I squeeze out a surprised moan as he smothers me with his hard body and slides his tongue forcefully into my mouth. Reflexively, my eyes roll to the back of my head as my limbs desperately grope every square inch of his upper body, searching, pleading, grasping for some sense of sanity. Some sense of awareness of my surroundings. Some lifeline to pull me out of this danger.
But I don’t find it. I only find mounds of hard, roped, and incredibly smooth muscle. God, does it feel good. And bad. And oh, so right. He’s consuming me as if I’m Christmas dinner and he hasn’t eaten in months. I nearly squeal with excitement when his right hand drops to my towel-covered arse and palms it decadently.
He pulls me snuggly against his crotch.
Against his erection.
It’s in that one pump of his hips that I realise with a thunderous thud of my heart that the playboy flirt who kissed me when he came into Patch Alley yesterday is gone.
Instead, he is replaced by a sinfully arousing and totally mind-blowing conqueror that is Camden Harris.
And I am screwed.
S HE FEELS UNPRACTISED. U NREHEARSED. U NTAINTED . Unwrapped. Indie Porter is like a Christmas gift I’ve been waiting for my entire life that has finally arrived and I don’t know which part I want to play with first.
I pull my tongue out from the deep wetness of her mouth and sink my teeth into her lush lower lip, sucking off the lemony sweetness. This is the same lower lip she was biting seconds earlier as she stared at me in my towel like she wanted to fuck me right then and there.
I probably would have let her. I was mad a minute ago and trying to decide if she was worth the trouble, but this woman has something on me that I can’t seem to step away from. I want her. I want her more than she wants me…and that never happens to me. Ever. I woke up with a raging boner this morning thinking about this sexy redhead. Then she stood there watching me like I was some regular patient she was taking care of.
I’m putting a stop to that right now. With this kiss, I’m determined to remind her what it means to be mouth-fucked by Camden Harris. I have to even out the stakes between us.
Strangely, now that I’ve confirmed that kissing Indie Porter really is this bloody fantastic, I actually care what she has to say. I want to peel back the layers of this uniquely wrapped present and discover why she is the way she is, which is also a novel concept for me.
Whatever she is, it’s working for me.
Last night I felt different with her beside me. Normally when I spend the night with a bird, I’m anxious for the morning so I can bugger off. I didn’t feel that at all with Indie. In fact, I felt disappointed that I couldn’t hold her throughout the night. I don’t know if it was the pain meds or the Indie Porter Valium I had injected in me from our first kiss. All I know is that I needed to feel the warmth of her.
Now that this kiss is as hot as I had hoped, I want more. I want to feel every breath, every gasp, every shift, every contented sigh. She refused to fully let go with me last night, but tonight I see the desire in the pools of her eyes. She needs something from me and, whatever it is, I hope she lets me give it to her.
I pull my mouth away from her pillowy-soft lips and rest my forehead against hers. “Why do you always taste like lemons?” I exhale. “Tell me.”
“Are you actually going to let me finish a thought this time? You cut me off before.” The corner of her mouth tilts up and I cover it with mine again, kissing her sarcasm good and dead.
I break away once more, satisfied when she pulls in a big gulp of air. My morbid fascination is still demanding. “I have to know. Why lemons?” I pull back further so my eyes can feast on hers.
“Sherbet lemons.” She licks her lips slowly. “I keep them in my pockets because sometimes I don’t get to eat all day. It helps to keep my blood sugar up.”
She smirks up at me, her toffee eyes twinkling
But I don’t find it. I only find mounds of hard, roped, and incredibly smooth muscle. God, does it feel good. And bad. And oh, so right. He’s consuming me as if I’m Christmas dinner and he hasn’t eaten in months. I nearly squeal with excitement when his right hand drops to my towel-covered arse and palms it decadently.
He pulls me snuggly against his crotch.
Against his erection.
It’s in that one pump of his hips that I realise with a thunderous thud of my heart that the playboy flirt who kissed me when he came into Patch Alley yesterday is gone.
Instead, he is replaced by a sinfully arousing and totally mind-blowing conqueror that is Camden Harris.
And I am screwed.
S HE FEELS UNPRACTISED. U NREHEARSED. U NTAINTED . Unwrapped. Indie Porter is like a Christmas gift I’ve been waiting for my entire life that has finally arrived and I don’t know which part I want to play with first.
I pull my tongue out from the deep wetness of her mouth and sink my teeth into her lush lower lip, sucking off the lemony sweetness. This is the same lower lip she was biting seconds earlier as she stared at me in my towel like she wanted to fuck me right then and there.
I probably would have let her. I was mad a minute ago and trying to decide if she was worth the trouble, but this woman has something on me that I can’t seem to step away from. I want her. I want her more than she wants me…and that never happens to me. Ever. I woke up with a raging boner this morning thinking about this sexy redhead. Then she stood there watching me like I was some regular patient she was taking care of.
I’m putting a stop to that right now. With this kiss, I’m determined to remind her what it means to be mouth-fucked by Camden Harris. I have to even out the stakes between us.
Strangely, now that I’ve confirmed that kissing Indie Porter really is this bloody fantastic, I actually care what she has to say. I want to peel back the layers of this uniquely wrapped present and discover why she is the way she is, which is also a novel concept for me.
Whatever she is, it’s working for me.
Last night I felt different with her beside me. Normally when I spend the night with a bird, I’m anxious for the morning so I can bugger off. I didn’t feel that at all with Indie. In fact, I felt disappointed that I couldn’t hold her throughout the night. I don’t know if it was the pain meds or the Indie Porter Valium I had injected in me from our first kiss. All I know is that I needed to feel the warmth of her.
Now that this kiss is as hot as I had hoped, I want more. I want to feel every breath, every gasp, every shift, every contented sigh. She refused to fully let go with me last night, but tonight I see the desire in the pools of her eyes. She needs something from me and, whatever it is, I hope she lets me give it to her.
I pull my mouth away from her pillowy-soft lips and rest my forehead against hers. “Why do you always taste like lemons?” I exhale. “Tell me.”
“Are you actually going to let me finish a thought this time? You cut me off before.” The corner of her mouth tilts up and I cover it with mine again, kissing her sarcasm good and dead.
I break away once more, satisfied when she pulls in a big gulp of air. My morbid fascination is still demanding. “I have to know. Why lemons?” I pull back further so my eyes can feast on hers.
“Sherbet lemons.” She licks her lips slowly. “I keep them in my pockets because sometimes I don’t get to eat all day. It helps to keep my blood sugar up.”
She smirks up at me, her toffee eyes twinkling
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