When You Dare - Lori Foster [68]
“Are you cold?” She kept trying to crawl into him, clutching at him to keep him near, pressing herself close.
“No.” Her nails dug into his upper arm. “Dare, I want—”
“Shh. It’s all right.” He unzipped the oversize hoodie and slipped his hand inside. “Just relax for me.”
The second he touched her breast through the thin T-shirt, she tensed—and a soft moan escaped her parted lips.
The sound was sweet and desperate, proof that she’d been thinking about this, about him, for a while now.
“You’re in a bad way, aren’t you?”
She nodded, licked her lips. “I need you, yes.”
Because they had touched her, hurt her, abused her.
He had to remember that this was to eradicate ugly memories. He had to remember all that she’d suffered.
Seeing the bruise on her cheek, Dare bent to brush his mouth over it. “They hit you…here?”
She said nothing, but her breath hitched.
“And here?” Skimming his mouth along her throat, he gently touched each mark, occasionally licking over a fading bruise or putting a soft love bite over angry fingerprints. It was so dark out that he worked by memory—not that he’d ever forget a single mark on her delicate skin.
“My…my ribs,” she whispered by way of encouragement, making Dare smile.
Overcome with tenderness, rigid with lust, he pulled the T-shirt up. “Right here,” he whispered, knowing that his jaw brushed her breast as he pressed openmouthed kisses to her ribs.
“Dare.” She tunneled her fingers into his hair and arched up a little.
Her tight hold on his hair stung a little and showed her level of urgency. Knowing she was ready, Dare turned to see her breasts. Thanks to the cold and her excitement, her nipples were puckered tight.
God. Holding her shoulders, he bent to lick first one nipple, then the other, before closing his mouth around her.
Her drawn-out groan echoed over the lake. Her knees came up and she started to turn toward him. Dare held her down and tried to slow her response a little.
This was for her—but he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of her body in the process.
She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand down to her belly.
Dare paused. His chest tightened with painful possibilities. Repeatedly Molly had told him that she wasn’t raped. But had they—
“They didn’t,” she said as if reading his mind. “They threatened, and, yes, they sometimes touched me…in ways they shouldn’t have. But…but that’s not why…”
He laid his hand over the soft, womanly rise of her belly. “You’re a woman, and you want me?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her nipple again. “Already?” And then, a little more desperately, “Are you sure, Molly? We have all night. There’s no rush….”
“Don’t make me wait, Dare.” She shifted and squirmed. “Please.”
Amazing. Still unsure, but unwilling to push her, Dare cupped his hand between her legs, touched her lightly along the seam of her jeans.
Her reaction was swift and strong.
He sat up in a rush and had to move aside her hands so he could unsnap and unzip the jeans. Once he had them opened, he paused. Hell, it was March in Kentucky. The breeze tonight was downright frigid.
He glanced up at his house. Not that far away, and a hell of a lot more comfortable for her…“Dare?”
She clutched at him, confused and anxious, and he whispered, “Fuck it.” He dragged her jeans and panties down to her knees, exposing her sex. Everything was in shadows, and the moonlight that had felt so bright moments before didn’t give him the light he wanted now.
He wouldn’t take her, but he wanted to see her, damn it, all of her.
But of course he remembered, so maybe it was better that he couldn’t see; bruises, scratches—injuries that went deeper than the marks on her skin and flesh.
Aching for what she’d endured, Dare lowered his head and put a gentle, barely there kiss to her ribs, her abdomen, her flat belly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Molly.”
Eyes huge and dark, she stared up at him. “Then