Entangled (Serendipity Adventure Romance Book 2) by Anna Lowe Page B

jaw.
    His cock jutted against her stomach. He nuzzled his chin along hers in a long, sensual scrape that left every nerve in her body humming. His defenses were crumbling — and hers, too. The regrets were still there, but the burning need for more contact was shouldering them aside.
    She nibbled his ear just above the lobe. Was that still his favorite spot?
    His head tilted to her lips; his mouth opened in a silent sigh of pleasure.
    A trail of happy sparks went through her, kindling the desire for more. Much more. To make this man not just sigh for her, but sing and cry and dance. Like she used to do for him, and he for her.
    “Touch you where?” he whispered.
    She wiggled her butt against his hand. “Here,” she whispered. “And there,” she added, breathing deeply enough to make her chest rise into his hand.
    He brushed the other hand down her ass, then back up, bringing her closer. Danced his fingers over her collarbone, then stroked her neck.
    The rain was pelting down harder, but nothing could extinguish the fire inside her.
    “Kiss me, Tobin.” She was begging, but that was all right, because she’d long since swallowed her pride.
    And about time, too, she decided. Pride only got in the way of passion. And life without passion was like life without Tobin: empty as a desert instead of being as full as a jungle that teemed with sight, sound, sensation. Like the sensation of his heart, beating so close to hers.
    He tilted his face closer, and she begged again.
    “Kiss me, Tobin.”
    The old Tobin would have chuckled and teased. This Tobin was serious. Aching. She could hear it in his whisper. “Where?”
    “Everywhere.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eighteen
     
    Tobin forced his eyes open, just to know this was for real. Not a dream, not a fantasy, not a memory.
    But it was real. So real, it hurt. Hurt in a way he wanted to go on forever. Cara, wanting him. Needing him.
    Six pent-up years of needing him, judging by the way she rutted up against him, making everything in him yowl and roar. If she’d hooked up with other guys since then, they hadn’t done much for her. Not the way he could. That’s what her body was screaming: it was him, only him.
    He knew because it was exactly the same for him. He hadn’t been playing monk these last couple of years, but no one had ever managed to produce the high Cara did with just a kiss. A whisper. A fleeting touch.
    “Cara,” he said, begging right back. And then he got to work on
everywhere
, just like she wanted.
    He slid his lips over hers and got lost there for a while, inhaling her swallowed moans, her sweet Cara scent. Trying hard not to grind his cock against her and let her do the grinding, which was more than enough. Or not quite enough, because he wanted to consume her, take her, have her, all in one bite.
    Cara was way ahead of him on that count, though. Her fingers knotted in his hair as she kissed him so hard and deep, his lungs ached. He tried to pretend he had his shit together up until she ran her hands up his chest and went to work on his left nipple, sending fireworks up and down his spine. Cara Leoni, in his arms again. He threaded his fingers in her hair and tried not to squeeze her in too close, lest he break the magic spell.
    Holding back, though, was a losing battle. More and more of his weight slid over until he had her up against the doorframe. His hips ground against hers, and Christ, he could picture it already. The door would give and they’d tumble out.
Splat
— right into a puddle of mud. The way things were going, though, they probably wouldn’t even pause. They’d go right on kissing and touching and slopping around like a couple of randy pigs in the mud.
    “What’s so funny?” she murmured, catching his chuckle.
    “I can just picture this door giving way behind you.”
    “Well, then,” she said in a deliberately sultry tone, “time to trade places, hotshot.” She spun a finger in the air.
    Her body shifted, and his