Page 46 of Catch and Release Groom

Goose bumps swept over her skin, and he chased them across her collarbone. “Till I can touch you again.”

Depressing a thumb to her lower lip, he opened her to him, their breaths mingling as they teetered on the brink of somethingaltogether more. “Till I can kiss you and taste you, and…”

Hell, he’d just done enough talking for about a week, so he dove on in, groaning at the skin-on-skin contact. He stroked his desire across her tongue, not breaking the kiss as he shucked his jeans a leg at a time.

Careful to give her as much padding as he could against the ridged plastic of the bed liner, he scooted them farther inside. The instant his feet cleared the tailgate, he crashed his mouth over hers. He caressed, kneaded, and explored the newly exposed inches of silken skin and then palmed the red triangle of lace between her thighs, inhaling her whimper as she arched her hips, chasing after his touch.

Glorious sounds punctuated the air as he continued to stroke her, gifting her the friction she so hungrily sought. Mimicking the movement of his hand with his tongue, he mentally documented each shudder and moan, until he was ready to use that information to pillage and plunder.

Then he shifted his weight to one side, ignoring the dig of the plastic and dipping into the elastic band of—holy shit, she’s wearing a thong. His arousal grew painfully hard as it met the firm softness of her hip, and he continued his path south until she was utterly soaked, and from more than their dunk in the river.

He spread her slickness over her, the reflexive jerk of his hips spurred on by her moans. Each drag across the swollen lips of her sex left the line of her body tighter and tighter, and he continued to pluck and play until she was a panting, needy, gorgeous mess.

Increasing the tempo of the circling of her clit, he plunged a finger inside her—one and then two, stretching and pumping until her walls bore down on him.

In that beat before her orgasm hit, she whispered his name like a prayer.

He curled the fingertips within her pussy, more than happy to answer her plea.

Chapter Nineteen

One second Imogen was in the bed of a pickup truck, nothing for miles and miles but forest and the man currently setting her body ablaze. His was a life-giving, rejuvenating fire that incinerated fears and doubts about whether she was broken, and if she’d ever experience the intense, all-encompassing pleasure she craved.

Up until now, she’d been a disregarded stick of dynamite, unsatisfactorily stable and resigned to experiences with no chance of detonation. Within minutes of Easton putting his hands on her, she’d been fully lit and drifting toward the stratosphere. Her toes curled as the flame ate up that last inch of fuse, until at long last, it scorched its way to the very end.

Boom.Off she flew into the endlessly blue sky, the man who’d acted as catalyst her only tether. Shudder after shudder racked her frame, and still Easton pumped his fingers into her, hitting that magical G-spot she’d previously doubted existed.

He cast her out far and wide, the same way he did to his line when he fished, allowing it to fly free for a tiny infinity. Then he reeled her back to him, slowly and carefully, blocking the glare of the sun with his ripped torso as he brushed stray strands of hair off her face. Checking on her and taking care of her before she’d even finished coming all the way down.

As soon as her eyes fluttered open, he greeted her with a cocksure grin. “Hey,” he said, so simple and so extraordinary that her heart forgot to take its next beat.

“Hey.” A giggle came out with her grin, and she wound her arms around Easton’s neck and brought more of his sublime weight down on her. Her mouth sought and kissed his with the release of a thousand pent-up orgasms.

“I’m going to crush you,” he murmured.

“Mm-hm, I like it,” she hummed against his lips, while linking her ankles at the base of his bare waist.

His huffed laughter tickled her neck and caused a smile so big her cheeks ached. She even welcomed the imprint from the plastic bedding against her backside, a memento to later assure her it’d been more than a daydream.

Imogen trailed her nails over the dips and grooves of his back, basking in the flex of his muscles and leaving a souvenir of her own. This country boy was 100 percent real, all right. Unexpected and grumpily authentic, a gentleman with a saucy side of southern exposure.

Speaking of…

Deploying momentum and the element of surprise, Imogen rolled, pinning Easton beneath her. She’d expected a power struggle similar to the one they’d had in the river; instead, he submitted with ridiculous ease, casually linking his fingers behind his head and spreading his elbows wide as if ready to relax and enjoy the ride.

Heat unfurled low in her belly as he licked his lips and roved his gaze over every exposed inch of her breasts, scorching a trail without so much as lifting a finger.

Then, lift a finger he did, and she watched in frozen wonderment as he hooked the thin band of the red panties she’d wornjust in case.“Off,” he said, a half-growled command he clearly expected her to obey. “Take off the thong.”

Did he really expect her to hop to?

More, was she actually going to? She tilted her head and affected a ditzy demeanor, batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair. “You want me to take off my thong?”

“Depends on whether you’d like to wear this particular pair ever again.” Keeping one hand cradled behind his head, he freed the other and glided it extra high on her inner thigh. He paused to tease the sensitive spot where elastic met skin, and her attempt to appease her burgeoning desire with a squeeze only left her straddled tighter around him.

“I’ll give you two seconds, and then I’m ripping them off you,” he said, twisting the finger still twined in the waistband and adding a sharp yank.

At the rasp of lace, she inhaled a breath that never found its way to her lungs.

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