Page 49 of Dangerous Passion

Grace had been on literally hundreds of dates in her lifetime. She was pretty, she got asked out on a lot of first dates. Not so many second dates. There was always something wrong. Sometimes something big, like a total inability to relate to any of the man’s interests, sometimes something small, like being made to feel she was a raging eccentric because there was a music group she hadn’t heard of or a TV show she didn’t watch.

Most of the time, there was a great deal of physical incompatibility. The man made all the wrong moves, touched her wrong, at times hurt her. More times than she could count she wished she were a lesbian because at least then she might be able to work up some kind of a love life. But no, darn it, she wasn’t a lesbian. She liked men. In theory anyway.

There wasn’t anything uncomfortable or awkward about touching Drake. Or kissing him. She moved her head until she was close enough to smell the coffee on his breath and as naturally as breathing, their lips met.

His lips were warm, surprisingly soft for such a hard man. They moved together perfectly, Drake tilting his head just so to gather a deeper draft of her.

She was the one who had kissed him, but he’d taken control of it immediately, one arm holding her tightly to him, the hand at the back of her head holding her steady for his kiss. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the wiry hairs faintly tickling. His erect penis was a warm, hard column of heat against her stomach. It pulsed every time their tongues met. Her sheath answered with a long, hard pull of her internal muscles.

It was almost too intense, too deep.

She broke the kiss to move back an inch and take a deep, shaky breath.

“So?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “How was it?”

She blinked, barely able to understand his words.How was what?

A long finger flicked her chin, the calluses scraping her skin. “The coffee, little one.” He bent forward for another kiss, a light one this time, just a light touch of his tongue. “Does it taste good from my mouth?”

The taste of him was hot and dark. It might have been the coffee. It was probably just him.

“Delicious,” she breathed.

“Relax against me,” he murmured. His long fingers massaged her scalp. “You’re so tense. You’re not frightened of me, are you?”

Gracewastense. Just the touch of his hands fired her skin, made her pulse pound. And yet being in his arms calmed her, calmed something deep inside her. It was frightening.

“Grace.” His deep voice had lost all humor. He shook her a little. “Tell me you’re not afraid of me.”

She lifted her head to look at him, at his sober dark eyes, hard face looking as if it had never smiled in his life.

“No,” she answered softly, truthfully. “I’m not afraid of you. Not in any way.”

His face didn’t clear. There was still a deep furrow between his eyebrows. She touched it, lightly, with her fingertip. A furrow of doubt. But there were also lines in his face that had been caused by pain and suffering.

Her gaze drifted to the large gauze pad taped over his shoulder. Was it hurting him? It was impossible to tell.

“How’s your shoulder?” she whispered.

“What shoulder?” he whispered back.

Right. What shoulder? The violence yesterday seemed distant, another time another place. She could hardly think of it. Drake filled her entire vision, every inch of her skin touched either Drake or soft fur. Decadent and dangerous but oh, so enticing.

She leaned forward, watching his eyes, closing hers only in the moment her lips touched his. Her torso lay on his. She tried to ease up on his wounded shoulder but he was having nothing of that. His arms held her tightly to him, so she felt every dip and hollow of his strong frame, unyielding flesh as hard as steel.

Their mouths met again, clung, the kiss so long she was breathing through him. Each stroke of his tongue had her heart pounding, made her hands shake, her entire lower body clench.

The hand at her back slid around her waist, drifted over her belly, touched her between her legs. An electric touch. She was supersensitive from the orgasm, but somehow he knew not to saw at her as some men did, thinking that the harder they touched, the harder the orgasm. They were often the kind of man who thought women loved having their nipples pinched hard.

Those men vanished from her head. Poof! As if they had never been. It seemed unthinkable to Grace that any man other than Drake could ever touch her again, this immensely strong man who only touched her gently, softly.

Like right now, finger slowly circling over her clitoris. She was still soft and wet from the orgasm. Her hips began an unstoppable rotation in time with his finger, completely involuntary.

He liked that. She could feel his lips turning up in a smile. Yeah, he liked it. Well, so did she.

His touch still light, he stroked her labia, gently, circling around her opening. His calluses were rough, lending a little bite to his touch. When he’d made a full circle she let out her breath in a little huff. He released her mouth, scooting up a little in bed, watching her eyes carefully. His finger speeded up, moving gently around her, at times in her.

He was watching her so carefully for her reactions, but her body was telling him everything he needed to know.

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