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His head lowered, his strong teeth catching her lower lip, pulling at it as his tongue rasped against it.
“Just us here. ” His voice was dark, dangerous.
“Where—”
He laid his fingers against her lips as he pulled back.
“He’s not here. He can hear nothing upstairs. I promise. ”
“What would he hear?” she asked as he moved back, catching her hand and drawing her to the bed.
“Take off your clothes, Jaci. ”
She stood beside the bare bed, staring back at him as his hands moved to his belt.
He wore only his pants, dark jeans that molded his thighs and cupped the erection raging beneath them. He loosened the belt, then tugged at the metal snap.
“You’re wasting time,” he told her quietly.
Yes, she was.
She gripped the hem of her shirt, and the soft, dusky rose material slid over her head and fell to the floor. Her hands went to her jeans as she toed off the sandals she wore.
“Leave the panties on,” he told her, as her fingers hooked in the thin elastic band beneath the jeans and she moved to slide them from her hips.
She left the panties on. The jeans cleared her hips and pushed slowly down her legs, while he removed his own—until he was naked, and she stood before him in nothing but a red silk thong.
“I knew that was a thong. ”
She stood still as he began moving around her, gripping his cock with the fingers of one hand, massaging the engorged crest slowly.
“How did you know?” She swallowed tightly as she felt his free hand cup the rounded curve of one cheek.
“Those jeans were nice and snug. ” He rubbed at the underside of her ass before his fingers moved beneath the thin band between the cheeks. “There were no panty lines. ”
“Oh. ” She was breathing roughly, her flesh so sensitized now that she swore she could feel the brush of air from the cooling unit against her, and the feel of Cam’s breath on the back of her neck. It was so sensual, so intense, she could feel her body heating, preparing, growing wet and wild for him.
“How did this happen?”
She froze as his fingers caressed a scar of her own. She knew what it looked like, what it was. A perfect curve over her hip, thin and deep.
“Does it matter?” She trembled beneath his fingers, then shook as he knelt behind her. “What are you doing?”
“You kissed my scars, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Lord. Cam. ” His lips feathered over the mark, then his tongue.
“Someone took a whip to you, Jaci. ” His hands framed her hips, his fingers tightening on them. “You really want to tell me who did this. ”
She shook h
er head. “There’s nothing to tell. ”
“Are you telling me this isn’t a whip mark?” His teeth raked over it.
She shook her head as she tried to draw air into her lungs. “I’m telling you it doesn’t matter. ”
She nearly collapsed to the floor as she felt his teeth rake across it. The pleasure was simply destructive. It shouldn’t have been. It should have killed desire, the thought of that mark, the thought of how she had received it. But it wasn’t the scar or the memories that weakened her. It was his touch, the shadows in his voice, the growling, primal pitch of his tone.
