What was it about the coolness of him that made her so damned hot? All stern and seductively scientific, as he melted her into a useless puddle of want, right here, in the middle of nowhere.
The center of her universe.
A light pinch to her left breast shoved a gasp from her lungs and pushed her bottom back into his crotch. He was hard behind her. And she was ready.
It was cold here, but they could take off their clothes for a bit without risking frostbite. And she wanted to.
She turned her head. “Ford?” His arm tightened around her chest, making her think of a kid with a toy he wouldn’t let go of or a dog with a bone who’d rather die than drop it.
“What?” Oh, he sounded mean. A good mean. Scary in a way that made her grit her teeth and push her breast harder into that proprietary grip.
“I’ve got an IUD. Not the copper kind. One of those…”Shut up. He doesn’t need the details.Or maybe he did. A man like him would want to know. “The plastic ones. With hormones.”
“Mm-hm.” She couldn’t see him, but she could picture his serious face, fiercely concentrated.
“So we can…have sex.” She paused. Had she gone too far? “If you want.”
“If I want.” A hard tweak, a press of his hips, and his hand ran over her stomach to the waist of her pants. “Is that whatyouwant?”
Slowly, carefully, callused fingers went lower, and though she could have sworn his breath hitched when he didn’t encounter underwear, the hand didn’t waver. Down, through her curls, to where she awaited him, heavier and wetter than she’d ever been.
Quickly, as if he couldn’t wait any longer now that she’d broached the subject, he parted her lips, ran his fingers back and forth through all that moisture, and found her clit.
“Oh God. That’s good.” It was good. But it was just his hand and she wanted more.
She gasped when he picked up speed. Jesus, right to the point, wasn’t he?
“Is it?”
Bleary and confused, she half turned to where he hunched over her, close enough to see his eyes, intense and demanding. “Is what?”
“Is that what you want, Angel? Me inside you?”
Chapter 37
There were rules to sex. Rules that Coop had put into place in order to maintain the order in his brain. In his life.
And Angel was doing her best to bust right through them.
Step one: make sure she’s wet. Step two: hit the erogenous zones to get her wetter. Step three: make her come. Step four: slip on condom…and so on. Sex was great that way. Neat, reciprocal, consensual. Free of all that messy emotional shit.
While he wanted to turn this woman over, rip off her pants, and pound into her, he couldn’t and still be the man he’d fought to become all these years in Antarctica.
So he pushed her to the edge with his fingers, his only concession to his own pleasure the lazy circles his pelvis rubbed against her ass.
And this ass… He sighed, though the sound came out harsher than that. This ass was the stuff his dreams were made of. The ass of a woman who enjoyed her food. Who cooked it and tasted it and shared it with others. He tightened his hips, pulled his hand from between her legs, and yanked at her pants—two layers of fabric. With her help, he got them down, past the ass in question, and…Damn.
He gave it a light squeeze, just to feel the way it moved. “Got to calm down.” He was breathing like he’d run a race.
“Why?”
“Don’t want to get too worked up.”
“What’ll happen?”
His only response was a single shake of his head.
“Maybe I want to see you worked up.”
