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“I picked up her battered body from the bloody sand,” he added a heartbeat later. “But I was too late.”
Bree pulled him to a sitting position. And then pulled him into her arms. She kissed him. Long, hard, and deep. Hoping that the mere touch of her mouth could ease some of what he was feeling.
He didn’t exactly return the kiss. Rafe went stiff and eased back from her. “Thanks,” he said, attempting a smile. He failed. “A pity kiss probably isn’t the way to go here.”
“What if it’s not all pity?” she asked, and that wasn’t just a mindlessly blurted question either. Bree had actually given it a couple of seconds of thought.
Rafe stared at her. And stared. She took that as a good sign.
“It’s not all pity,” Bree insisted, and she kissed him again.
Man, he tasted good, like Christmas, birthday cake, and the hottest sex all rolled into one. That taste roared through her, sending jolts of heat to every part of her body.
Especially one part.
Her center was on fire, and it’d been a while, if ever, since she’d gone from two kisses to wanting full-blown sex. Of course, this was Rafe so there didn’t seem to be a mild version of making out.
“Bree,” he said like a warning. He eased her back again, his gaze combing over her face, especially her forehead.
Those damn stitches were really killing the mood, so Bree gave him something else to think about. She kissed him for a third time, and she made it French. A hard, hungry kiss that seemed to snap the rest of Rafe’s resolve.
Good.
This wasn’t the moment for resolve, pity or junk from their past. It was for now. For her playing out a sexual fantasy she’d had about him for way too long. Of course, it wasn’t anelaborate fantasy. No actual frills. Just down and dirty sex that she was certain would relieve this pressure cooker heat building inside her.
She trailed her mouth and tongue down his neck and enjoyed that hitch in his breath. Not panic or a fragment of a nightmare. All need. All heat.
All Rafe.
He didn’t stay idle, thank goodness. He kissed her neck as well. And touched. Oh, yeah. He touched, sliding his hand over the front of her shirt to her breasts. Then, beneath the top where his finger skimmed over her skin.
Now, she was the one to make that hitched breath, and while she hadn’t thought it possible, things began to move even faster, proving to her that Rafe was very much interested in seeing this through to completion.
Bree took things into her own hands. Literally. She unzipped him, reached in and found his boxers. Then, his hard-on.
Yes, he was interested.
Anchoring him against the sofa, she climbed back onto his lap, straddling him. And the battle of the clothes began. It would have been a much easier process if they’d just stopped kissing and touching and focused on the buttons, zippers, belts, holsters, and boots.
They didn’t do that.
They grappled, bumping into each other, sometimes the contact so good, so right that it nearly caused her to climax. Bree fought that off, wanting just to savor this for as long as she could. That’s why the moment she was finally able to peel off his shirt, she took the time to run her hands over his bare chest.
Toned and perfect.
The man was certainly living up to her incredibly high expectations.
She kissed his chest, running her tongue over all that perfection. Trailing her mouth, down, down, down. To his stomach. Apparently, that was a good spot for him because he fisted his hands in her hair, holding on. Giving into the pleasure of it all.
He stopped her though when her mouth landed on his boxers and his erection. Probably because he didn’t want this to end with a blowjob. Rafe moved her, just enough to rid her of her jeans, boots.
Then, her panties.
And before she could stop him, he played really dirty and gave her a kiss right in the center of that heat. Right on the most sensitive part of her body. She cursed him and managed to wriggle away before he could finish her off with the best-placed kiss in the history of such things.
Bree got back on his lap, ready to take him inside her. One word stopped her though.
“Condom,” Rafe muttered.
