About Last Night by Ruthie Knox

Hero: Neville, nickname ‘City’. British. Banker by day, artist and sexy beast by night.

Heroine: Cath, full name, Mary Catherine. From Chicago, lives in London and works in a museum.

City, though. Here was a man who didn’t need to take dictation in order to make her body hum. He was doing a fine job of figuring things out all by himself—such a fine job that she was breathless and achy, her pelvis rising off the bed again and again in a silent plea he completely ignored.

He made a study of the tattoo on her stomach, releasing her hand so that he could grip her hip as he traced the intricate markings with one finger. Then with his tongue. A tangled tracery of lines and swirls in every possible style, the tattoo was meant to be a labyrinth, which maybe explained why she got so hopelessly lost and disoriented under the light, warm, wet pressure of his mouth. His thumb held hard at her hipbone, fingers sinking into the flesh of her butt, until every flick of his tongue brought an answering throb between her legs, every stroke getting her wetter and closer to begging.

The tattoo continued around her back, and eventually so did he, flipping her over easily and pulling her up onto her hands and knees, his lips tracing her tailbone. Her arms trembled, but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t ever want him to stop. He knelt behind her and removed her panties, then ran his huge, warm hands over every inch of her body in long strokes, shoulder to hip, over her breasts, sternum, stomach, knees and thighs, curving his fingers around her waist, between her legs, around her ass. Everywhere. He was claiming her, marking her with his touch, but she didn’t feel possessed so much as she felt protected. Cherished. Wanted. The unaccustomed intimacy of it rendered her fragile, vulnerable as a robin’s egg. Somehow with him it was all right. He wouldn’t take advantage. City was one of the good guys.

When he spread her thighs and brought his hand between them, she dropped to her elbows, pressing her face into the comforter. She was feverish, overwhelmed, and he made it so much worse and so much better. He dragged the pad of one finger over her swollen flesh, exploring her folds, arousing her with light pressure and her own slick moisture. Half draped over her back, he breathed against her neck as he pushed two fingers inside her, deep and rough. With a strangled squeak, Cath arched into his hand, wanting more. Much more. “You like that?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You want me, Mary Catherine?”

“God, yes. Please.” But if asking nicely made any difference to his slow, thorough, tender assault, she was too far gone to notice. He teased her clit with glancing touches, light pressure, then firm, perfect, yes, right there, just like that—and then his fingers would skate away to sink back inside her. Over and over again, his mouth at her nape and behind her ear as tension began to build and her stomach tightened in anticipation. “You’re going to make me come,” she said, shocked and excited at how easily he’d brought her to this point. How easy he made everything, as if the two of them had done this together a thousand times before, so of course he knew precisely what she needed, and of course he wanted to give it to her. “Not yet,” he growled. “I want to be inside you.”

About Last Night is one of my favorite books I’ve read this year. It’s very sexy, warm and all around fab. It comes out tomorrow, my review will be up soon.

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