Wedding His Takeover Target by Emilie Rose Page B

vanished and her appreciation focused on him.
    His chest was all male—wide shoulders, brawny pectorals, dark swirls of hair, tiny, puckered nipples, and hot, so, so hot to the touch. She dragged her fingertips down his sternum. Satisfaction rose in her when she left a crop of goose bumps in her wake. She pressed her cheek to his chest and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his masculine scent, then she licked his golden skin and tasted a slight tang of salt.
    His breath hissed and his grip tightened on her waist as she licked across the tiny hard tip. A groan rumbled from his chest. “I like your mouth, your hands on me, Sabrina.”
    Hot palms buffed her back, her waist and then he covered her breasts. He captured her gasp with his mouth, swallowed the Mmm of pleasure she couldn’t contain. She wanted, needed skin on skin. Her bra was in the way. She reached for the hooks in the middle of her back, but he beat her to them and dispensed with the garment. He cradled her aching breasts in his palms. His thumbs teased the tips, sending bolts of need straight to her center. Intense. Too intense.
    She eased back to map the supple skin covering the ropy muscles of his shoulders, his thick biceps, his hard pectorals. She flicked her short nails over his beaded flesh then raked downward over his six-pack abs to his waistband.
    He shuddered an inhalation, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the sofa where he laid her on top of the fur blankets before following her. His weight pinned her down and being trapped beneath him felt good. So good. She lightly raked his back and then his mouth found her breast. Hot. Wet. Slick. Pleasure bathed her as his tongue laved her, and she moaned. He sucked, nipped, rasped her with his chin stubble, and all she could do was struggle to control her growingurgency. Her legs shifted restlessly, trying to soothe the knot of nerves between them.
    She ached to tear off the remainder of their clothing and fill the emptiness expanding in her belly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. He worked his way down her midline until he reached the button of her jeans. He released it. The fabric gave way and the zipper parted letting in a kiss of cool air. He skimmed her pants and panties down her legs, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses in the fabric’s wake. Then her pants, boots and socks were gone.
    She lay naked before him and she should have had second thoughts, but she didn’t, not with the way he devoured her with his eyes. She attributed the depth of her hunger to the length of time it had been since she’d allowed herself even a teensy sexual urge. Why else would this feel so right, so necessary? She reached for the fly of his jeans.
    He covered her hands, pressing them to the ridge beneath his denim, groaned and then shook his head. “Not this time. I can’t handle it.”
    She took comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone in her over-the-top response. He brushed her hands aside and quickly stripped. His body was long and lean, but corded with thick muscles. She wanted to stare, to map his contours with her fingertips, but she also wanted him on her, surrounding her, inside her. She lifted a hand to him, beckoning him. He rejoined her, pressing her into the soft blankets with his weight.
    While his mouth consumed hers she palmed the muscles of his back, his buttocks, his strong thighs. He kissed and laved his way to her breasts, sucking, licking, nipping until she squirmed beneath him, impatient for more. Then he blazed a trail down her middle. Her muscles clenched in anticipation, and then he was there—his hot breath a prelude to the scalding sweep of his tongue. He found exactly the right spot instantly.How did he do that? Pleasure quivered through her, making her whimper, causing her to bow off the sofa and toward the mouth working magic on her body.
    Tension built, adding more and more pressure until she cracked like a dam and an