by Cherrie Lynn
“I suppose.” His eyes were like blue ice, yet the full force of them somehow burned.
She wanted nothing more than to continue what they’d started on the beach, but it was almost two A.M.—she’d wanted to be back at her hotel by now. Luckily, checking her phone showed no urgent messages from Rowan, though her mother had tried to call her three times. Probably beside herself and wanting to know if they were still alive, but it was too late to call her back now.
“Everything okay?” he asked as she slipped her phone back into her purse.
“Yes.”
“Want a drink?”
Sighing, she made her decision, though it was the last thing on earth she wanted. “I’d better get back.”
“I thought you might say that. Hoped you wouldn’t, but thought you might.”
“I don’t want to,” she admitted.
He leaned his arms on the kitchen counter, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the flex of those forearms. The man’s veins were a wonder to behold. “It’s fucked up,” he said ruefully. “I know.”
But it hadn’t felt fucked up when he kissed her out there. Despite any objections her mind had wanted to throw at her then or afterward, it had felt wonderful. It had felt right.
Maybe Rowan had said it best. I can be sad tomorrow, I can be sad for the rest of this month and all of the next, or the rest of my life if I have to be. What was wrong with taking a night off from reality?
It was her heart at stake, that’s what. Everything felt so good, so right, what if she spent the night with him only to discover he was truly everything she’d ever dreamed of? That would be the ultimate heartbreak. She didn’t know if she could be strong enough to walk away, and walk away she must.
“I’ll do whatever you want.” The way he looked at her then—God, the way he always looked at her—eyes so intense and piercing, made her mouth run dry. “You want to leave, I’ll take you. You want to stay . . .” He grinned, and her mind supplied what she figured he was thinking: I’ll take you. She shivered. “Then you can stay,” he finished.
“I would have to be back early,” she said softly. “Before Rowan misses me.”
“I’m sure we can manage that.”
“I didn’t bring anything.”
He pushed away from the counter and walked around it, advancing on her slowly. She swallowed dryly, never as struck by his sheer size as when he was close to her. And she wasn’t short by any means. “What do you need?”
“Um . . . toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, something to sleep in . . .”
“I have most of that here.” Closer. One corner of his mouth kicked up. “And don’t worry, you smell pretty damn good. You tasted pretty damn good too.”
A flush crept up her cheeks. “I’ve had onions since then.” Oh, hell, that’s sexy, she scolded herself. The blond trophy standing beside him tonight at the concert would never have mentioned having onion breath to him, Savannah just knew it.
But he laughed. And he’d tasted and smelled pretty damn good too. She could smell him now: the salt of the gulf, grill smoke, and something faint and fleeting—his cologne, perhaps. Her heart tripped over itself, and her breathing quickened to compensate for its frantic beat. As he drew nearer, his warmth permeated her skin. Even through her clothes, through his, she could feel it. When we’re skin to skin, she thought, he’ll incinerate me.
God help her, she wanted to burn. Burn until there was nothing left of her heart and mind but ashes, no room to think, no time to second-guess.
He must have seen or sensed the moment she broke, the moment she gave in to this. His hands caught her head and tilted her lips to his, claiming them in a way that was nothing like that gentle, tentative exploration on the beach. Now he possessed her. Fingers in her hair, holding her fast while his mouth devoured hers and drew out the last of her strength, any lingering protests, and an abundance of helpless whimpers. She’d never felt so deliciously weak, so shaken to her core from a kiss.
But then he broke away and she blinked dazedly, almost embarrassing herself by chasing after him. “You sure you want this? You’re shaking.”
So she was. But not from fear or any sense of hesitation. His thumbs stroked her cheeks. This close, she could see the dark fringe of his eyelashes and tiny scars here and there, showing themselves as only slight discolorations against the darker tone of his skin. The imperfect lines of his nose where it had been broken God only knew how many times. So much pain. It made her ache to think of the torture he’d put himself through for his family, and now for a living, even if it was a good living. Lifting her hand, she gently touched one of the larger scars that almost cut into his right eyebrow.
“Savannah,” he said gruffly, “I’m going to make you say it. If you can’t, then I’ll take you back right now.”
“I want this.” She swallowed again, drew a breath. “I want you.” And all the air left her lungs, because he bent down to grasp her ass and lift her against him until they were face-to-face, her dress all bunched up in his hands, baring her legs. Through the thin material, his fingers were hot as a brand, and so close to her center, which was suddenly damp and aching. He deposited her on the kitchen island, rock-solid abs holding her thighs open. It gave her a rare flash of self-consciousness. What had she done? Maybe someone as ripped as he was preferred athletic types, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the inside of a gym. But he kissed her again and suddenly her body didn’t give a shit what it looked like—it only wanted this man.
Gently, so gently, the tips of his fingers skimmed up her arms and slipped beneath the thin straps of her dress, sliding them down. Instead of pulling her dress down as she expected, those fingers trailed back up over her shoulders, tracing her collarbones, which felt so delicate beneath his big hands. His eyes lit on the tiny pink heart tattoo she had at the edge of her right clavicle, barely any bigger than a freckle. It had no outline; she’d wanted it to look like a natural part of her skin.
“Jesus,” he rasped, his fingertips circling it. “That’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Somehow she found it within her to laugh, but it came out a mere gust of air. “That?” As if to show her how much he meant it, his mouth went to where his fingers had been, and her head fell back, her legs tightening around him.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You’ll be happy to know, then, that I have three more just like that one. I’ll leave it to you to find them.”
His rough growl vibrated against her skin and his hands went to her waist, fisting on the fabric of her dress. She feared he might rip it, then decided she didn’t give a damn. “Is that a little game you like to play?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do I get if I win?”
Oh, if only he knew. “I’ll tell you if you win,” she said breathlessly.
“I think the reward might just be in the playing.”
That too. For his delectable mouth and big hands to explore her entire body . . . she shivered with the promise of it.
When his grip relaxed at last, his hands slid up her torso, thumbs brushing just at the outer curves of her breasts. All the while he rained worshipful kisses over her shoulders, her neck, her jaw, while she allowed her hands to roam the breadth of his back and tried not to squirm too wantonly against the rough press of his jeans between her thighs. When he finally touched her he was going to find her embarrassingly wet, but thinking about it only made her wetter, made her throb harder, made her squirm more.
His hands returned to her waist, gathering the fabric of her dress. Without her straps to hold it in place, the bodice crept downward. He watched its progression as her breath heaved, his eyes full of naked need, hunger. Greed. She licked her lips as the ruched edge reached the top of her areola, barely revealing its dusky rose hue before his mouth was there and the protection of her dress was completely gone. “I stand corrected,” he murmured against her, then her nipple was in his wet, sucking mouth, and she cried out, clutchi
ng his head to her.
When he found sexy things, he liked to kiss them. Good to know. As he leaned into her, she let her legs ride higher on his waist, feeling her dress slip farther up her thighs. Barred only by the thinness of her panties, the scent of her own arousal bloomed around them. It must have gone to his head; he cursed and ground his hips into hers, moving his mouth to give her other nipple the same thorough treatment as the first. His tongue swirled tantalizing patterns, his mouth sucked her to an aching peak, his teeth gave tiny nips that made her whimper. She had always considered herself smallish in the boob department, but they had never felt so heavy and feverish, sending arcs of pleasure like gentle lightning between her legs where she clenched on emptiness she was near begging for him to fill.
And at last, just as she was beginning to ponder if orgasm from nipple stimulation alone was a possibility for her, his mouth came back to hers. “Didn’t find it,” he said. “Need to keep looking.”
She couldn’t gather her wits enough to reply, only giving him a helpless nod.
With her arms and legs wound tight around him, her naked chest held tight against him, he strode through the dimly lit house into the darkness of a bedroom. She tipped dizzily and her back sank into a pillow-top mattress covered with a thick, soft comforter. He moved away, and after a moment soft light filled the room from a lamp in one corner. Enough to see, dim enough to conceal. Her gaze never left him as he reached behind his head and pulled his shirt off, then crawled up the bed toward her. Savannah’s hands immediately flew to his body, desperate to feel the heat and smoothness of his skin, trace the dips and lines of his muscles. Never, ever had she been with someone built like him. She wanted to know every inch of him before the night was over.
Every inch.
The breath shuddered out of him at her touch. That she held power over such a powerful specimen gave her a surge of confidence, and she allowed her questing fingers to ride the ridges of his abdominal muscles down to his fly, seeking, finding—Oh, Jesus—the thick bulge pressing against the denim. His entire body jerked when she caressed it, and his hand went to hers, squeezing hard for a moment. “Let me,” she cajoled, sitting up to steal a kiss from his lips. With a groan, he pulled her questing fingers away and pinned her wrist to the mattress, denying her while his naked chest heaved over her.
“Not yet,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed a path down from her neck. His mouth sought and found her right nipple, his tongue teased it, and it hardened to the point of pain again for him. His hand found the other, and she fleetingly wished she had more to fill his big palm with, but he damn sure didn’t seem to mind. With lips and gentle nips of his teeth, he worked her into a toe-curling frenzy, her thighs writhing against the jeans still covering his hips. She began trying to shove those down and out of her way despite his earlier protest, but it was no use.
Her own thighs were spread around his narrow hips, her dress bunched around her waist, the thin lacy panties she wore the only thing separating her from his touch. They were drenched with her need, rasping against her sensitized flesh, and she wanted them gone. She ground her hips against him, trying to entice him to do something about that before she had to. No sooner had she thought it than one of his hands fisted the delicate scrap at her hip.
“Rip it,” she pleaded, needing to know his strength, gasping at the painful snap when he did so. His mouth found hers again in a frenzy of lips, teeth, tongue. The shock of cool air circulating over her inflamed center made her moan. When the edge of his fingers scorched her there, though, gliding easily through her slickness, she feared she might draw blood from his lip caught between her teeth.
“Fuck, Savannah,” he groaned, his touch strong and rough and almost too much in her heightened state of sensitivity. She jerked and squirmed, her clit throbbing, everything a fevered, liquid ache. He had a way of gently working his fingertips independently of each other over her clit that damn near shot her into space right there.
“Michael, please . . .” He teased lower, sought, found, slipped inside. She clenched his finger, relishing the sound that tore from his throat. Another joined it then, stretching her, burning. Yes. And then he went down, kissing a path over her stomach while his fingers set up a slow rhythm, in and out, so thick. His tongue slid over her folds, teasing between them to her clit, so hot, melting her. She panted, tilting up to meet him, spreading wider when he sucked hard on her, only adding to the maelstrom of sensation and emotion buffeting her. Her body involuntarily twisted in agony when he slowed his strokes. Fists crammed to her mouth, she fought not to come yet and fought to come very hard right now . . .
He pulled his mouth away. She bit down on a frustrated scream. “I see one,” he murmured, the fingers of his free hand alighting on the pink heart below her left hip bone. “Two down.”
Oh, fuck that tattoo. Better yet, fuck me! “Michael,” she said as patiently as she could, “there’s a certain urgent matter requiring your attention.”
“I think I should keep looking for the third one. I’m trying to win a game here.”
“I can’t keep this going. Please, just make me come.”
His chuckle was a burst of warm air over her superheated flesh. In her heightened state, it was almost enough to set her off. Glancing down, she watched him trail kisses up her inner thigh, watched him stare between her legs. Every one of her senses focused on him. His fingers in her pussy. His eyes. His breathing. The taste of him still in her mouth. The scent of smoke that still clung to him.
“I stand corrected again,” he murmured, dropping his head back to her while she wanted to shout hallelujah.
Because oh, shit, he was good at that. Firm and sure of himself, and right in the middle of her poor frazzled mind throwing another not yet! at her needy nether regions, she was lost. Her hips wrenched hard off the bed, but he was immovable, holding her steady so that she couldn’t throw him off his task of wringing her of every drop of pleasure, every joyous cry of release. When she finally did come back to earth from her trip through the stars, she’d nearly pulled the comforter off the sides of the bed and he was hovering over her, looking into her eyes. In her raw state, his gaze was even more penetrating than usual. She shook all over.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Savannah responded by plunging her fingers into his hair and pulling him down for a kiss, into which he fell willingly. On his lips she tasted him and herself, finding the blend highly erotic; they were delicious together.
But then, to her great confusion, he slid to her side and pulled her back to him, wrapping those amazing arms tight around her and nuzzling her neck. The evidence of his arousal pressed into her backside, through his jeans—how the fuck hadn’t she gotten him out of them yet?—but he made no motion to try to slake it.
“Mike?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t you want . . . ?”
A chuckle ruffled the hair at her ear. “Oh, yeah. You’d better believe I want.”
“Me too. So what are you waiting for?”
“Still sure about this?”
“More than ever.”
“You might not feel the same in the morning.”
“I don’t care about the morning. We’ll deal with it when it comes.”
He kissed her neck, pushing her hair away from her skin there and behind her ear. Savannah had to giggle when she realized he was still looking for hearts. But her smile faltered when an unpleasant thought took root in her mind, growing and unfurling and taking over before she could stop it. “How will you feel in the morning? Do you think I’m horrible?”
“No, Jesus, no. It’s you I’m worried about. I already know what I am.”
“You’re not—”
“Shh. It’s okay.”
Oh, frustrating man. But his hand had slipped between them, working his belt and then the buttons of his fly, and her entire body clenched in anticipation. His other arm, wrapped up from underneath her, still held her fast against him. She loved that, the strength, the pos
session. The heat of his bare cock slid against her ass and she turned her face deeper into the pillow, hoping she knew what she was getting herself into. Despite an amazing orgasm, her entire lower body surged with renewed need.
Letting her hand creep back between their bodies, she took him in her grasp, so hot, so hard. His hand clenched on her arm and he dropped his head to her neck while she played, giving him light strokes from base to tip, teasing the thick ridge of his crown. No doubt about it; he was going to feel magnificent.
When suddenly he shoved her over on her stomach, she gasped, her heart leaping happily into her throat. His hands stroked down her back, following the curves of her body to her ass, where he gave a gentle smack. “Number three.”
She giggled. The third heart was just above her right cheek. “One more to go. I bet you never find it.”
“I kind of hate the guy who got to give you these.”
“Nothing for you to hate.”
“I do have some good news for you,” he said, piquing her interest.
“Oh yeah?”
He leaned down to kiss her on her tattoo, then moved his teasing lips to the base of her spine. She shivered. “You don’t have to shoplift condoms this time,” he murmured against her skin, and she laughed.
“No? Not this time?”
In answer, she crawled off her and reached over to the nightstand. Still drifting in post-orgasmic bliss, she didn’t watch, only heard his movements: the drawer opening and closing, the box, the foil packet tearing. The sound of latex unfurling. His jeans stripping off the rest of the way. She could only lie there and quake, anticipation and apprehension warring for dominance. Then he was back over her, gently parting her thighs as she nibbled her thumb and closed her eyes.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the curve of her hip and dropping an openmouthed kiss on the back of her neck that made her tremble harder. Big hands grasped her hips and tilted them upward for him. Gasping, she fisted the sheets, waiting with every fiber of her being: breath, blood, life itself.
