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The spice of his sweat is making my mouth water. Pepper and musk and a hint of pine, shooting straight to where I’m aching to feel him. The need is so strong it’s a physical ache.
“You didn’t listen to me. You’re still here.” His voice is gravelly, hoarse. “You should go, girl.”
And maybe that’s what pushes me over the edge, undoing my last inhibition, my last fear, because I slide my arms up his strong chest, feeling his taut muscles under the thin fabric of his T-shirt, distantly aware I’m moaning softly at the sensation of those hard planes and ridges, that broad, powerful chest, rising and falling under my hands.
Of him so close to me, visibly struggling to keep from touching me, his strength barely contained—visibly aroused, his hot, hard length caught in his jeans, brushing against me as I shift closer.
It’s like petting a wolf or a panther, knowing he might snap his chain at any moment, that he might just stop purring and attack, bite you, hold you down…
Oh God, this is crazy, I can’t pull away, though I know I should. I’m dizzy with desire like I’ve never felt before in my life.
“Fucking hell, you’re still here, and I can’t…” His whole body is shaking now, and I feel every tremor going through his powerful frame. His eyes are hooded, those long lashes hiding his gaze. “I can’t do this anymore. Fuck.”
“Please,” I whisper, not sure what I’m doing, only sure I can’t walk away from this.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, the growl back in his voice, making my knees weak. “Fuck, you have no idea…”
“Show me,” I breathe.
“Shit.” His hands are suddenly on me, grabbing my hips. In one swift movement, he swings me around and pushes me against the counter. “You want me to fuck you? Say it.”
A gasp leaves my lips.
“Because I will. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days.” He lifts me up on the counter, presses between my legs, his cock a steel bar between us. Feeling it makes my breath catch. “Hot damn, girl,” he whispers, his voice dropping to a groan.
And he kisses me.
It’s nothing like I imagined it would be. Nothing gentle and soft about it. His mouth crashes on mine, his beard chafes my chin, his tongue pushes between my lips, stroking my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and I’m on fire.
He tastes of blood and smoke and fire. My hands slide up his powerful shoulders to his face, tangle in his silky hair. I kiss him back, my mouth opening for him, my tongue sliding against his, and need pulses deep in my belly. It’s a strange ache, deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I want him inside me.
The thought startles me, but he swallows my gasp, devouring my mouth, his hands moving down my body to grip my waist.
Never fooled around with a guy before—my frigging braces saw to that, plus the bullying by Ross and his nasty gang of friends—and I never thought my first time would be like this.
Against a kitchen counter. With a man who looks more beast than man in the twilight. Whose grip on my body is bruising, his kiss rough and unrestrained, going on and on, sucking all the air from my lungs.
Lighting up my body from the inside like a runaway spark, racing through my veins like liquid flame, waking up every part of me.
He draws back, his teeth scraping my lips, his beard tickling my chin. His warm breath washes over me, smelling faintly of Whiskey.
Without a word, he shoves his hands under my blouse, finding my breasts and squeezing them in their cotton cups, making me gasp. Pleasure shoots down my belly, pooling between my legs. I wind my arms around his neck, not sure of my balance when he tugs the cups down and thumbs my nipples.
Oh God…
More pleasure zings down my nerve endings, and heat gathers deep low. Pressure is building up, and I don’t know what to do with it.
I need him to take care of it.
Of me.
“Damn,” he growls, pressing his mouth to the juncture between my neck and shoulder, nipping and mouthing my skin, until I push into his hands, into his biting kisses that move up my neck. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
His scent hits me, that spicy musk mingled with car oil and leather, sharp and masculine.
“I want you,” I whisper.
