Page 104 of Missile Strike

He wouldn’t leave her like this—hovering at the edge, every part of her coiled and waiting for release.

Lips replaced his hands.

Only they were in her hair, not where she wanted them.

A whimper escaped.

Danny gave a low chuckle, the sound vibrating the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“Patience, baby.”

He licked, suckled, and nibbled, retracing his path down her body. The tension that had been easing in her core jumped to where his mouth branded her skin.

“So soft. So sweet.” Everywhere Danny’s mouth went, it left a trail of fire. Over her breasts, down her stomach. His tongue rimmed her belly button, and she had the insane wish she’d had the nerve to pierce it.

Shifting, he moved between her legs, his broad shoulders holding her open.

Without her vision, her other senses took over.

Ocean breezes and driftwood.

The stubble on his jaw, chafing her inner thighs.

Her breathing. His low murmurs of approval.

No control.

Just sensation.

And trust.

When he finally put his mouth on her sex, her body shot skyward, held in place only by the calloused fingers clamped around her hips.

“Oh, God.”

“Oh, Danny, you mean.” He licked her—a long, slow lick, as if he were enjoying an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

Her body clenched low in her abdomen.

He settled in, each pass of his tongue ratcheting up the sensation until she could feel herself nearing the edge again.

Then he stopped.

Again.

Sweat beaded her forehead, her body on a knife’s edge. “What the hell, Danny?”

“Such language.” Amusement in his sexy drawl.

“Are you trying to torture me?”

She needed—

Oh, God, she needed—

To come.

“Sometimes, the most intense orgasms require—”