Page 20 of So Wrong It Must Be Right

He could smell her arousal, sweet and earthy, and it was everything to have her here at his mercy, where he could taste her and drive her into screaming, writhing orgasm.

And that’s just what he set out to do.

Chapter 6

Dinah had never had sex that wasn’t in a bed. It was an odd thought to have, lying on Carter’s floor, his hands sliding up her legs, his mouth devilishly close to where she wanted him most.

Mouth, fingers, cock. She wanted all of him, all over her. She wanted all of him until she was nothing but a writhing mass of ecstasy. The thing was, she believed he could do that.

On the floor. On the porch. She believed in his talents, and as his tongue licked up the center of her she couldn’t have spelled her last name if her life depended on it. More, she didn’t want to remember much of anything that had to do with Gallagher or Trask.

He used his finger and tongue interchangeably in some kind of pattern she couldn’t find a rhythm to. It was that inability to find a rhythm that made it somehow more exciting and mind scrambling. She didn’t care that she was naked on his living room floor; all she cared about were the sensations shooting through her. She could feel the rough scrape of his whiskers against her inner thighs as he licked and sucked her toward some kind of oblivion. She scraped her fingernails through his hair and across his scalp and was rewarded by an exhale of breath against her.

She pressed herself against his mouth in a way that should be embarrassing, but she couldn’t manage it when she was so close to tumbling over that peak. She’d already been close just from having her mouth on him, from feeling his pleasure when she took him deep inside of her mouth. She’d felt powerful and sexy and like she had given him something and taken something for herself at the same time.

It was remembering kneeling on his rough porch with his cock in her mouth, and the final flick of his all too devastating tongue, that sent her over a keening, wild edge. One that she wildly and enthusiastically groaned her way through.

He hooked his arms around her thighs, holding her almost impossibly still as he drove her over the last peak, teasing out those last waves of pleasure.

She was breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling and not quite sure how to ever come down from the immeasurable high her body was currently feeling. He leaned over her, holding himself above her with those suitably impressive arms.

She blinked up at him, completely and utterly relaxed and satisfied. She trailed her palm across his beard. There was something about the rough scrape against her skin that was oddly . . . comforting?

No, that couldn’t be the right word. She was just sex muddled.

“Come on now.” With an ease that shouldn’t have delighted her, but did anyway, he hefted her up off the floor and over his shoulder. But he didn’t take her into the bedroom as she’d expected; instead he stepped into his little kitchen.

He plopped her on the counter as though she weighed less than nothing. “Did you eat any dinner?” he demanded in that gruff voice that sent a little shiver down her spine.

“Dinner? Well, no.”

He shook his head and stalked over to the refrigerator. “You’re going to eat.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

He shook his head, though he smiled as he looked over his shoulder at her. “No. You’re going to eat some food. Then . . .” That smile widened into a full-blown grin, and her stomach flipped, a delicious swoop of...

It was like sex, and not like it at all. Something warm and comforting in that pleasure. Something bigger.

So not what she needed, or anything she should enjoy or nurture. She needed to get out of there. She needed to forget that this weird alternate reality actually existed. She needed to get off his counter, put on her clothes, and leave.

But he was pulling food out of his refrigerator, shirtless and barefoot and gorgeous. How did someone walk away fromthat?

When he was done puttering, he handed her a bowl and a fork.

She wrinkled her nose at all thatgreen. “Is that kale?” She squinted her eyes at him. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Very funny. Eat it.”

“It’s just that I’m deathly allergic to green veg—ooh, is that bacon?”

“Eat, princess.”

She grinned, but complied. She might prefer a hamburger over a random conglomeration of greens and some kind of bacon dressing, but it wasn’t half bad, and more, she knew he’d grown almost everything in her bowl, and there was something kind of special about that.

About him.

She blinked at the salad, focusing on it instead of him, because she couldn’t have thoughts like that.

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