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“No.” He put his hand over hers, rubbing his cheek against it. Kissing her palm, her fingers, that delicate knob of bone on her wrist. “If I make you come once, why not again? And again, and again, and damn, before you know it, sixty-five years have gone by.” He slid his hands beneath the skirt, over the thick wool socks until they gave way to bare, smooth female skin halfway up her thighs.
She swatted at him. “Stop it, you lust-crazed pig. So that’s your plan? Just enslave me sexually for all eternity?”
“Ah, man,” he said thickly. “Sounds like heaven.”
She wiggled furiously. “Smartass dog,” she muttered.
“Yeah.” The dress was so loose, there was no impediment to sliding his hand still farther, feeling her cotton panties, the humid female warmth between her thighs, the deep, sexy dip of her waist.
Her murmurs sounded like protest, but her breath was jerky, her cheeks hot pink. His hand insinuated itself under a thermal weave undershirt, and found the tender, jiggling heft of her tits, propped in the scaffolding of a cotton bra. Her nipples were tight.
Her heart thudded, quick and fast, against his hand.
Tears flooded his eyes. He hid his face against her chest, let her paint-spattered sweater absorb them. It moved him to tears. How fucking beautiful she was. How fragile. Her body was a treasure box that held the priceless jewel of Liv Endicott’s soul.
His princess, his queen, empress. His goddess.
A sharp tug, and the cotton of her panties gave way, leaving her hot nest of curls naked to his caressing fingers. He tossed her skirt up over her waist. Oh, man. That soft skin, torn panties clinging to one white thigh, that lovely, hot pink slit in her dark curls. Beckoning him.
Her eyes were closed, tangled hair spread out across the couch cushions, the smudgy, sooty shadows of her lashes dark against her tear-streaked face. That stain of sunrise pink in her pale cheek, the soft lower lip caught between her white teeth, every detail devastated him.
The contrast between her delicate female body and the thick wool socks, the shabby skirt, the battered boots, was unspeakably erotic.
She moved against him, gripping his shirt, shoving his heavy jacket off his shoulders as if it pissed her off that he was still wearing it.
He let go of her just long enough to wrestle the sleeves off his arms. His hands were starving for contact with her hot skin. His dick felt like a ravening beast lunging at the chain, but he had to redeem himself first, as best he could. Making her come was his favorite way, cheap, short-term solution though it might be.
He didn’t care.
He slid his finger reverently into the tight, suckling heat of her pussy, his mouth watering. He’d been aching for a taste of her sweet girl juice for months. He sagged down to pay passionate homage to her tender female flesh with his tongue.
Ah, God. Like always. Silken salty sweet. Delicious. Every sobbing breath, every lapping sliding stroke. He loved the way she struggled and writhed, bucking and heaving against his face, though he could feel her anger in the sharp, nervous bite of her nails through his shirt.
She was wound so tight, vibrating with furious excitement, but he was instinctively wary of making her come too soon.
Better to drag it out, make her wait. Keep her in this drawn up state of shivering need, for as long as he possibly could.
God knows, he was content to wallow with his face between her thighs for hours. Forever, even. Seeking heaven with his tongue.
That manipulative bastardtook his own sweet time about it.
He brought her up to an agonized point of shivering desperate need, and kept her there, for an endless, struggling eternity.
When he finally had mercy and shoved her over the crest, the climax was so violent, it wiped her out completely.
She was a sobbing mess. Destroyed. All dignity dissolved.
He didn’t gloat, though. He had that much sense. He just pressed his face against her belly, nuzzling her, his breath tickling her mound.
Liv twisted to the side, insofar as she could with her legs wrapped around a huge, gorgeous man’s broad shoulders, and hid her face in her hands. She expected him to follow up his advantage, and make love to her. Pleasure shimmered through every nerve. Her heart felt hot, glowing. Squishy soft inside her chest. She was melting down. She ached to be filled up, to feel his heat, his weight. His wonderful steely strength. She was poised for him to mount her, enter her, give her a long, hard, furious ride. She was braced for it, breathless for it.
But all he did was nuzzle her muff. It was driving her nuts.
“Stop that,” she muttered. “You’re tickling me.”
He nipped lazily at her thigh, stroked his faintly scratchy jaw against her. Petting her damp curls, her slick, sensitive folds, as tenderly as if he were caressing a purring kitten. “Never,” he whispered.
Sean looked thin, his features cut sharper. He seemed so different with such short hair. Hard and intense.
