His voice hypnotized her as he continued to play with her sensitive breasts, molding her flesh to his, rubbing and lightly pinching her nipples. “But feeling you is enough for now. It’ll have to be, since I don’t have the time or patience to take you to bed. Take off your shoes.” Harper blinked. His tone had been clipped. A little harsh. Instead of being offended, her arousal mounted. She liked seeing the evidence of his need displayed large.
Kneeling, she untied her tennis shoes, removed them, and then stripped off her bootie socks. She stood and began to peel her yoga pants off, but Latimer came closer. He stepped between her feet, wedging her thighs apart with his leg, and jerked down on her pants. For some reason, the dominant stance he took, the way he parted her legs with his and pressed her mons against his thigh, sent a rush of warm wetness through her. He lowered both her underwear and pants below her ass. Then his hands were back, cupping her buttocks, molding them to his palms. She moaned shakily, because he was pressing her * against his hard thigh while he fondled her. It felt so good, she couldn’t stop herself from circling her hips, getting friction on her clit. His response was to squeeze her flesh more forcefully.
“God you’re gorgeous,” he growled, and again, he sounded tense. Angry? Harper realized he was a little angry at that moment. Not at her, any more than she was at him. Angry that he couldn’t control himself.
Any more than she could.
He grasped her buttocks, grinding her sex against his thigh for a thrilling moment. Then he muttered a curse, and bent, yanking down her pants all the way. She’d barely acknowledged him throwing the garments aside, then he was lifting her in his arms. Harper gasped in surprise at his abrupt move. He held her beneath her ass. Her clutching hands coasted up rock-hard, bulging biceps. Her arms instinctively circled his neck, her legs tightening around his waist.
He took several steps, and hot water was coursing down her back. She had been cold, and just didn’t realize it while under the spell of Latimer’s hands and mouth. Her skin roughened at the contrast of the hot water against her chilled skin. Her throat vibrated in pleasure. Latimer caught her open mouth with his, capturing her cry. And again, she was drowning in him.
A moment later, he set her feet on the ground.
“I can’t think straight when you kiss me,” she mumbled distractedly, because he was still doing it, his mouth moving hungrily along her neck.
“I can’t think straight when I kiss you, either.”
“Why did you really ask me here tonight?” Her fingers delved into his damp, thick hair in a clawing gesture when he planted a hot kiss on her shoulder.
“I didn’t ask you,” he mumbled. “You came, like some kind of dream.”
“No, I mean to the party.”
“I don’t know,” he said against her skin. He gently bit at her shoulder muscle. She gasped and moved closer to him, pressing her breasts against his ribs. Water coursed around their bodies. His cockhead prodded her hip bone. He opened one hand at her back and stroked the length of her spine at the same moment he cradled a breast. His thumb found her nipple. She shivered. He rubbed her with the lubrication of the hot water. “Because of this,” he said gruffly. He swept his open hand from neck to upper thigh, pausing to cup her ass. “This,” he breathed against her upturned mouth.
She moved back slightly and found his cock with her hand. She closed around the rigid shaft. “This,” she agreed, stroking his length. He didn’t reply, but she’d felt the tension that leapt into his body at her touch. His face was shadowed as she stared up at him. Her lungs burned as her hand moved up and down on his wet cock. He felt wonderful in her hand, so hard. So vital. Maybe he was right. Here was a comprehensible truth, an amazing one: stark desire pulsing right in her hand. She slid down his rigid shaft and cupped his firm, shaved balls. She whimpered softly. Jesus. His masculinity was flagrant, even while the man himself was a shrouded enigma.
“Who are you?” she whispered dazedly, stroking his shaft to the succulent cockhead again, squeezing him firmly.
“Jacob Latimer. And that’s all you need to know,” he growled, and then was grabbing her wrist, pulling her hand off his cock. His demanding mouth silenced her sound of protest. He pushed his hand against her tailbone and kissed her deep, leaning over her so that her back bowed to accommodate his tall frame. He slid his hand over her ass, swooshing rivulets of water from her skin. He molded a cheek to his palm. Long fingers delved between her thighs. She started and moaned into his mouth when he surely found her slit and penetrated her with his forefinger. His rough groan twined with hers as he plunged in and out of her body. All the while, his kiss was deep, his taste delicious and dark.
Like she had earlier that evening when he kissed her, Harper recognized she was spinning. Slipping. Now . . .
. . . Free-falling.
This time, she was too far gone to save herself.
*
He hated to be out of control of himself. Despised it, in fact. But as he sunk his tongue into the taste of Harper McFadden and his finger into her warm, creamy clasp, he acknowledged that he was. Possessing her meant more than remaining safe.