him.
She gasped, caught up onto her toes, the length of her pressed against the length of him from breast to knee. God, the way he felt! The ripped muscles of his chest and stomach and lean hips powerful and urgent against her, bending her back over the steel bar of his arm.
He was aroused. She could feel it, feel him hard against her belly.
That mesmerizing face filled her vision. She felt the shudder of his breath against her lips. Then he kissed her, his hard mouth astonishingly soft and coaxing upon hers. His tongue ran over the seam of her lips from corner to corner, then teased under the upper one. Before she could stop herself, her lips parted and he was inside her mouth, tongue sliding and stroking against hers.
Like stepping into quicksand. In one blinding instant, she was sucked under, drowning in a rich, honeyed, dark sensuality. Her insides turned to molten lava. Her whole body thrilled and sang and melded to his under the lightning bolt of passion that flamed through her. Her bones went liquid, her knees turned to water and if it hadn’t been for his arms holding her up, she would have gone straight down to the tiled floor.
No one had ever kissed her like this before, with this much desire, this much intensity. Peter? It was suddenly clear that Peter hadn’t had a clue about passion. This was passion—this violent, demanding heat, flaring primal and imperative between them.
Her body strained against his, clinging to him, trying instinctively to meld with his. Her arms clenched fiercely around him, hands gripping, nails digging into his flesh.
He made a strange, agonized sound in his throat. Then he was just about eating her alive, his tongue searching out every corner of her mouth, devouring her. She kissed him back with equal urgency, helpless against the driving force of the overwhelming need storming through her, tongue thrusting against his, mouth sucking at his. They kissed and kissed, mouths twisting together, tearing apart briefly to snatch at breath, coming back desperately again and again, unable to stay apart.
He smelled of soap and musk and that unique particular underlying aroma that was Ian himself, his flesh, his being. She would never forget that scent now or the salty-sweet taste of his mouth or the way his heart was pounding as his chest pressed hard against hers and he bent her backward, his arms around her waist. Her own heart was pounding even more violently than his, feeling as if it was going to burst right through her rib cage. She found herself teetering on the tips of her toes, lifted almost entirely off the ground as if she weighed nothing, his casual, unthinking strength exciting her unbearably.
He took a step forward and she felt the kitchen counter strike her back. Then he was between her legs, leaning into the juncture of her thighs, his hips insistent against hers and his weight heavy upon her. She felt his cock—so hard and, oh my God, so big!—pressing demandingly against her crotch, igniting a powerful throbbing in her core. Her pussy clenched, her legs lifted without her volition, thighs closing tight about his hips, and her body rubbed and ground against his.
“Ohh!”
She couldn’t help the moan that came from deep inside her, heard him groan too, a harsh, rasping gasp hot against the hollow of her throat.
Her hands raked down his back, exploring the sinewy contours through the soft cotton of his tee, sliding down the indent of his spine, then rising again to grip the deep muscles of his shoulders. Her palms clung to him as if magnetized, stroking along his collarbones to shape his throat before slipping up the strong cords of his neck to let her fingers dig into his thick hair. He was a pleasure to touch. She had wondered for years what he would feel like in her arms. Now she knew. Amazing, wonderful…addictive.
She felt him shudder and flex as her hands ran over him. She liked that, liked feeling as though she had as much power over him as he had over
She gasped, caught up onto her toes, the length of her pressed against the length of him from breast to knee. God, the way he felt! The ripped muscles of his chest and stomach and lean hips powerful and urgent against her, bending her back over the steel bar of his arm.
He was aroused. She could feel it, feel him hard against her belly.
That mesmerizing face filled her vision. She felt the shudder of his breath against her lips. Then he kissed her, his hard mouth astonishingly soft and coaxing upon hers. His tongue ran over the seam of her lips from corner to corner, then teased under the upper one. Before she could stop herself, her lips parted and he was inside her mouth, tongue sliding and stroking against hers.
Like stepping into quicksand. In one blinding instant, she was sucked under, drowning in a rich, honeyed, dark sensuality. Her insides turned to molten lava. Her whole body thrilled and sang and melded to his under the lightning bolt of passion that flamed through her. Her bones went liquid, her knees turned to water and if it hadn’t been for his arms holding her up, she would have gone straight down to the tiled floor.
No one had ever kissed her like this before, with this much desire, this much intensity. Peter? It was suddenly clear that Peter hadn’t had a clue about passion. This was passion—this violent, demanding heat, flaring primal and imperative between them.
Her body strained against his, clinging to him, trying instinctively to meld with his. Her arms clenched fiercely around him, hands gripping, nails digging into his flesh.
He made a strange, agonized sound in his throat. Then he was just about eating her alive, his tongue searching out every corner of her mouth, devouring her. She kissed him back with equal urgency, helpless against the driving force of the overwhelming need storming through her, tongue thrusting against his, mouth sucking at his. They kissed and kissed, mouths twisting together, tearing apart briefly to snatch at breath, coming back desperately again and again, unable to stay apart.
He smelled of soap and musk and that unique particular underlying aroma that was Ian himself, his flesh, his being. She would never forget that scent now or the salty-sweet taste of his mouth or the way his heart was pounding as his chest pressed hard against hers and he bent her backward, his arms around her waist. Her own heart was pounding even more violently than his, feeling as if it was going to burst right through her rib cage. She found herself teetering on the tips of her toes, lifted almost entirely off the ground as if she weighed nothing, his casual, unthinking strength exciting her unbearably.
He took a step forward and she felt the kitchen counter strike her back. Then he was between her legs, leaning into the juncture of her thighs, his hips insistent against hers and his weight heavy upon her. She felt his cock—so hard and, oh my God, so big!—pressing demandingly against her crotch, igniting a powerful throbbing in her core. Her pussy clenched, her legs lifted without her volition, thighs closing tight about his hips, and her body rubbed and ground against his.
“Ohh!”
She couldn’t help the moan that came from deep inside her, heard him groan too, a harsh, rasping gasp hot against the hollow of her throat.
Her hands raked down his back, exploring the sinewy contours through the soft cotton of his tee, sliding down the indent of his spine, then rising again to grip the deep muscles of his shoulders. Her palms clung to him as if magnetized, stroking along his collarbones to shape his throat before slipping up the strong cords of his neck to let her fingers dig into his thick hair. He was a pleasure to touch. She had wondered for years what he would feel like in her arms. Now she knew. Amazing, wonderful…addictive.
She felt him shudder and flex as her hands ran over him. She liked that, liked feeling as though she had as much power over him as he had over
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