Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [51]
She reached down and unbuttoned his fly, pushing his jeans around his hips.
“This doesn’t seem fair,” he said. “I’m nearly naked and you’re fully clothed.”
“Life isn’t fair.” She pushed at him until she was on top. She pulled his jeans off, then ran her hands up hard, muscular legs. Mitch looked like some sort of Greek god. His skin was on the olive side, but not so dark that she thought Mediterranean. Whatever the combination of genes, they’d created a perfect specimen.
She ran her fingers up his thighs, skimming over his hard penis. Her heart was beating so fast—she wanted to jump all over him. But she also wanted to go slow, to savor this connection, a melding with Mitch that she couldn’t explain and didn’t want to overthink for fear of it disappearing in a puff of smoke.
She swallowed uneasily as her heart flipped. Her life was in total disarray and she was stepping over the line into an area of relationships that, for her, was still unexplored. Sex, yes, but this . . . this sense of more scared her. Scared her but she wanted it nonetheless.
“Claire, sweetness, is something wrong?” Mitch touched her chin, pushed it up to look at him, his dark eyes concerned.
She shook her head. “You’re gorgeous.” Keep it light, keep it flirtatious.
Don’t fall too hard, Claire.
Too late.
“You’re rather gorgeous yourself.” He pulled her up until their lips met. He kissed her softly but consistently, not pushing but not shying away. Her brief melancholy passed and she nipped his lip, then skimmed her tongue along his strong, square jawline to his ear, then back again and up the other side.
Mitch sensed something had disturbed Claire, but then she flipped an internal switch and turned more passionate, heating up his easy kisses. Her hands didn’t stop moving, squeezing his biceps, his triceps, grasping his hands as her mouth moved from his mouth down his neck, down his chest, her tongue skimming his navel as Claire traveled further south.
“God, Claire.”
“Don’t you mean goddess?” she teased, then ran her tongue over his hard cock.
“You don’t play fair,” he said.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“In that case . . .” Mitch reached down and grabbed Claire under her arms and pulled her right up to him. He kissed her as if it were for the last time. He rolled her over, to give himself better leverage and more control. He pulled off her lacy black tank top and bright pink bra, then filled his hands with her breasts. They were perfect. He tasted one, then the other, then back again, until Claire squirmed beneath him.
Mitch loved that Claire wasn’t timid in her nakedness, nor did she play games with sex. She took what she wanted and gave back twice as much. He slid off her jeans, only marginally surprised to find a mischievous fairy tattoo—Tinkerbell?—high on her outer right thigh, right below a very sexy bikini line. He kissed it. First an Irish icon on her shoulder, then a fairy on her thigh. Mitch eagerly anticipated what else he would discover as he explored.
Claire’s defenses fell completely away as Mitch moved his mouth from her outer thigh to her inner thigh, his warm breath caressing her most sensitive spot. She gasped as he nibbled, his mouth moving closer and closer until he pushed his tongue into her and sucked.
Her hands grasped the down comforter as she moaned, “God, Mitch.”
He raised his head and in a husky voice said, “You called?”
“You tease.” She reached into her nightstand and felt around until she found a condom. She threw it at Mitch.
Claire wanted to keep it light, but she was spiraling further out of control. She wanted to keep sex with Mitch easy and fun, but it was dark and sexy and needy. She needed him as much as she wanted him.
Their hands and limbs moved constantly, touching, squeezing, caresses hard and soft, teasing and urgent, both fun and all business.
“Claire.”
As soon as she looked into Mitch’s eyes, he plunged into her. Her