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He didn’t tell her not to sit up. He just came down over her.Rightover her, his thigh between hers, his weight braced on his palms on either side of her body as he pressed down over her. And kissed her.
His scent around her, more forest-musk than ever with effort. His lips cool on hers, his cold hand in her hair, his body heavy over hers. The shudder taking her, and the cold sweeping through her body, remaining in her nipples and between her legs, icy-hot as diving into a frigid lake.
Beckett didn’t say anything while he pulled her up and yanked off her ugly cardigan, and she didn’t say anything when she got to her knees and pulled his T-shirt up his body and over his head, kissing him as long as she could possibly do it, or when she had her palms flat on his chest and he was sucking in his own breath at the cold of them and they were kissing again, lips and tongues avid, and he was getting his hands under her turtleneck.
She couldn’t wait for that. His chest was broad, it was hard, and she had to feel it. She was shoving him down ontohisback now, and he was going. Her mouth at his neck, kissing the whisker-roughened skin, her hand caressing his nipple. Then her mouth was following that hand down, and she was touching him, kissing him, sucking at him, and he was swearing, low, dirty, and thrilling, as he yanked her turtleneck up and over her head and arms, and he was rolling her.
Hands and mouths all over each other, breath coming hard. Her socks coming off with her jeans, and her hands on his belt buckle, wrestling with it. His two hands on her breasts, in the black bra she hadn’t known why she was wearing, pushing them gently together, then coming down and kissing her cleavage, his fingers finding her nipples, still diamond-hard with shocking cold, then slipping the fabric aside.
And his mouth was there.
She forgot about his belt buckle. Her eyes were nearly rolling back in her head, because the heat of his mouth after the chill of the night air, the pulses of sensation … Then his hand was inside her bikinis, and her hips jerked.
I need to …her mind was saying. Her hands were on the shifting muscle of his back, his hair brushing against her breast.I don’t want it to go this fast.
That was when she got her leg over his body and rolled him again.
* * *
He’d heardwhat she’d said, before. He just hadn’t believed it. In his experience, when you were over a woman and starting to pleasure her, she generally stayed there and let you do it. Let you look at her in those silky, lace-trimmed undies, for example, and then let you take them off her and do her right.
He could have fought her, but he wanted to know what would happen next. Which was that she was straddling him, an Amazon in the shadows, her breasts heaving in the low-cut bra, her strong thighs gripping him in the way he’d always imagined. Her hands were at his belt buckle, shoving the tongue through the loop, then pulling, and the belt was free.
A twist of her fingers, and he felt the top button of his jeans go. One of her hands was on his chest, the other on the next button, and she was kissing him, tracing his abs with her tongue and moving down. His brain was trying to feel both things: her fingers releasing the second button, and her mouth on him, ever closer to his waistband. He felt the brush of her hair against his skin, and the world faded away that little bit more.
Strong, lithe body, glowing ivory in the darkness. Clever hand undoing two more buttons. Hot mouth, seeming to want to taste all of him. Press of thighs against his knees as she shifted down. His hand holding her head against him as the other hand reached back and found the clasp of her bra.
Her start of surprise when he undid it, and then the wriggle of her shoulders, felt rather than seen, as she helped him get it off her, and his hand was on her breast.
How had a woman’s breast been made to fit your hand so perfectly? The firmness of hers, and the taut little nipple, which he’d realized, when he’d first drawn it into his mouth, was brown, not pink. He pinched it between his fingers, and she gasped against his skin and undid another button.
That was five. That was all of them.
Another downward shift of her body, and her mouth was on him, kissing him through the silky fabric of his boxer briefs. He groaned, his hand tightened around her head, and she kissed him some more, cupped him there, and squeezed. Just a little.
He leapt into her hand.
Wait,his mind was trying to say.I want to …You always made sure the woman came first. How was he going to … Then he forgot it for a second, because she had both hands under his waistband now, and was drawing his briefs and jeans down his legs and straight off him.
There was only one thing to do here. Time to do it.
* * *
She came backover him like a snake. Wriggling, maybe because she wanted to feel her body brushing against his as her open mouth ranged over him, her hand exploring, questing.
When he got her under the arms, she froze. “Beckett,” she said. “I want to—”
“I know,” he said, hearing his voice tight with need. “I want to, too. Spin around.”
She said, “Uh …”
“Turn around,” he said. “You can do it. But I’m going to do it, too.”
“Uh … both at once? It’ll be too hard. I’m at least three inches shorter than you.”
“Quinn,” he said. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
He said it for effect, probably. It worked. She shuddered, another of those rolling, full-body things.
