Tracker’s Sin by Sarah McCarty

control.
    Replacing his thumb with his mouth, he fitted his lips to hers. Perfect. A perfect fit. In a haze of rising desire, he stroked his tongue over
    the plump flesh, giving her time to pul back. She had to pul back. For both their sakes.
    She came forward, arching her body into his, giving the soft, whimpered gasp of pleasure he craved, dreaded, relished. She wasn’t
    herself, wasn’t for him. He clung to the knowledge, battling for sanity as her hips pressed to his, rubbing when he expected her to pul away, giving when
    he expected her to flee.
    “Tracker.” She breathed his name into his mouth like an answered prayer.
    He caught her hips in his hands, stil ing their restless movement. “Don’t.”
    “Oh, yes.” Her eyes opened as he ended the kiss. Try as he might, he couldn’t find a lick of fear in their depths. Only an abundance of
    anticipation. “I knew it would be this good with you.”
    So had he. Son of a bitch, so had he.
    “You’re going to regret this.” Later, when her memories returned, she was going to hate him.
    Her leg slid up his. Her foot hooked behind his knee, trapping them together. “No, I won’t.”
    He didn’t argue. He was done arguing. Done fighting her, himself. He gathered her skirts in his hand as he kissed his way down her neck.
    She liked that, moaning and shivering every time he kissed the soft white flesh. His own memories flashed through his mind. His father’s anger, his
    mother’s face rigid in death. His first love, his first heartbreak, his first understanding of what it meant to be Indian in a white world. His first whore, his
    second, third. Faces blended together in a mass of indifference he’d tried to maintain.
    “Oh my God, Tracker.”
    An indifference that was nowhere around with Ari.
    “Yes, Tracker.”
    He lifted her up, kissing her breasts through her shirt. She moaned his name again, her thighs natural y parting. He wouldn’t al ow her to
    be indifferent with him.
    A world of hurt was coming his way when this was over, but for now there was lightning-hot pleasure, breathless joy and the delusion that
    he mattered. To her.
    Her hands tugged at his hair. “Kiss me again.”
    “Ah, hel .” He needed his ass kicked. His mouth slammed down on hers as he pushed her up against the wal and stepped between her
    thighs.
    “Yes.” The jubilant sigh of satisfaction fanned his desire into a flickering flame. The woman kissed like hel on fire, innocence and passion
    riding instinct in a potent combination that shredded his control and left him on the verge of coming.
    “Sweets.” His cock found its home between her thighs. “We have to stop.”
    “No.”
    Her hips pulsed in counterpoint to his thrust, sliding her pussy along his cock, gasping every time the thick head caught on her clit. Son of
    a bitch, even the layers of clothing between them couldn’t hide the heat of her desire. She wanted him, and if he unbuttoned his pants and opened the slit
    in her drawers, he could be inside her.
    Tracker dropped his forehead to Ari’s as he unbuttoned his pants. He wouldn’t take her, but he needed a taste. Just a taste of that sweet
    heat.
    “You don’t want this with me,” he moaned, anger and frustrated desire hoarsening his voice to a growl.
    But he wanted it with her. He wanted his cock deep in her pussy. He wanted to fuck her hard and deep until the impossible happened.
    Until she was his.
    Ari shook her head, a denial of his words or her need? He didn’t care. He worked his cock free. It surged against her, fal ing natural y into
    the niche between her thighs, leaving just a thin layer of linen between him and that hot pussy. His hips surged forward, pressing the fat head into the pad
    of her pussy. Even through the material she was soft and giving. Eager. It would take so little to give them what they both wanted.
    He looked down. He couldn’t see anything but the press of her nipples against her blouse, and her skirt bunched between them.