Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [60]
“I take it back,” he said, his eyes riveted to the bright blue-green lace thong and matching demicup bra that lifted her smallish breasts and plumped them to a respectable roundness.
“Take what back?” Miranda asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious at being next to nude while Adam stood fully clothed right in front of her.
“I have a new favorite. Feel free to wear this number anytime you want.” He nibbled along the lace edging her B cup.
“O-okay,” she gasped. “Thanks.”
“Christ Almighty, sweetheart.” Adam groaned, lifting his fever-bright eyes to her face. “I could make a meal outta you.”
Her heart in her throat, Miranda did her best sultry. “So why don’t you?”
And with that, she tugged his face up to hers for another kiss as the heat raged through her, flames catapulting back and forth between them both as they fought to get closer.
SIXTEEN
Miranda Wake was burning him alive. The silky pale expanse of her flesh was highlighted by the ludicrously sexy underwear that cupped and covered everything Adam wanted to touch. He’d never been so goddamned jealous of a couple scraps of lace.
And her mouth. Hot damn, the girl had a mouth made for sin. That cupid’s bow shape all puffy and kiss-swollen, rubbed redder than usual from his own mouth. The taste of her was like nothing he’d ever encountered. If he could separate out the flavors and figure a way to re-create it, he’d have the hottest dessert the world had ever seen.
Not that he was at all sure he’d care to share that distinctive flavor with his customers, even in sorbet or syrup form. No, this addictive taste was for him alone. He’d take everything she dished out and keep coming back for more, because this was fucking incredible.
Miranda’s small, ink-stained fingers were clenched in his hair, tugging insistently at the nape of his neck to keep him stretched up and kissing her. She ate at his mouth like she was starving for it, or maybe just like she was trying to keep up with Adam and keep him from swallowing her whole. Hunger like he’d never felt crashed through his system. He ripped his mouth away and kissed down her neck to her breasts.
Fumbling behind her to get the clasp of the bra undone, and suddenly Adam was in high school, trying his damnedest to get to second base with Monica Pettuci. Did other guys get suave and debonair with this? The one-handed bra-clasp fumble defeated him every time.
Not that he intended to let it slow him down. Adam distracted Miranda with another searing kiss, and before he could fall so far into it that he distracted himself, too, he got both arms around her and worked some hook-and-eye magic.
She let the bra straps slip off her shoulders but put one arm around her own chest, halting the downward slide of the bra. The image she presented made Adam want to howl.
It should’ve looked prudish, or at least full of sweet maidenly innocence, the way Miranda’s arm covered her lovelies. Instead she was the perfect picture of debauchery and decadence. Her hair was mussed, a deep red cloud around her bare, freckled shoulders. The bra clung to her curves like a virgin clinging to virtue, but there was no denying the course of nature. The pressure of her arm against her breasts made them spill over the top of the bra in glorious, pale abundance, and as Adam watched in rapt fascination, Miranda took a deep breath and one rosy nipple peeked above the aqua lace.
“You’re killing me,” he told her, meeting her gaze. “But I’m going to die happy.”
It must’ve been the right thing to say, because the momentary shyness faded from her eyes and she let her arm, and the bra, drop.
Creamy white perfection crowned with rosy little nipples like raspberries topping sabayon. They were sweet like berries, too, Adam discovered. Sweeter still were the noises Miranda made under his mouth.
Every lick, every sound, every new inch of skin revealed sent a throb of blood to Adam’s already rock-hard cock. If he got any harder, he’d be able to lift her down without the use of his hands. Tension