It’s molten, the fabric trapping the wetness and heat of his mouth, slicking it against my skin.
His tongue lashes fire against me in jolts that leave me writhing against him, rocking my hips, grinding myself against him greedily until I’m all wildness and pulsing, desperate need, completely stripped of my senses.
He makes a deep, satisfying sound with one last little lick, then lets go, looking up at me with those blue eyes smoldering.
“You were saying?” he growls.
I can’t talk. Can't move. I’m a wreck, completely shattered inside, and if I don’t give in to this wanting I’m going to lose my mind.
But I’m trying to think straight, still trying to be an adult. “I can’t let you ruin your friendship with Steve,” I whisper. “It's –”
“If me wanting you ruins our friendship, then it wasn’t a friendship at all.” But he relaxes his tight, clutching, entirely distracting grip on my ass, and strokes his hands up my back.
There's a gentleness at the contrast with the demanding fire in his eyes. “Be with me, Reb. Right here under the stars. We’ll spend the night like we used to.” That darkly arrogant smirk flashes a glimpse of teeth. “Only this time, you won’t have to write the sex. You're talented, yeah. Good luck ever finding the words for the shit I'm gonna do to you.”
I can’t help a shaky laugh. I lean in, resting my brow to his, breathing him in. Breathing in the scent of raw desire between us. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Must be. Feels like I’ve gone crazy.” He kisses me again – softer this time, a gentle thing that ends in a taunting nip, a promise. “Feel like being crazy with me? Breaking a few rules?”
If I say no, I’ll be lying to myself, and him.
But if I say yes...holy hell.
If I say that, with another kiss, then I’m tumbling from one heartbreak to another when this man is so volatile and wild he can destroy me with a single touch.
Too bad, right now, I want to be destroyed.
Completely shattered inside and out, if only to know what it’s like to have him this one time.
I bite my lip, tasting him on it, then curl my fingers against his shirt, gripping at the hem and tugging upward. “Let me touch,” I whisper – and that’s the closest to a yes he’s going to get, when my common sense is screaming Danger, Will Robinson, danger! at the top of its lungs.
His eyes brighten, then darken, and he leans back from me enough to grasp his shirt and pull it up over his head.
Muscle flexes powerfully, writhing like licking tongues of steel coiling and sliding over each other in pure filthy suggestion. He's filthy.
Made for sex and secret things in the dark, for those little twisted whispers you never speak in the light of day. I can't decide where I want to touch him first.
I start with the tattoo curling over his shoulder, a primal pattern that makes me think of deep tribal drumbeats and the rhythm of the ocean answering a tidal moon's call.
Sea and stone. Harshness. Smoothness. Fire.
That's his entire body, this titan masterwork crafted from the elements themselves, and I lose myself tracing over his beauty. Every time my fingertips skim his shoulders, his chest, the ripples of his abdomen, a shudder rolls tensely over taut hide.
He’s barely holding himself in check, breathing harder and harder, while every part of him I take in makes my body ache deeper and deeper.
Until my fingers stray down to his navel, that trail of tempting dark hair, and lower.
Landon's control snaps.
Suddenly, I’m tumbling on my back, spilled across the grass, fresh green blades licking cool against my overheated skin while he hovers over me. There's a dark god pushing between my legs, taking up my world, framing it in the light from the twinkling stars overhead.
In the darkness he’s this looming, menacing shape. A silhouette cut in hard edges, pinned by the glow of blue – but it’s the warmth and need and softness in those vivid blue eyes that turn him from the monster in the dark into the silent secret lover.
Consumed and all consuming in his intensity. He takes me in with a lethal gaze, an eye-fuck that strips me naked. His splayed fingers skim up my body, pushing the hem of my shirt up, taunting me with the sensuous scrape of calluses against my skin. Every touch comes like a spark kissing, burning out, melting into my flesh.
I suck in a breath as his hands rove higher, as he lifts the tank top over my breasts, baring me save for the barely-there bra cups that are no protection at all.
Not from his gaze. And not from the heavy, heavy touch of a possessive hand curling against my breast, cupping and kneading my flesh against him, until I feel like putty in his hands.
A whimper slips out of me. I can’t help but writhe, lifting myself up, digging my fingers into the ground, eyes slipping half-closed as I bite my tongue on pleasure.
His knee braces against the grass between my thighs. Every time I move, I'm grinding myself against the hardness of his thigh.
Struggling not to completely lose myself in these deep, drawing feelings he pulls out of me with every touch, every kiss, every beastly glance.
I’m so weak for him. A level of undone I thought only existed in my books.
So shamefully weak, he strips what last strength I have as he lowers his body over me, licks his way up my stomach in sizzling trails, catches my bra cup in his teeth, and drags the lace down to bare me to the kiss of night air. And to the kiss of his lips, as his mouth teases me once again with no buffering layer between us, pulling my hardened, tightening, tingling nipple into his mouth.
Desire shoots through me in hot bolts, every last one arrowing straight down. And his huge hand follows them, like he's guided by the invisible arrows of my pulsing need.
I’m so lost, such a mess, digging my dirt-stained fingers into his back, feeling like a little animal myself as I squirm against him...holy hell.
I don’t even realize what he’s doing until my shorts are open and suddenly there’s the heat of hard, thick knuckles against tender skin, slipping down, exploring and brushing over my folds.
I can’t stop my cry this time.
It rips out of me, a sweet hot tremor as everything inside me clenches. His fingers belong to the devil himself. They glide down slow, knowing to find where I’m already wet. So wet.
He had me in the palm of his hand before he even jumped the fence, as if my body sensed him coming and was ready.
He traces every dripping soft bit of me like he’s known even this secret part of me his whole life, a feeling more exposed than any I’ve ever known. I’m going to burn up inside. Going to die of this fever.
Just gasping every time pleasure crashes over me in rushes so raw they're almost painful.
He knows how to make me writhe. Knows how to make me spread my straining thighs and lift myself desperately toward his stroking fingers. Knows how to make me lose my breath when he teases one greedy point and then the next.
And he knows how to completely break any last resistance I had when he lets go of my sore, throbbing nipple with one last loving lick, swirls his fingers through my dripping wetness, and growls huskily against my ear, “...so you did miss me, Reb.”
Oh, God. I want to call him an asshole.
Want to tell him to fuck off. Want to tell him to fuck me, because he’s driving me crazy with this slow foreplay, this languid exploration that seems to strip away the civilized woman bit by bit to make me just as wild as him.
But whatever rises to my lips is silenced, choked off, as those devil’s fingers search deeper. Just two fingertips, sliding inside me, slow and testing – but they’re enough to set me off.
“Landon!” I gasp, arching hard against the grass.
Only the thick, pinning bulk of his body holds me in place. His fingers respond, surging slowly deeper, anchoring me with a rough confidence and certainty that twists me up inside and leaves me feeling so deliciously helpless.