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Into the swelling silence she released a pent-up breath. “What’s that?”
“I like bad girls.” He grazed his teeth along her neck, provoking an aroused little moan from her. “One in particular, I can’t resist. I may have to take you into protective custody.”
He braced her palms on the door, nudged her feet apart with one of his, and then sent his hands under the hem of her T-shirt, up the silken ladder of her ribs. She moaned again when he cupped her breasts. Her hips shifted restlessly against him when he squeezed.
“Oh, God. Are you frisking me?” Helpfully, she stepped out of her flip-flops. “I’m unarmed. I promise.”
“You were born with weapons, and you know it.” Tugging her bra out of his way, he feathered his fingers over her puckered nipples. Her low, guttural cry of appreciation went high and sharp when he pinched lightly. Before she could recover, he grabbed the bottom of the shirt, whisked it over her head, and then coaxed her arms higher so he could pull the garment off.
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After pressing her forearms to the door, he kissed his way down her back, pausing to unhook her bra. She shivered as it sprang open. Kneeling behind her, he sent his hands around to her breasts again and got to work there while his tongue slid over the curve of her spine.
“The thing is…,” she panted.
He rested his hand low on her stomach and swept his tongue under the band of her leggings. Her abs tightened beneath his palm. He scraped his teeth along her skin. “Thing is?”
Her forehead bonked against the door. “Ah…jeez. The thing is, I’m really not—”
Without further warning, he yanked her pants down, baring her spectacular ass to his view, save for the little black triangle of her thong.
“Oh!” she gasped.
He cupped her cheeks, thumbs riding along the undersides and lifting slightly. Then he ran a finger under the back of her thong, all the way down between her parted thighs. Toned muscles trembled. “You’re really not what?” he prompted, brushing his lips against her smooth flesh.
He sank his teeth into one luscious cheek, slid his finger beneath the panties and straight to the slick little pad of flesh throbbing for his attention. Her whole body stiffened and she gasped, “Oh, Lord. I’m really not a bad girl. I’m not. I’m not,” repeating the denial like a rosary prayer.
Nibbling and licking his way to the other cheek, he used one hand to work the tights off her legs while the other stayed busy delving between her thighs, circling and retreating. She arched and writhed in a dance he found far more erotic than any routine she performed at Deuces.
“I know,” he murmured. Hand on her hips, he spun her around, and knelt there until her dazed, blurry gaze locked on his. “I know,” he repeated, and nudged his face between her legs, then turned and kissed the inside of one trembling thigh.
“Trevor,” she panted, “I’m not…I don’t know…”
“Shhh.” He kissed the other thigh, and then watched her as he hitched that thigh over his shoulder and kissed her in between—where she was soft and wet and incredibly hot.
“Please…” Her head fell back. Her hands sank into his hair, fingers curving to overlap at the back of his head while her body arched up to meet his mouth.
“I’m about to please you,” he assured her. Then he dragged her panties aside and used his tongue.
Her knees buckled when she came, but he caught her, held her tight, and devoured every sweet, fluttering pulse of her orgasm.
Chapter Nine
Before Kylie could catch her breath, Trevor swept her into his arms and started walking. Rich earth tones, wood trim, and old leather swirled in her vision like a merry-go-round of colors and textures. Then he lowered her onto a continent of a bed, switched on the bedside lamp, and stepped back to look at her. Even in the dim glow from the lamp, she couldn’t miss the hunger in his eyes.
She also couldn’t miss the fact that their clothing situation remained as uneven as ever. There he stood, fully clothed, while she wore not a stitch.
The realization brought her to her knees, still weak from the soul-rattling experience of her first non-self-administered orgasm. She planted a hand in the middle of his chest. “Wait.”
He drew back. “Don’t you want to come again—with me inside you?”
Oh boy, did she. Caution had officially fled the building, leaving reckless desire in charge. “Yes. Absolutely yes. But first…” Her shaking fingers scrambled over the buttons of his shirt. The feel of his muscular chest frayed her patience and in the end she simply tore the shirt open. His startled, aroused growl nearly drowned out the clatter of buttons on polished hardwood.
She shoved the shirt down his shoulders, drinking in the sight of his broad chest, striated abs, and firm, flat stomach. “You’ve seen me naked, or nearly naked, plenty of times, but I never get to see you. I never get to touch your skin.” Determined to rectify the inequity, she indulged herself now, running her hands over his warm, hard body. It wasn’t enough. Somehow he sensed this, because he leaned in, knelt on the bed, and took her lips. Kissing him back, she leaned in, too, until her tight, aching nipples brushed his chest. Their moans mingled in the quiet room.
“You feel so good,” she whispered.
He choked out a laugh, even as his arm came around her back to support her. “You don’t know the half of it.”
