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She shivered in his grip, a little moan leaving her lips as they pressed to the hard flesh between the opened edges of his shirt.
The little straps of her dress gave way to his lips as they moved along her shoulder. They slid aside, fell down the rounded slope of her upper arm, and left all that lush flesh completely free of obstacles.
“What you want isn’t what scares me. I’m not a child.” It was the fact that it was all he wanted from her that broke her heart.
Her fingers were pulling at the shirt, dragging it from where he’d tucked it beneath the band of his jeans, anyway. The need to touch him, to feel the heat of his body, an impulse she couldn’t deny herself.
“You’re a baby,” he groaned. “I should be shot.”
But that didn’t keep him from caressing the smooth, exposed flesh of her upper back with one hand or from gripping the curve of her ass as he moved her against his thigh.
“Oh god, Graham, please,” she whispered as she breathed out, the plea that filled the sound nearly breaking the chains holding his determination not to take her in this damned place.
He knew what she ached for.
He knew what she hungered for.
What he was dying for.
First.
The kiss their lips ached for.
Those pretty lips beneath his parted, surprise tightening her against him, perhaps a hint of shock . . .
Because he wouldn’t be able to take her kiss any more easily than he’d be able to take her innocence.
“Get away from me, Lyrica,” he groaned even as he lifted her, parted her thighs, and drove the hard wedge of his cock into the vee. “God, get away from me before I destroy us both.”
Guiding her knees up to grip his hips, he slid his palms up her thighs to cup each curve of her rounded ass and hold her in place as he thrust against her.
“Get away from you?” she gasped as his lips moved along her neck to the rise of her breasts as they lifted above the rounded cups of her dress. “I’ve tried. I swear, I tried so hard . . . And all I’ve wanted is to be right here again.”
Every muscle in his body tightened at the admission. His hips jerked, grinding against the intimate flesh between her thighs. He was so desperate for her now that he couldn’t imagine not having her, not taking her.
Now.
Dawg would kill him. He’d already sent Graham the message that fooling with his little sister was a dangerous endeavor when he’d learned Graham was still looking into the attack on her.
And Graham tried, not because of the threat, but because of Lyrica. Because she was too sweet, too innocent for him.
But he’d already tasted her, more than once. He had the hunger for more buried so deep in his senses that he couldn’t rid himself of it.
He had to taste her again.
Tangling the fingers of one hand in the back of her long black hair, he dragged her head back again as her fingers gripped his biceps. Nails dug into his flesh as her lips parted, the emerald fire of her gaze gleaming back at him.
His favorite color.
Lyrica emeralds. Staring into her eyes, he swore he could feel something in his chest tightening, burning as though trying to dig its way out. Some feeling, some emotion tied so closely to the hunger he felt for her that he knew he should be pushing it back . . . Then the door to the living area opened slowly.
Graham froze.
The silhouette standing in the entrance, the broad, tense power and aura of determined male protectiveness, was all too familiar.
“Graham.” His voice low, harsh with disapproval, Natches remained at the doorway. For the moment. “Let her go.”
“Natches, don’t . . .” The desperation, the pain in Lyrica’s voice tore at Graham’s heart.
