“You gonna behave now?” he asked in a low voice.
His body filled with the unbearable pain of wanting and the knowledge that every thought and touch was wrong. His conscience warred with his body and was losing ground fast. Even though guilt ate at him, it wasn’t enough to stop him from lusting after her.
The second mistake was looking into her eyes as she tilted her head back. Her dark gaze lowered, and her sweet breath touched his chin from her parted lips.
The third mistake was telling himself all he wanted was a taste. Just one little taste of her soft mouth, and he would stop. Somehow he would find a way to pull back and fight down the agonizing erection pressed against the crease of her butt cheeks.
Liar.
His hand slid under the loose-fitting shirt and covered her breast. Her eyes closed on a moan as she made a sensual little movement in his arms, and he was lost. The other hand reached up and circled the back of her neck so he could hold her in place. A rush of consuming hunger, like nothing he’d ever known before, enveloped him, and he crushed his mouth onto hers. No teasing kisses, only desire, plain and raw.
She melted, pliant, pushing her hips back against him. His arousal pressed harder against his jeans, welcoming the exquisite pleasure of her cushiony backside. When he tweaked her nipple, he felt the shudder that blasted through her body. Through the cotton shirt, she squeezed the hand palming her breast, and soft, throaty moans fell on his ears and tore through him.
“You’re gonna make me have an accident,” he teased in a shaky voice. His teeth nipped at her ear.
“I want you so much.”
The aching in her voice almost undid him. “You want me?” he asked, slipping his hand down the waistband of her shorts. “Let me see how much.” She gasped when he made contact with the moisture between her thighs. “Oh yeah,” he groaned, his lips now at her bare shoulder, punctuating his words with hard kisses. “You want me.”
When he tried to remove his hand, she made a desperate grab to hold it in place.
“No. Please,” she pleaded. “Please don’t stop, Roarke. Please, don’t stop.”
Roarke resolved to oblige her request. He worked his fingers through the slick moisture, listening to her pants next to his ear where her head rested on his shoulder.
He inserted one, then a second finger inside her. With long strokes he glided in and out, simultaneously rubbing his warm hand against the tightened nub.
“I wish this was me,” he whispered in her ear.
When the climax hit, she shuddered, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out. She grabbed his wrist in a viselike grip and pumped faster, riding out the release. When she came down off her high, her body pressed back against him.
With ease, he scooped her up in his arms and took her onto the grass beneath one of the trees away from the porch lights. When he lowered her weakened body to the ground, she reached for the button on his jeans, and his abdominal muscles tightened.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to touch you.”
“Not a good idea,” he said, bracing himself above her. She didn’t listen, and he was powerless to stop her. She pulled down the zipper and freed him into her hand.
“Celeste . . . I can’t . . . baby . . .” He cursed, tearing at the grass with curled fingers. “You’re killing me.”
She dragged his head down to hers, opening her mouth for his tongue. The kiss was hungry, wet, devouring. She continued to stroke his hard length, each caress bringing him closer and closer to the brink.