“I still understand that nothing has changed between us,” she said softly, “but I’m not giving up on your survival or on getting you to let me help.”
There was no chance he’d let her get involved in the fight with Rock, but she could hope for his survival all she wanted. Couldn’t hurt. “I dream about you sometimes.”
“Yeah?” Her smile held a feminine knowledge.
“Yeah.” Oh, this was a mistake, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t care. He crossed the distance between them, getting closer to her sweet scent of orange blossoms. The bruises on her arms had faded, and he needed to be careful not to leave any more on her. The smooth skin on her face called for his touch, and he traced along her cheekbone and down her neck to her clavicle, his fingers light. “Are you sure?”
Her dimples winked. “I’m here, barefoot, in the middle of the night, Wolfe.” She looked around. “No whipped cream to play with this time.”
“I ain’t playin’ this time.” He pressed his thumb in that enticing dimple, the way he’d wanted to do for months. “I went gentle on you last time, and I also ain’t feeling gentle right now.”
She stepped into him, her hands sliding up his bare chest, teasing him with a light touch. “I never asked for gentle.”
His cock leaped to life, pressing against his zipper. He smoothed down her bare arms with both hands, encircling her wrists and pulling them up so he could kiss each knuckle, taking his time to give himself control. “I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbled, opening her hand and placing a kiss in the center of her palm.
“Ditto.” She freed her wrists and cupped his jaw, rising up on her toes to kiss him.
The feel of her soft lips against his sent a jolt of sparking electricity through him to land in his balls. He let her nibble for a couple of moments, enjoying the sensations, and then he took over. He cupped the back of her head, holding her still, and went as deep as he wanted.
She moaned and moved closer to him, her fingers curling into his skin, biting.
He kissed her harder, exploring her, running his free hand down her side to clasp her hip and pull her into his aching groin. The contact nearly undid him, and he groaned, tasting wine and frosting on her lips.
She kissed him back, moving against him, her hands flattening against his bare chest. Even her hands were soft on him. So delicate.
Never in his life had he wanted a woman so much. He released her mouth and leaned back to look his full. Her lips were rosy, her cheeks pink, and her eyes dark with need. With desire. For him. He’d done nothing in his life to deserve this, to deserve her, but he couldn’t turn away.
Slowly, drawing out the anticipation, he hooked his thumb beneath a strap and gently drew it down her arm. Then the other one, and the cami fell to her waist.
He breathed out. Her full breasts were tight, the nipples a light pink that were beyond temptation, even without the whipped cream. “So pretty,” he murmured, brushing his thumbs across both nipples.
She shuddered, leaning into his touch.
He yanked the top off her, tossing it over his head.
She gasped and smiled, leaning in to free his shirt. He let her and then tangled his fingers through her hair, holding her still for a kiss. The AC kicked on, but he didn’t feel the chill. His heart started to thump with a hard-rock beat, and he went deeper, walking her back to the bed.
He grasped her hips and lifted her, intending to set her down gently.
She clamped her thighs onto his hips, clutched his neck, and kissed him ferociously. He tried to be gentle, tried to slow her down, tried to keep his mind in charge.
His control uncoiled and then shredded with a physical jolt.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finally.
Dana felt the change in him the second it happened. He stopped pretending to let her direct the kiss and took over, as in reallytook over.Somehow, she ended up on her back on the bed, all of that muscle and strength and raw heat over her, his mouth working hers like he was starving.
She was frantic, caressing his ripped arms, wanting to touch him everywhere.
In a move of easy strength, he rolled them, landing on his back and planting her on his groin. She pressed down and arched her back, biting her lip against the exquisite agony. She dropped forward, her hands flattened on his hard chest, nowhere near to covering all the muscle.
Finally.
She traced cords and muscles, her fingers dipping into healed bullet holes, knife wounds, and burns on his side.
He glanced down, his voice rough. “I’ve had a bit of damage.”
