Page 103 of Peace Under Fire

“I want to feel your chest.” See and taste it too. She wasn’t one to discriminate.

He stopped kissing her long enough to sit up and yank his shirt over his head. This was one of the best gifts he’d given her over the past few days—the way he let her take charge. He never crowded her. He never rushed her. Nope, he allowed her to set the pace and level of experimentation. And with each make-out session, she wanted more.

Once his shirt was out of the way, she splayed her hands across his chest, running her fingers through the light patch of hair that spread across his pecs, before thinning and arrowing down his abdomen, and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

His chest felt hot and hard beneath her fingertips. Solid. Strong. Bending, she took his right nipple in her mouth and thrummed it with her tongue. He tasted a bit salty, with a hint of something she couldn’t quite identify, but that she associated with him now. Like he had his own special flavor.

His neck fell back, a groan rumbling from him. The bulge beneath her, the one pressing into the vee between her jean-clad legs, got harder and thicker. She’d noticed earlier that he liked having his nipples sucked, liked having her grip them with her teeth while gently bearing down. It was something she’d never expected, but she loved the grumbly sounds that broke from him every time she focused there.

He twitched when she closed her teeth around the tan nub. When she very lightly nipped it, he jerked so hard, she almost fell off his lap.

“Fuck.” His voice was raspy, almost spent. Like he’d run a marathon and capped that off with a swim across a large lake.

“You didn’t like that?” She was pretty sure he had. His breathing was hard, and the bulge between her legs had grown substantially. She swore she could even feel it throbbing against her thigh.

“Like?” he rasped, a smile touching his hard mouth. “Like’s too weak for what I’m feeling.”

She swallowed a giggle, scooted back, then leaned over again, kissing and nipping her way down his hard abdomen. “You have a six pack. I thought they were a myth.”

“With as much PT as we do, it would be impossible not to have a six pack.”

She made an appreciative sound and continued nipping and suckling her way down his body. Before long, the waistband of his jeans blocked her path. She considered it with speculation. What would he feel like down there, bare to her hands…maybe even her lips? She’d been wanting to breach that barrier for a while now but hadn’t had the courage to ask.

Still, he told her no question was off limits. She could phrase the request as a question.

“Will you show it to me?” The question emerged more tentative than she’d planned, like she was questioning the wisdom of the request. Which she wasn’t. Really, she wasn’t.

Of course, he picked up on the hesitancy in her voice. He cracked his eyes open and studied her face. “You sure you’re up for that?”

“Absolutely.” She filled her voice with conviction and let her fingers close on the top button of his jeans.

“Then help yourself.” There was a smile in his voice and heat in his eyes. When she released the top button and moved on to the zipper, his hands closed over hers, halting her progress. “Let me take care of this part. A zipper in untrained hands can be dangerous.”

It took her a second to realize what he meant.

“Oh my God. Really?” She eased back, letting his fingers replace hers. “You mean that zipper scene in There’s Something About Mary really happened?”

“Not to me,” he winked at her as he lifted the zipper and carefully drew it down. “Happened to a buddy of mine though. Although the medics didn’t drop his stretcher on the way to the ER.”

Mandy choked on her giggles. Maybe she could talk him into rewatching that movie with her.

Her laughter died as he lifted his hips and shoved his jeans down. He left his boxers on, but they didn’t do much to mask the bulge beneath the cotton. She could clearly see the wedge-shaped head of his penis imprinted on the cloth.

He’d looked…large…beneath the thick denim of his jeans. But without that fabric shield, he looked intimidating and huge. He would never fit inside her.

Still, her fingers ached to trace the heft and breadth of him—without any fabric in the way. Without giving herself a chance to chicken out, she eased his shorts farther down his pelvis until they were stretched across his muscled thighs. Once he was fully exposed, she just sat there, staring down, wondering what to do next.

She knew what a naked man looked like—she’d seen pictures. But she hadn’t expected it to arch up so high after it was released from the confines of its boxers. And it was darker than she’d expected, almost ruddy, with pronounced veins.

The urge to trace her fingers over those raised veins brought her hand up. She paused just before making contact. “Is it okay to touch it?”

“It,” his voice was ragged, “would appreciate any and all touching.”

Her fingertips skimmed over the veins and up the shaft. He was smooth as satin beneath her fingers. Without thinking, she closed her hand around his girth. He was so thick, her fingers didn’t wrap around him fully.

He groaned, arching into her palm. “Don’t stop, baby. You’re doing great.”

She slid her fingers up to the head and back down to the base, lingering against the tight, pulled up globes beneath. Was she doing this right? There must be more to it than simply moving her hand. “Tell me how to do this, so it gives you the most pleasure.”

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