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The heat spread everywhere, making her body restless as it shifted along his. Her already hardened nipples wished it was bare skin they rubbed against. Jami sucked Malcolm’s lower lip into her mouth, biting down. A soft growl added to the heat that was building inside her, and then his tongue was in her mouth.
He stroked hers, causing her hands to stop roaming. Then his tongue thrust inside. Her legs shifted as the motion caused heat to gather below. Her thigh slid along the hard bulge that had grown in his jeans. As she wiggled lower, her skirt bunched up around her hips so she could press against him exactly how she wanted.
Malcolm’s head fell back, his eyes squeezing shut. He lay flat and panted as if he’d run up a hill.
Jami’s palms slid over his chest while the junction of her thighs rubbed along all that sexy hardness.
His hands moved, barely brushing her hips before he forced them back to the mat.
She slid her fingers to the hem of his shirt, letting them slide under it to stroke the hot skin of his stomach. “You’re gorgeous, Malcolm.” His hair had spread beneath him. She pushed his shirt up. “More skin.”
His torso lifted, and he helped her to take off his shirt. Malcolm’s chest was magnificent. A spattering of dark hair highlighted his pecs, but his skin was smooth below. He had a six-pack, one that glistened with a sheen of sweat from their earlier session. Jami’s fingers traced the muscle that defined him so well. Strong. Capable. Always there to look out for her.
She didn’t let herself think, but stripped off her own shirt and the camisole beneath it in one motion. His hands jerked as if he wanted to touch her. Giving into her own desires, she lowered her torso to slide against him. Her tightened nipples liked the pressure.
Jami’s lips found his again, and her tongue thrust inside even as she arched her body into his. Her breasts loved the friction, but it wasn’t enough down below. Their lips parted with her frustrated gasp. She sat up straight again, and he pressed hard right where she wanted him to.
Malcolm’s eyes locked on her chest.
Her hands grabbed his, dragging them to her breasts. “Touch me. Please.”
His palms slid over her already budded nipples. Her breasts looked small under his large hands, but his thumbs stroked her, the ache twisting inside and taking the thought away as her eyes shut. All she was left with was a building want for what he’d given her once before.
His hands shifted, and soon more strokes and tight little tugs overwhelmed her. Her body rocked against him, a rhythm building to match the aching he’d filled her with. Her hands moved to his jeans, struggling with the zipper since she didn’t want to move away enough to reach it properly.
Malcolm sat up, the move trapping her hands and spreading her legs wider where she straddled his waist. His hands moved to her hips, and at his urging, the bulge in his jeans stroked just where her body craved it the most.
“I didn’t bring a condom.” Malcolm rocked her against him. “Let me just make you feel good.” He rolled her beneath him.
She lost her breath as the ache twisted tighter. The press of his erection was harder, exactly what she needed for a brief moment.
Then his weight pinning her filtered into her consciousness, and her body stiffened under his.
Malcolm rolled off of her, his breath shuddering into the silence.
Jami cringed. “I—”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” he said. His arm moved to rest over his eyes.
Jami climbed on top of him, glaring down at him when he was the one that stiffened this time. “It’s just the missionary position, okay? That’s the way Andrew always had sex with me.”
Malcolm’s hand shifted, tracing delicately over her arm. “Sometimes I wish I’d hit that bastard more.”
Jami stared into his eyes, expecting to see the fury she’d seen before. Instead, there was a gentleness that did things to her stomach.
Despite the fact they were both half naked, the momentary panic had evaporated all of that delicious heat.
Malcolm seemed to realize it. He reached for her discarded shirt, handing it to her. She untwisted the camisole still tucked inside it and rose to pull both on. Malcolm’s chest was covered when she was done, sending a pang of regret through her.
“I think tonight’s been a good start,” Malcolm said.
Before he could turn away, Jami grabbed his hand and pulled it up to press against her hair. Unlike the hand she remembered, Malcolm’s touch sent tingles through her. “You never covered what happens when the attacker twists my hair in his grip.” Her head tilted to rest against his palm as his fingers carded through her hair. “Do I just have to accept a chunk of it will be pulled out?”
His other hand moved to her face, the back of his finger trailing over her cheek. “It’s the same, Jami.” He stepped back, his hands retreating to the pockets of his jeans, as if he needed to trap them to keep himself from touching her.
The gesture made Jami’s gaze lock on the bulge that hadn’t faded.
Malcolm turned his back on her. “I’ll get the lights.”
