Page 40 of Rescued Hearts

A tremor tore through him. “I need to see you.” He performed a pushup and shoved onto his knees. Her face on his pillow was an image he would revisit over and over again after this was all over. And it would be—too soon.

Forcing his hands to gentle, he drew her top up the slope of her torso to her breasts in a nude-colored lace bra. Every inch of skin he exposed, every freckle he saw made him throb to have this woman in every damn way possible.

As he pulled her shirt up and off, she seemed to hold her breath. When he raked his gaze over her creamy skin, he had to steel his muscles to hold back.

Slow down. She deserves to be shown how desirable she is.

He traced a finger across her collarbone and down to the gentle swell of her breast. A tiny sunshine tattoo in simple black ink didn’t shock him, but it did make him smile.

He started to lower his mouth to it, to taste the lines with his tongue, but she caught him by the jaw and stopped him.

“What’s that little smile for?”

“This.” He touched a fingertip to the art. Small squiggly rays of light projected from the round center.

“Oh.” Her fingers brushed along his stubbled jaw as he lowered his head to her breast. “Ohh.” She let out a puff of air as he swirled his tongue across the spot and continued to burrow lower, into the cup of her bra, following the curve of her breast.

When he reached underneath her and popped the clasp in one go, she wiggled to free herself from the cloth. He whipped the lace off her so fast that the bed jostled.

And so did her natural, bare breasts.

“Fuck!” He trapped her nipple between his lips and gave a soft, sucking pull that made her arch and writhe. In a short time of worshipping one rosy nipple, then the next, he realized he wasn’t in control. At all.

He was the opposite of in control.

He was on fire.

With a low rumble, he suckled her and lapped her nipples into straining buds. The rake of her short nails on his nape fueled that fire.

When he popped the button of her jeans and edged the zipper down, she stilled. Chest heaving, she met his stare as if what he was about to do next was scrawled on his countenance.

Running the flat of his hand down her lower belly, he dipped his fingers beneath the band of her panties. Blue—of course. Like her eyes.

Some women in his past made it a point to match their undergarments or even wore lingerie under their clothes for him to find. Not Honor—she didn’t plan any of this, and that was the biggest turn-on yet.

He inched his fingers inside her panties, over the short, silky curls on her mound and downward in a quest for her slick heat.

When his fingertips struck gold, she squelched a sharp cry. But he wasn’t having any of that. He wanted her begging, screaming his damn name.

He burrowed two fingers along her slick seam and went still, not moving.

“Oh god! Gray…” she panted. “Please!”

He withdrew his hand and in one hasty move tore off the rest of her clothes. When she was completely exposed to him, he ripped off his own shirt and watched her eyes flare with appreciation.

As she took in his chest and arms that he was pretty proud of, he slipped two fingers over her mound, pausing at her clit to stroke it, then buried his fingers in her pussy.

She threw her legs wide, rocking into his hand.

“That’s it. Take my fingers, sugar. My fingers feel good, don’t they?”

“Oh. My. God. Yes!” She twisted her fists in the covers as he withdrew his fingers and plunged them inside her again.

Watching the bliss ripple across her face, he curled his fingers into her G-spot.

Juices soaked his fingers, and she bit off a louder cry.

With a few more deep thrusts of his fingers, he took her from writhing to shaking. Then he pressed his thumb down on her clit, lightly at first, but when she responded by jerking her hips, he ground the pad into it.

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