His hand grazed the top of her head, sliding his hat from her hair in a shower of staticky sparks visible in the car’s dim interior. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her mouth to his like she might get away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t get enough of Conn’s lush mouth, his deft tongue sliding against hers, the soft, rough noise that escaped his throat when she nipped his lower lip, then licked the spot to soothe it.
The hand not in her hair snaked between her waist and the seat to haul her over the console, into his lap. She twisted as she moved, her bottom cradled against his warm thighs, her feet still in the passenger seat. It was awkward, but now she could cup his face as she kissed him, sliding her fingers through his hair. More importantly, he now had access to her body, his palms seeking out her breasts.
“I can barely feel that,” she moaned when he squeezed the tender flesh. “Too many clothes.”
He jerked up her sweater, only to find another sweater underneath, then a thermal undershirt under that. “How many layers are you wearing?” he grumbled.
“Four, I think,” she said, twisting on his lap. She needed more, the hot visceral glow of skin-to-skin contact. “Keep going, there’s one more—oh, God,” she gasped.
He’d found her silk undershirt, the bottom layer except for her bra—barely any defense against the rough heat of his palm. She arched, desperate as he fumbled with her bra cup, then solved that problem by shoving her bra up. It was the least elegant look ever, three sweaters and a bra bunched around her collarbone, but the sensation when he pinched her nipple made her arch so strongly she banged her head on the driver’s side window.
“Ow … no, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she said.
“I can think of better places to do this than the front seat of your car,” Conn said, but his hand didn’t stop moving, squeezing and pinching, then gathering the silk to graze her nipples into a hyperaware state. “Or the backseat. You should have bought the bigger sedan.”
She clamped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. The light in the garage door opener flicked off, leaving them in total darkness. “Shit,” Conn said, and slapped his hand against the dash until he found the push button start and activated the interior lights. A soft pinging filled the air.
Cady looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a thin ring of iris around his pupils. Her brain said standard response to dim lighting. Her body said aroused male and triggered the desire to writhe against him, something she wanted to do naked and horizontal. “Inside,” she said.
He opened the door and caught her in one bulky arm before she fell backward to the cement floor. In a move worthy of any of the Dukes of Hazzard she gripped the doorframe and lifted herself out and up until she could get a foot on the floor, kicking Conn soundly in the thigh in the process. He grunted, but followed her out, waiting with the car door open until she’d opened the door leading to the mudroom. Light spilled from the kitchen into the garage.
As soon as the door to the garage closed, they stumbled down the hallway to the kitchen. The whole first floor smelled of fresh evergreen, clean, enticing. Conn stripped off her top two layers, turning her hair into a wild, static-filled halo around her face. “Wait, wait,” he muttered, cupping both hands around her head to hold her for his kiss. She took advantage of the lingering moment to slide her hands under the hem of his Henley, then up his ribcage, pulling his shirt off as she went. He broke away long enough to let her strip him, then wrapped one arm around her waist and hoisted her onto the kitchen island, stepped into her spread thighs, and kissed her again.
His kisses were deep, raw, out of character for him. Before he’d been controlled, careful of the differences between his strength and hers, but now he vibrated with a desire so passionate it was almost desperate. Cady left off running her hands over his shoulders and chest to grab the hem of her turtleneck and silk undershirt and pull them off. Conn’s hands made short work of her twisted bra, and then they were skin to skin. She wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, and pulled him close, pressing her breasts against his chest, her belly to his.
His breath left him with a barely audible groan, then he relaxed against her. She felt his abs lifting against hers as he inhaled, the hot, hard length of his cock pressing against his zipper, but mostly she felt the way the tension eased from him. His big hands stroked up and down her back, his thumbs bumping over every notch in her spine, from her nape to the waistband of her jeans.
He leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, asking a question, watching for a response. The first few times they’d done this, Cady was looking for nothing more than to release months’ worth of tension built up on the road with a man she was attracted to. She didn’t fool herself into thinking Conn wanted anything more than that … then.