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“And you were too scared to stick around and fight for the singular position, too, weren’t you, Crista. What happened, baby? Did it get too hot?”
“Fight for Dawg?” She widened her eyes as though mocking him. She tried to mock him, but he saw the pleasure she was fighting to hide as he drew her closer, nudging his cock against her lower belly and feeling the muscles clench. “Why fight over something every other woman in the county had already had?”
Dawg smiled. “You were scared. ”
“I was disinterested. ” She couldn’t lie. He heard the tremor in her voice, saw her grimace as she acknowledged it.
He shook his head at her as he allowed the fingers of his free hand to twine into those long, silky strands of hair. Soft, fragrant hair. In his dreams it had twined around him, snaring him, binding him to her. And it had never let him go.
“Are you more interested now?” The hand at her waist bunched the material of the shirt in it.
He was going to have her. He was going to touch her, taste her, feel her come apart in his arms.
“Dawg please…” Her voice trembled then.
Dark eyes stared back at him almost pleadingly as the shirt cleared her thighs and rose higher.
“Please what, Crista Ann?” He lowered his head until he could inhale the scent of her. Sweet vanilla and wild roses. She always smelled of vanilla and wild roses to him.
That elusive little scent wasn’t enough though. He had to taste her. His lips touched the silken flesh of her neck, his tongue tasting her flesh, and he swore he saw stars as the taste of her exploded against his tongue.
His arm came around her back, lifting her to him as primal hunger replaced the careful seduction he had intended.
He pulled her head back, covered her lips with his own, and found the fiery heat he had been searching for, for eight damn years.
And son of a bitch if it wasn’t worth waiting for. She exploded in his arms. A shudder rushed through her, then her hands were twining in his hair, pulling at the thick strands, and pulling his lips harder against hers.
God, she made him feel. Made him feel things he couldn’t remember ever feeling, except in his dreams. Dreams of her. Dreams of heat and primal pleasure and sensations he couldn’t have imagined really existed.
But they existed here with her in his arms, her body straining toward him, her whimper of pleasure and distress filling his ears as his tongue parted her lips and delved inside.
Fiery sweetness. Spicy ice. She was every contradiction in the world, and his blood raced at the defiance, the challenge, and the sheer response he felt radiating from her.
Crista tried to tell herself she could fight the attraction, the pleasure. Before he touched her, she tried to convince herself she could hold herself aloof from him.
Until his eyes had dilated with pleasure and he had pulled her to him. Until his lips touched her neck; then that hungry moan had left his lips a second before his kiss rocked her mind.
This was a very bad thing. Starbursts of pleasure were exploding inside her bloodstream as she fought herself, fought her response to him, and failed.
Oh how she failed. She was trying to climb into his body instead, to burn in the center of a sensation so hot, so dark and heated she was lost beneath it.
“Off!” His lips lifted from hers only long enough to whisk the shirt from her arms and over her head before she could react. Before she could stop him. Then he was bending to her, his lips moving unerringly for the tight, too-sensitive nipples lifting to his lips as though they had craved this caress for eight years.
And they had.
“Oh God. Dawg. ” She arched in his arms as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.
And it was as good, no, it was better than before. His lips drew on the tender tip, his thigh pressed between her legs, and within seconds she was pressing the aching flesh between her thighs into the heavy muscle of his leg and riding it almost frantically as he sucked at her.
“Yes. ” The word hissed from between her lips. “Oh yes. Do that. Just like that. ”
Just as he had that night years before. His teeth raking over her nipple before he sucked it back, hard and hot, his tongue lashing over it like a fiery whip.
She was falling. Dizzy. Off balance. And before she knew it, stretched out on the couch with Dawg’s lips still ravishing her tender nipples, first one, then the other, growling with hunger and heat as his hand cupped between her thighs.
Finesse was forgotten, but it wasn’t finesse she wanted. Dawg was rumored to be smooth, practiced, deliberate in every touch. But there was nothing deliberate or practiced in his touch now.
Experienced, yes. Confident and too damned experienced.
