Crushing on Love (The Bradens of Peaceful Harbor, Book Four) by Melissa Foster Page A

nervous. Her eyes skittered over the fireplace on the far wall and the picture window across from the bed. There were no curtains, which gave her pause, even though there was no one around for miles. The furniture was heavy, masculine. He sank down to the edge of the bed, cradling her on his lap, and kissed her again. His hand slid up and down her thigh in long, slow strokes, each one stealing more of her thoughts.
    “I can’t wait to get my mouth on these incredible thighs,” he whispered against her cheek, and her breath rushed from her lungs. “Mm. My girl likes that idea as much as I do.” He pulled the collar of her sweater away from her neck and sealed his mouth over her skin in a series of openmouthed kisses.
    “No bra?” His hand moved beneath the back of her shorts, brushing over her bare ass, and he groaned. “No panties?”
    The predatory look in his eyes nearly stole her voice, but she managed a shaky whisper. “I was in a hurry. I…I didn’t plan on coming here.”
    “You are a sexy thing.” He kissed her as he reached for the blanket and yanked it to the foot of the bed.
    Oh God . Her heart was going to burst. This was really happening. In minutes all those glorious muscles, that wicked mouth, and the big, caring man were going to be all hers. He set her on the bed and knelt to take off her boots. He slipped them off and kissed the tops of each foot before removing his own boots and setting them beside hers, smiling, as if he liked seeing them side by side.
    His rough hands slid up her calves, squeezing every few inches, his eyes locked on hers. Her insides didn’t flutter—they raced. He trailed tender kisses from her ankle to her knee and traced the ridge of her kneecap with his tongue. She’d never felt anything so sensual, so unexpected. Her hips rocked involuntarily, heat pooling in her core. He pulled his shirt over his head, and she reached out to touch him. She’d seen him without his shirt many times, but seeing him now, in his dimly lit bedroom, looking at her like he’d waited his whole life for this moment, made everything more intense. She swallowed hard as he splayed his hands on her thighs and pushed them open, his eyes boring into her. God, he was so hot, and she was trembling like a leaf.
    He dragged his tongue up her inner thigh, stopping at the edge of her shorts, and sealed his mouth over her skin. She nearly shot off the bed with the intensity of him sucking and licking so close to her sex. She fisted her hands in the sheets and slammed her eyes shut as shocks of lust burst through her.
    “You are so sweet,” he whispered. “So sexy. I want to love every inch of you.”
    He moved from one thigh to the other, and she heard herself groan. Her hips rose from the mattress as he slicked his tongue over her skin again and again, until she was a writhing, needy mess. She’d never been touched like this. Cherished, teased, appreciated . When he rose to his feet and took her hand, bringing her up beside him, her legs gave out.
    “I’ve got you,” he whispered, and kissed her deeply.
    Holding her up with one hand, he worked the button on her shorts with the other. His palm slid down her belly, over her mound, and his thick fingers pushed between her wet lips. She moaned into their kiss, her hips bucking forward as he teased her, sliding his finger in and out of her wetness, making her sex swell and ache for more. When he found her most sensitive nerves, he played them like he’d been touching her his whole life. He sped up the kiss, taking her up, up, up , then slowed, kissing her softly, making her crave and plead for more. Just when she felt herself disappearing into the slower pace, he intensified the kiss, quickening his strokes between her legs at the same time, until all she could feel, all she could see, taste, or want was him . He kept her there, in the exquisitely painful place between release and pleasure—wanting, needing, begging for more. She was shocked and