Her breasts hung down like ripe fruit as she continued to press soft kisses to his mangled leg. Her pert bottom stuck up in the air. It was too much. His dick flexed and bounced, and a hot drop of pre-ejaculate plopped onto his belly.
“Believe me,” he told her, his voice strangled. “Right now, I don’t feel anything but you. In fact, I’d say right now, I feel the best I’ve felt in my whole sorry life.”
So true. Because for the first time in his whole sorry life, he was with a woman he loved.
“Really?” She quirked a dark eyebrow, and then the only term to describe her was she-devil. She ran her hands over his chest, over the erect, aching nubs of his nipples, and down the corrugated muscles of his abs. The feel of her touch was hell on his self-control. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. “I think that’s a challenge.” She leaned forward to take his swollen head into her hot little mouth.
*
Ozzie was a big man. In every way. Samantha couldn’t take all of him. Still, that didn’t stop her from trying. Because h-h-holy hell, he tasted sweet. So hard and throbbing against the roof of her mouth.
Just like the rest of him, his cock was gorgeous. Long and thick. Substantial was the word she was looking for. She wrapped her hand around his base, amazed when her fingers didn’t touch. And then, with deliberate slowness, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked.
A helpless gurgle sounded at the back of his throat. He had been watching her, but now his head hit the floor with a thunk. One hand fisted at his side, and the other fisted in her hair. Urging her onward? Telling her to stop?
Since he didn’t say, she chose door number one. She bathed his length with her tongue even as she stroked with her hand. His big, muscled body bunched with tension, his hips shifting slightly as if it was killing him to hold still.
“Sweet…Jesus,” he moaned, sinking his teeth into his lower lip.
He was so damned sexy. So damned…everything. And any satisfaction he’d given her was blown away by the renewed ache of desire. Her breasts felt heavy, the tips ultrasensitive. Between her legs, she thrummed with blood, her flesh twitching with the need to be touched.
But she couldn’t stop what she was doing to him. She didn’t want to stop what she was doing. She had been at his mercy earlier. He was at her mercy now.
“Don’t hold back,” she commanded, his cock momentarily slipping free of her lips. “I want you to give yourself to me.”
And she did, in more ways than just this.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire, slumberous with need. “Then open your mouth”—his voice was so low and gravelly, she had a hard time understanding him—“and take me.”
When she did as instructed, his shaft twitched. It was all the encouragement she needed to pull him deep. Again and again. In and out in a slow, slippery glide that partnered with the stroke of her hand as she jerked him in an easy rhythm.
“Fuck,” he grunted. His hips pumping. His bootheels digging into the floor. “Just like that, Samantha. Oh God! Just like that!”
She hummed her agreement, her pleasure. Her whole body buzzed with desire, with the need for ecstasy. But it was his ecstasy she was most interested in, and the power she felt knowing she could give it to him.
He made gasping, pained sounds as he thrust between her lips. His movements were restrained. He was holding himself back. Drawing it out. Torturing himself with the pleasure. And the sight of him stretched beneath her, all those flexing muscles, so much…man, made her hotter still. She closed her eyes, pulled him deeper.
“Samantha!” He yelled her name, the hand in her hair fisting tighter, the strands pinching with tension. It was a warning. If she was going to stop, now was the time.
She had no intention of stopping.
She let him know by working him faster, deeper, harder. He fought it for a while longer, but it was no use. Within seconds, his big body bowed up, and she tasted the first drop of his release.
*
“What did you do the year after you left the navy?”
It was a good thing Ozzie was already flat on his back, or else her bolt-from-the-clear-blue-sky question would have knocked him on his ass. “What do you mean?”
“I mean”—she pushed up on her elbow, cupping her cheek in her hand—“you finished your contract with the navy, but for thirteen months, there’s no record of you. What’d you do? Take a supersecret mission to Mars before deciding to join the BKI group and open the custom chopper shop?”
She was stretched out next to him on the floor. He’d pulled off his boots, kicked out of his jeans, and spread the blanket to create a pallet on the cold concrete. Her smooth thigh was over his leg. Her free hand absently traced the clutch of violets tattooed over his heart. And her mouth—that mouth that had just given him so much pleasure, he was still shaking with it—was twisted with curiosity.
He knew if he pulled her down and kissed her, he could make her forget this entire line of questioning. Make her moan and gasp and climb back atop him. Because, as the Borg would say, “resistance was futile.” And he considered doing it. For a second. But there was already so much left unsaid between them, so much that must remain hidden.
“You realize that a secret mission to Mars would take longer than a year, right? I mean, it would be six months getting there and six months getting back, but you have to take into account that you’d have to stay on Mars for sixteen to twenty months until the planets realigned before you could—”
She pinched his nipple.
He usually wasn’t one for mixing pain with his pleasure. But when it came to Samantha, he was up for anything. Which was probably why his spent dick thickened. “Hey! What gives?”
The teasing gleam in her eyes made him grin. He’d had plenty of women. But none had ever made him feel the way Samantha made him feel. Like they were two pieces of a puzzle clicking together. Milk and cookies. The stars and the moon. Hipsters and ironic T-shirts. Separate, they were good. Together, they were abso-fucking-lutely awesome. It was terrifying.
“Stop being so literal,” she harrumphed.
“When you’re talking about space travel,” he assured her, “the only way I know how to be is literal. I would have thought my vast collection of T-shirts made that obvious.”
“Ozzie…” There was a warning in her tone. It said, Stop dicking around and answer the damned question.
“Samantha…” He made sure his tone held nothing but innuendo. It said, Why are we talking when we could be screwing each other’s brains out? And just in case she wasn’t picking up what he was laying down, he trailed a finger over her satiny cheek—man, she’s soft—and waggled his eyebrows.
She caught his finger between her teeth and gave the tip a teasing nip. And yep, right on cue, his hips flexed, and his heels dug into the floor. It was some kind of crazy, this effect she had on him.