“More,” she whispered. When he didn’t make a move toward her bedroom, she tugged a lock of hair and repeated the command.
“I’ve dreamed of this every second since I saw you on the side of that road,” he said against her lips. “No rush.No.”
Angling his head, Campbell’s hands began a leisurely glide up her back, his thumbs rubbing in delicious circles, kneading, possessing. Gathering strength of purpose, he varied—softly kissing her one moment, then diving in deep the next—until she clung to him, awaiting another assault, his arms the only thing keeping her from melting to the floor.
More. Again, the word slipped past sensation.
He wasmore; this wasmore.
Stubble bristled below her tongue, fascinatingly coarse. Salty. Rough and smooth in parts, his jaw muscles quivering beneath her assault. A low moan rumbled in his throat, his fingers digging into her shoulders, squeezing, pulling her closer until her aching breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.
Beyond belief, this is what I’ve been missing.
“You’ll miss nothing tonight, Hellcat. I promise you.”
She moaned in reply, unconcerned about voicing the thought. Unconcerned if he took her right there on the kitchen floor. Anything, as long as he didn’t stop.
Hands moving to cup her face, he ravaged—teeth nipping a tender spot below her ear, lips parting on a warm, rasping breath as he sucked her skin inside. Placing kisses along her jaw, he circled back to her mouth, tilting her head to prove how deep they could go, how fiercely they could battle.
Deliciously outmaneuvered, senses afire, Fontana barelynoticed the hands clasping her waist, lifting. Instinct had her twining her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck. Fingers tangled in his hair, she held on, rubbing her body against his, feeling his erection straining the button-fly of his jeans.
“The bedroom’s”—she wriggled, trying to get closer, seeking relief for the persistent pulse between her thighs—“along the hallway…to the left.”
She pulled his head down, fitting her lips to his. “Hurry.”
In response, he kissed her until she could do no more than hang on for dear life. She thought he smiled when a whimper she couldn’t contain slipped free.
A talented man who could tie a woman in a knot with his lips and tongue and nothing else. And he knew it.
She wasn’t a virgin, but the sensations flooding her, the tempestuous, uncontrollable tide of expectation, were leagues beyond anything she’d experienced in the back seat of Daryl Zinsky’s Z-28. She’d been completely unprepared. For the first time, she sympathized with Jaime and Campbell, even Henry, because she had scorned passion.
Now, she simply scorned her ignorance.
“Please, Atlanta.” She urged him with her body, her tongue, her teeth, figuring what she lacked in experience she made up for in enthusiasm. A quick study, she’d already identified some of the things he liked. “I’m ready. Come on.”
He laughed raggedly and, with a side sweep of his hand, sent her mail from the kitchen counter to the floor. A fleet half-turn, his lips never leaving hers, and he settled her on top.
Puzzled, she tore her mouth away. “The counter?”
“Ye of little faith.” His hands gripped her firmly, fingers kneading as he slid her forward, aligning her body exactly where he wanted her. The ache between her thighs deepened, anticipation licking up her spine like a live wire, her pulse drumming in response.
“Open your legs,” he murmured, his voice rough, dark with suggestion.
Complying, she watched him as he watched her. Eyes downcast, damp hair curling over his brow, he seemed caught in a trance.
Stepping closer, he traced his fingers along the inside of her thigh, his touch deliberate, almost reverent. A plaintive sound she’d never before uttered slipped free, raw and aching. In reply, a faint smile tipped the corners of his mouth—teeth flashing, dimples flaring, satisfaction gleaming in his gaze.
A bright glow lit Fontana from the inside out. He wanted her like this: aroused to the point of delirium, feral and intoxicated.
And, God help her, she wanted to give him exactly that.
His hips bumped her knees, forcing them wide. “Yes, that’s it,” he said, moving in. He was so tall, the counter provided flawless accompaniment, aligning them with intoxicating precision. “Perfect.”
She parted her lips to speak—maybe to ask, maybe to plead—but thought scattered the moment he brought her flush against his hard cock, a demanding presence he didn’t try in the least to hide.
A grinding shift from left to right, right to left, and their bodies locked into place.
“Oh…ohhh, I get it.”
