Stone Cold Surrender - Brenda Jackson [38]
He broke free from their kiss and she whimpered in protest until she felt him lift her top and his mouth latch on to one of her nipples. She had forgotten she hadn’t worn a bra and the touch of his tongue to her breast, sucking, flicking and licking like he was getting the dessert he talked about earlier. She moaned deep in her throat as coils of sexual need tightened deep within her.
He pulled back slightly and she felt herself being lifted effortlessly into his arms. “I want you,” he whispered, his voice hot next to her ear.
She wanted him, too, and reached out and pulled his mouth back down to hers. Tonight they were in a cabin deep in the wilderness and succumbing to the call of the wild. She felt out of control with him and knew whatever he wanted to do she wanted to do, too. Never in her life had she wanted or needed a man with this much intensity. She hadn’t known such a thing was possible.
He lifted his mouth from hers and she felt herself being carried swiftly out of the kitchen and straight into one of the bedrooms; the one he had planned to use. He placed her on the bed and immediately went to her clothes, pulling the top over her head and easing her sweatpants down her legs.
Heat soared through her as he removed her panties and she knew he was aware just how wet they were. But he didn’t say anything, merely tossed them aside. His gaze was still on her, penetrating and compelling. Then he reached out and skimmed his hand across her femininity, as if using his fingers to test her readiness and the degree of her need. She groaned, threw her head back and opened her legs to give him access and he took it.
“Damn, you’re hot and wet,” he murmured hoarsely against her ear as his tongue moved over her face to lick the perspiration off her throat and he worked his way up to her chin. He inched his way farther upward and his tongue parted her lips, seeking her taste once again.
But after a moment, that wasn’t enough for him. His mouth began moving lower like he was obsessively hungry for her. His tongue worked its way past her breasts and down her chest to her navel, torturing every inch of her in the process. Then he reached the very essence of her heat and used his mouth and tongue to drive her mad in a very intimate French kiss.
She screamed as her body shook with a force that had her digging her fingers into his shoulders to stop the room from spinning, the earth from shaking and her body from splintering in two. The feel of his mouth on her touched off an explosion but still he wouldn’t let up. It was as if he was determined to have it all and, in the process, give her everything. Her body was thrown into an orgasm of gigantic proportions that had her nearly sobbing in pleasure and before she could recover from that first orgasm, his mouth and tongue was busy sending her whirling into a second as he once again pushed her over the edge.
Moments later, while she lay there trying to learn how to breathe all over again, he stood back away from the bed and began removing his shirt. She barely had enough strength to prop her elbows on the bed to watch him, studying how well defined his chest was and how a thin line of dark hair led a path downward, past the waistband of his jeans.
She continued to watch, fascinated, and knew at that moment she had never seen a more perfectly made male body. She could stare all day and not tire of seeing it. She held her breath as he slowly eased down his zipper. Then he pulled off his jeans and briefs, letting her see all of him. Her gaze immediately went to his shaft, thick, large and hard, protruding like a statue from the bed of dark curls that surrounded it. She almost swallowed her tongue.
“I want you,” he said huskily, coming back to join her on the bed