson

her touch. His skin was hot through the fabric, and she longed to set her mouth on it. Methodically, he washed dishes as she stroked his stomach, his chest, his thighs. She felt him laugh softly as he turned around, his hands warm and wet from the dishwater. He framed her face with his hands and claimed her mouth. Their tongues meshed as he trailed his fingers up and down her arms, raising goose bumps in his wake. Chills slithered across her skin.
    Annelise pushed his jacket to the floor and made short work of his shirt. In her relationship with Roger, she’d always been the initiator, the aggressor, and it was a role she was comfortable in…it was the only way she knew. So when Desmond Blair caught her hands in his and shook his head, she was startled, a little embarrassed. He kissed her palm, her wrist, his mouth trailing fiery kisses up the length of her arm as she stood there, dumbfounded. Men, in her limited experience, wanted the clothes ripped off and for someone else to do all the work. She had no problem taking charge herself, but this was new. Desmond Blair wanted to make love to her, not just get laid as quickly as possible.
    He lifted her by the hips and set her on the edge of the counter, his mouth on her neck. She felt the rasp of stubble on his face as it scraped at the tender skin of her throat, the warm wet mouth making her tremble. Slowly, languorously, he inched up the hem of her tank top, his hands warm at her sides and stroking her stomach. At last he pulled back long enough to strip off her tank top, revealing the black bra underneath. Instead of going straight for the tits—as her granny’s prophesy went—Desmond slipped one finger beneath her bra strap, teasing it down her shoulder, his mouth following its path with soft kisses. She was trembling with need, her legs snaking around him as he started on the other strap, delaying gratification so long that she felt his seduction was crossing over into torment.
    When her bra was gone and his warm hands found her breasts, she sighed with satisfaction, only to have his fingers and thumb drive her wild, leaving her writhing on the countertop beneath his hands. He unfastened the button on her jeans. When his fingers slipped down her panties she moaned aloud, his touch soft and gentle as she arched against him. Desmond kissed her neck as his wicked fingers teased her. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she came. Her legs clamped around his hand as he covered her mouth with his, capturing her cry of completion. Shaking, she wound her arms around him and he held her for a moment, kissing her hair, her cheekbone, whispering that she was beautiful.
    Annelise slid down off the cold counter, pushed him back on a stool, ready to show him a good time, when he caught her hands again. Stripping off the rest of their clothes, he lifted her in his arms, kissing her, and laid her out before him on the counter. Climbing up beside her, he leaned over her, kissing her forehead.
    “Isn’t it time you let someone else do some of the work?” he teased, too close to the truth. For so long she had labored in a relationship where she was the only one who really cared. Tears pricked her eyes as she nodded assent, her arms around his neck, pulling him down over her. She had never had sex like this. Annelise had always been the strong one, the dominant one, the one who served and worked and seduced and she had always been on top. This was strange and vulnerable. She felt fragile and willing and happy, and oddly virginal. She giggled at the thought, her laughter stopping as he parted her legs with his gentle hand. He paused, ripped a foil packet, and put on a condom. She looked at him, puzzled.
    “I’m on the pill ,” she said awkwardly.
    “And I’m a man who’s going to keep you safe ,” he said.
    Desmond moved inside of her with a long, slow stroke that left her breathless. She looked up into his face and saw him meeting her eyes, very much there and present and seeing