After kissing her until her toes curled, he’d said, “I’ll enjoy unwrapping my redhead.”
Her thighs clenched as she pulled on the large T-shirt she’d borrowed from her grinning sister, the soft fabric covering her panties and hitting her mid-thigh.
And she was dressed.
Ready to be unwrapped.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she caught Sailor in the process of throwing his jeans onto a chair that already held his T-shirt, his only covering white boxer briefs. That body… it made her want to whimper. He was all ridges and valleys and smooth golden skin and a tight butt that she wanted to bite. After she’d licked her way around his tattoos.
God, what was happening to her? ísa Rain didn’t have thoughts like that.
Except, it seemed, when it came to Sailor Bishop.
Turning around to face her, Sailor whistled. “Spitfire, you make that innocent T-shirt look indecent.”
ísa might’ve been unsure how to take those words if Sailor’s body hadn’t been making it blatant exactly what he thought of hers, the ridge of his erection pressing demandingly against the front of his briefs.
She sucked in a hungry breath.
And he began to stalk her.
ísa couldn’t help it. She stumbled backward and backward… until her back hit the wall.
Coming to a stop in front of her, Sailor placed his hands palm-down on either side of her head, blocking her in against the wall in a private prison. His smile was wolfish, hungry. “No way for you to cut and run this time around.”
The warning made every tiny hair on her body rise to quivering attention, her nipples tight points.
“Too bad I didn’t remember the handcuffs.” A nipping kiss of her lower lip. “We’ll save them for next time.”
Her breath coming in shallow rasps, ísa gripped futilely at the back wall. Her skin was overheated. Her heart racing. And she wanted nothing more than to tumble him to the bed and tear off his briefs with her teeth. But if her mother’s life had taught ísa one thing, it was to be aware of the consequences of her choices.
Wetting her throat, she managed to say, “Did you bring protection?”
Sailor froze. A second later, he groaned and dropped his head. “I hate myself right now,” he said. “My cock hates me even more.” Another pause. “Your ex-step—”
“No.” ísa shuddered. “We are not going looking in his bedside drawer. That’s—” She shuddered again. “Just no.”
“Right. Which means…”
ísa wanted to cry. “I hate us both,” she muttered, clawing at the wall in her frustration.
Sailor looked up, a gleam in his eye. “When,” he said, “was the last time you made out like a teenager?”
Not even when I was a teenager. She’d been too conscious of her weight and pale skin. “Is that what you’re suggesting?” Her core felt silkily damp, and they’d barely begun.
“My briefs stay on.” His body heat pulsed against her, a near tactile caress that taunted her to lift her hands, indulge herself in him. “Everything of yours can come off.”
Brain cells finally firing, ísa put her hands on her hips. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Who said I planned to play fair?” A deep rumble of sound as he pressed close enough that the engorged tips of her breasts were crushed against his chest. “What I am planning is to make you come so hard that you keep on wanting more of the same.” His mouth closed over hers, his hands shifting to grip her wrists and pin her hands above her head.
ísa shivered, fingers curling into her palms.
Sailor’s scent swept over her, deeply masculine and with an undertone of earth, as if the soil he so loved had seeped into his very cells. When he transferred both her wrists into one of his big hands, using his other hand to stroke her thigh as he began to kiss his way down her neck, it was all she could do to suck in air.
Then he said, “Breathe,” and she realized she hadn’t been doing it at all.
Her lungs expanded on a rush of oxygen that was almost painful, and a second later, she was sucking in another breath and sucking him in with it, the raw beauty and rough, earthy scent of Sailor a drug. “Let go of my hands.” She was desperate to touch him.
“No.” His voice was a deep rumble against her throat.
“No?” ísa struggled to think. “That’s not how this works.”
“I threw away the rule book,” said the unrepentant man who was currently sliding his fingers under the edge of her panties.
Chest heaving, ísa scowled. “I get to touch you too.”
He kissed her, nipping at her lower lip as if punishing her for her reprimand. Only this punishment made her blood turn to honey, especially when he moved his hand to her breast and squeezed. She’d taken off her bra because she couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in it but now realized she’d made a tactical mistake.
Her moan was throaty, sounded more like a porn star than sensible ísa Rain. Thank God their room wasn’t right next to Martha’s.
Sailor’s smile turned very, very wicked. “Oh, I see.” Another squeeze.
Moaning again, she scrambled to find the words. “Stop… ah… distracting me.” Her breasts seemed to grow beneath the intense delight of his attention. “We were… ah… having a discussion.”
Chuckling, the infuriating man kissed her again. And this time, as he stroked his tongue against hers, he ran his thumb over her nipple in the same languid rhythm until it was hard and pebbled and so exquisitely sensitive that she felt as if she’d die.
“Sailor.” It came out a command.
“Want something, spitfire?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Touch me.”
Sailor squeezed her breast before dipping his head to kiss her neck once more. “I am touching you.” His other hand tightened around her wrists.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m no mind reader,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. “And right now I’m very interested in this beautiful throat.” He nipped sharply at it.
ísa kicked him.
Unfortunately, since she was in bare feet and he was pressed up so tight against her, she made exactly zero impact. “You’re a horrible man.”
“You like me, admit it.” A sucking kiss over her pulse. “Talk dirty to me, ísa. I’ll give you whatever you demand.”
“Touch me… on my bare skin.” She met his gaze when he looked up this time, the fire in the blue scalding.
ísa had never been so wanted. “I love the feel of your hands on me,” she said on a rush of erotic confidence. “Love how you have calluses that make your touch just rough enough.”
“Oh, I like the things you say.” With that gritty purr of a statement, he ran his hand over the top of her T-shirt and lower until he hit the very bottom edge. His knuckles brushed against her thighs for an electric a second before he slipped his hand under the fabric and spread his fingers over the sensitive skin. “See,” he said. “Asking for things gets you rewarded.”
ísa’s skin shimmered with sensation, her pulse a skittering rush.