by Tracy Wolff
She sniffed the air. “Is something on fire?”
“Besides me?” He looked around. Crap, one look at her and he’d forgotten all about dinner. “We’re going to need to order in.”
“I thought you were cooking?” She glanced at the kitchen and her eyes went so wide he could see the whites all around the iris. “Wow, that’s a huge mess.”
“You have no idea.” He picked at the dried fire foam on his shirt. “It turns out, I can’t cook.”
She threw her head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. It sounded like the way rich, smoky bourbon tasted. Full and dark and absolutely delicious.
All of the stress of the last couple of hours melted away as he watched her. It might be the tequila finally kicking in, but it was probably the naked Harmony.
He grinned because he couldn’t help himself. Then reached for her hand and dragged her through the living room to the kitchen. “You want a drink?” He nodded to the bottle of tequila on the counter.
She glanced at the discarded lime peels. “It looks like you’ve been drinking enough of that for both of us.”
“Not even close.” Then, because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for one second longer, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head for a minute and just breathed in the sweet honey scent of her.
She shoved against his chest, pushed him away. And for a brief moment he felt bereft, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.
Striving for control, needing to keep his hands busy with something other than her, he reached into the bar cabinet and pulled out a shot glass. “You ever tried Patrón?”
“You’re talking to a Texan, baby. I was raised on Patrón.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He poured a shot and handed it to her, but he stopped her hand before the shot got to her mouth. “If you’re going to do a shot, you’ve got to do it right.”
Harmony lifted one cool brow, licked her full lower lip, and nearly had him coming in his fucking jeans. Goddamn, this woman had him wrapped around her little finger. “I didn’t realize there was a wrong way to do this.”
“Sweetheart, there’s a wrong way to do everything.” He was putting his hands on her waist and lifting her up so that her sweet ass was on the center island, her legs just a little bit open.
Stepping between them before she could change her mind, he slipped her leather jacket off her shoulders, letting his fingers linger on his favorite tattoo—a hibiscus flower blooming right over her rib cage. He wanted to ask her about it, wanted to ask her about the journeys behind all her tattoos, but then she moved against him and all he could think about was getting his mouth on her.
So he did, leaning down and licking a trail from the hollow of her throat to her breastbone. “Mmm, salty.”
She blushed, then leaned back on her hands so that her breasts were thrust forward. “It’s almost a hundred degrees outside. Hard not to sweat.”
“And yet you’re wearing leather.”
She quirked a brow at him, those luscious lips of hers turning up in the wicked grin that haunted his dreams. “Leather is seasonless.”
“It really isn’t.”
She reached a hand down and ran her fingers over the buckle of his leather belt. “It really is.”
God, he was crazy in love with her. It was taking all his self-control to take things slowly when all he really wanted to do was to eat her alive.
“I wasn’t complaining,” he murmured as he trailed his tongue over the curve of first one breast and then the other. Then he slammed back the shot of tequila and finished it off by biting into a lime slice.
Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide as she stared at his lips. “That’s the right way to do a tequila shot?”
He loved her voice. The husky sweetness was a turn-on even without the hard-ass tone she deliberately injected into it. With the hard-ass tone, it was irresistible. “It’s the best way.”
“I bet.”
He poured another shot. Handed it to her. “Here. You try.”
He shrugged out of his T-shirt. Her black leather jacket slid down her arms and landed in a heap on the floor.
Shit, he wanted her. Was dangerously close to becoming obsessed with her.
Her sexy pink tongue darted out, swiped across her top lip and then her bottom one, as if she couldn’t quite decide where to lick. Every thought he had or might have had got lost in the wild need pumping through him.
Groaning, he tangled a hand in her hair and urged her closer. “Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Taste me.”
Her mouth lowered to his chest so slowly that he wanted to howl. Then her tongue was on him, swirling in circles over his right pec, darting out to tease his nipple. Once, twice. Again and again, until it was all he could do to keep from ripping off her panties and sliding into her right there.
“You taste good.” It was a whisper, but he heard it and his body reacted, his arousal ratcheting up another notch. Or twelve. Fuck—who would have thought it was possible to be this turned on and not come?
“So do you, baby. God, so do you.” He reached over, put a lime slice in his mouth. Concentrated on the bitterness of it as her sweet mouth fastened onto his neck and began to suck. God damn but he wanted to do this with her for the rest of his life. His brain told him it was too soon to be thinking like that, but the rest of him didn’t give a shit. She was his.
When she lifted her lips from his skin, he nearly shouted in disappointment. But it was so damn sexy to see her take the shot glass, to watch as she rubbed the cool glass over one cheek and then the other.
He felt himself grow harder, felt himself leak just a little as she dipped her tongue into the icy cold liquid. He clenched his fists, told himself not to rush her. That it would be sweeter if she took her time.
And was it ever. Her eyes met his, clung for long seconds before she tossed her head back and slid the tequila down her throat. Then she was reaching up, grabbing the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to hers, and biting the lime he still had between his lips.
He nearly came, had to grit his teeth against the orgasm that threatened to rise in him—sharp and clean and demanding. Fuck, this woman was turning him inside out.
He was loving every second of it.
“You want another one?” Was that his voice? So low and feral, as if all that was civilized had been stripped from him.
“I’d rather have you.”
Her bold honesty went straight through him, turning up the raging inferno inside of him until he feared spontaneous combustion.
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.” He tipped the tequila bottle slightly, let a few drops dribble onto her breasts and down her stomach.
She gasped as the cold liquid hit her, arched her back so that her nipples—and the little barbells she had inserted through them—were front and center. Because he was dying for another taste of her, he bent down, followed the trail the alcohol had made with delicate flicks of his tongue.
Then, because he couldn’t resist, he tilted the bottle so that the tequila coated his index finger. He swirled it first over one of her nipples and then the other before bending his head and circling the barbells with his tongue. Then he sucked them between his teeth and tugged a little, loving the way she went pliant at the first pull.
He sucked until all the alcohol was gone, savoring its rich burn as it slid down his throat. Then he brought his hands to Harmony’s shoulders and pressed her back slowly until she was fully open to him.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy with desire, her lips slick from the shot she’d taken. Laid out on his counter like a dessert more delectable than anything she’d ever made, her legs open and dangling over the edge, she was gorgeous. Sexy. Completely overwhelming.
“I may never take a shot any other way.” He lifted the bottle, poured a steady stream of the liquor over her st
omach.
She gasped as it ran down her sides, pooled in her navel, and he bent forward, sipping from her slowly. Savoring the spicy-sweet taste of her that mingled with the smooth heat of the aged tequila.
She moaned, a low, sexy sound that had him glancing up, wanting to see her face. Needing to know that she was as into this as he was.
She had a slice of lime clenched between her front teeth, and he groaned as he swooped down, bit it, taking it into his mouth as he longed to take her.
“My turn,” she whispered, grabbing his hand and sucking his tequila-coated finger into her mouth.
His knees actually shook as she twirled her tongue around his finger, stroking it up and down in the same rhythm she’d used on his dick the other night. His heart was pounding out of control, the need to fuck her an all-consuming ache inside of him.
“Harmony, baby.” He tried to retrieve his hand—along with his sanity—but she lifted her arms and curled her body around his arm, holding him like he was a prize she had won. And then, just when he didn’t think he could get any more turned on, just when his knees were locking and his dick throbbing, she bit down hard on the tip of his finger and shot his lust-crazed body into overdrive.
He ripped his finger out of her mouth, slid out of her embrace as he strived to get himself under some kind of control. Taking a deep breath, he reached over and grabbed the bottle with a hand that shook so badly it was all he could do to get the tequila in the glass. He handed it to her, but she set it aside. Hooked her fingers in the front belt loops of his jeans and tugged until he was nestled right up against her sex. “I’m more interested in the salt.”
And then she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his chest and he knew he was done for. Her tongue—her wicked, wild, wonderful tongue—was everywhere at once. Flicking over his collarbone, sliding up his neck to toy with his earlobe. Moving lower to press into his chest.
“Harmony, baby, stop.” He moved his hands to her head, clenched his fists in her hair. Tried to pull her off.
But she was having none of it, her hands slipping around his waist as her nails dug into the muscles of his back. The flickers of pain were exquisite, the feel of her clawing him unbelievably sexy.
“Stop,” he gasped again, but even he didn’t know if he meant it anymore. All he knew was that he would die if he wasn’t inside of her soon, would come in his pants like a teenager with his first girlfriend. The humiliation was almost more than he could take, even as the incredible desire, the unbelievable experience of wanting her this much, only pushed him higher.
She lifted her head, looked at him with passion-dazed eyes. Smiled wickedly and murmured, “Oh, I don’t think so,” right before she unbuttoned his fly.
Her hand slipped inside, closing around him firmly enough to have him seeing stars. Eyes crossing, hips thrusting, he pumped against her for a few seconds before reaching down and disentangling himself.
“You don’t want this to be over before it begins, do you?” he muttered in response to her quizzical look.
“I don’t care. I just want to watch you come again.”
He groaned, yanked her off the counter so he could strip her of the little black thong that revealed more than it covered. “I like this,” he said as he sunk to his knees in front of her, twirling the panties around his index finger.
She grinned down at him. “So do I.
“I’ll say.” He stood, shoved his jeans down and off so that he was standing there—in the middle of his kitchen—as naked as Harmony. And she was taking her time looking him over, her eyes eating him up as if he were one of her chocolate cannoli. For a moment he felt oddly vulnerable, totally exposed, but then she was pressing her body against his, and everything fled but the need to make her feel as good as he did.
Sinking into the nearest chair, he pulled her onto his lap, had her straddle him so that her hot, wet sex rested directly over his dick. She gasped at the first slide of him against her, then wiggled even closer.
It was his turn to gasp, to shudder as her warm heat enfolded him in a new way. And then she was moving, her slick, hot body sliding against him, and he almost forgot how to breathe.
“You feel amazing,” he muttered, his hands curving around her ass.
“I think it’s you.” She moved forward and backward slowly, so goddamned slowly he wanted to shout, but it was the most incredible feeling he’d ever had—this being in her without being in her, being cradled by her body without the heavy thrusting that would take him all the way inside. “Everything about you amazes me.”
Her words humbled him even as he arched off the chair, desperate to get more of her. “Harmony.” His voice broke as he called out her name.
She slid back until the tip of his cock was poised at her entrance, rising on her tiptoes to torment him for a minute with her incredible heat.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” He stroked his hands up her back, tangled them in her wild blonde hair.
God, there really was miles of the stuff—soft and sweet-smelling and so sexy it had him arching against her even as he tangled his fists in it and tugged.
“Dalton.” Her voice was low, startled, and incredibly excited—so excited that he did it again as he rolled his hips against her.
She whimpered, arched, her eyes closing as the pleasure went through her and he couldn’t resist a grin. Or doing it a third time as he realized just how much Harmony got off on the little licks of pain.
Shifting his hands so that they were at the nape of her neck, he pulled down hard enough to have her tilting her head to the side and opening her eyes. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, sucked her lower lip between his teeth, and bit softly.
She cried out, her body shuddering reflexively against his. And she felt so good he wanted to slam inside of her and pound away until orgasm swept through them both.
She opened to him, parted her lips so he could slip inside and explore her. His tongue stroked inside, licked the top of her mouth before stroking down one cheek and then the other. Curling his tongue around hers, he sucked until she was inside him. Relinquishing control for just a moment, he relaxed as she took him as he had taken her.
* * *
Chapter 18
* * *
Harmony moaned, her tongue tangling with Dalton’s as she took her time exploring every part of his mouth. She wanted to go on kissing him forever, never wanted this moment to end as she savored the incredible taste of him. Tequila and lime and the deepest, darkest chocolate.
For a moment, just a moment, she was distracted wondering what dessert she could make to capture his exact flavor. A dark-chocolate cake with lime curd and tequila icing maybe. Or a chocolate Napoleon with—
Dalton must have noticed her wandering attention, because he fisted his hand in her hair and yanked. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to get her attention.
Impatience rolled off of him. She could feel it in the muscles bunching under her hands, sense it in the restless movements of his hips beneath her own. Even so, she took one more minute to taste him, one more minute to savor the dark and complex flavors of him.
Before she could prepare herself, long before she was ready for her exploration to
end, Dalton grabbed his jeans from the floor and yanked out a condom. Harmony watched as he opened the package and rolled it down his long, hard length. And then he was plunging upward, entering her with an urgency that had her trembling on the edge of orgasm.
“Take me,” he muttered, plunging deep again and again. “Take all of me.”
“God, yes.” She twisted her hands in his hair and she smoothed them over his powerful chest. Clutched at the strong muscles of his back. She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to feel every part of him against her as he took her higher than she’d ever gone before.
She jerked against him, desperate to get closer. Desperate to take all of him. He growled low in his throat, brought his powerful hands to her hips and held her still as he slammed
inside of her with what felt like every ounce of strength he had.
She screamed. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it. He was so strong. So hard. So powerful as he took her over and over again. Turning her on, driving her crazy, making her want more and more of him when he was already giving her everything.
“Dalton,” she sobbed, her body spinning wildly out of control. “Please, let me come. Let me—”
He reached down and stroked his thumb over her clit. Once, twice, again and again as he continued to thrust furiously inside of her.
Then he was leaning down, pulling one of her nipples into his mouth.
She bucked against him, tried to rush him, but he used one hand to hold her hips still, then used the other to grab her wrists and hold them behind her back.
“I want to touch you,” she gasped, yanking against the tight hold he had on her wrists. With her arms pinned behind her she was completely at his mercy, able to take only whatever it was he chose to give her.
“Not now, sweetheart. I’m too close.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck, bit her shoulder in an effort to establish dominance—as if she didn’t already know who was in control. At another time, with another guy, it would have bothered her. Would have had her bucking against him and what he was trying to do with her body. But this was Dalton, the man who had seen all the crazy she could throw out and who wanted her anyway. The man who—despite the tatts and the body piercings—kissed and touched and held her like she was the sexiest, most important, most precious thing in his world.
Still, he wasn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeve. He drove her crazy, took her higher than she’d ever dreamed possible, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted, needed, to do the same for him.
With that thought in mind, she pushed her knees into his sides and slowly—oh, so slowly—clenched the muscles of her sex around him. She felt his response in the jerk of his cock, saw it in the clenching of his jaw as he fought to maintain control.
