Page 90 of Legacy of Danger
"Looks like I submitted you," she exhaled.
"I'll let you win a match like this any day." With effort, he sucked in air. "Want to try a rear naked chokehold?"
A laugh bubbled up and lit her glowing face. His heart paused several beats. She was beautiful as she straddled his torso, and he wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his entire life.
She winked—fucking winked—at him. "That was my next go-to move. You've figured out my game plan."
Burying his hands in her hair again, he pulled her down to his mouth and kissed her until she melted into him.
When she rose again, he groaned with frustration, then excitement, as her nimble fingers undid each of his buttons until cold air licked over his chest. The light drift of her fingertips shot zingers of hell-yeah right down his spine. Her butt wiggling against his groin tormented him in the best way possible, and when she gave his hard nipples a light pinch, he came close to embarrassing himself right in front of her.
"Mariah," he growled.
"Ref hasn't called it yet. Patience."
"My God," he gritted as she scooted down. She stroked him through the pants fabric, making his cock jump.
Then she slid that same hand beneath his waistband and circled him. Christ.
Some men needed to be in control.
Some men needed to be on top.
As Mariah stroked his hard erection, he realized that he wasn't like some men.
All he needed was Mariah. If this woman wanted to run the show, there was no way in hell he would complain.
He groaned as she rubbed her thumb along the damp tip of his cock.
However. He wouldn't survive if she continued what she was doing. He'd let her play later. He had work to do.
With a buck and a heave, he lifted and flipped her over, reversing their positions. Better.
Like in his midnight fantasies, she lay beneath him, her hair spread out in a dark halo, her arms splayed out next to her. Perfect.
"You need to give me a chance." He took care to hold his weight with his legs and arms as he knelt over her.
"I'm okay with that." The way her eyes widened, he felt ten feet tall.
"Damn it," he cursed his thick, rough fingers. He finally managed to unbutton her blouse without ripping the garment to shreds. With the amount of patience he showed, he ought to be named a saint.
Saint Take it Slow or Saint Ladies First or some bullshit name like that.
Smoothing the fabric to the side, he sucked in more air as the sight of her took it right out of him. Her smooth skin glowed. The small lace cups hid twin points pushing against the fabric. Part of him wanted to spend quality time with those breasts, and part of him wanted her naked, like, yesterday. She was a dessert buffet and he couldn't decide where to start.
She sighed, making those hard nipples strain against the lace.
Decision made.
Each of his hands palmed a firm breast, and he rubbed the skin beneath the lace fabric, taking cues from the sexy, breathy sounds that came from her. He leaned back on his ankles and drew her to sit up. Concentrating on her face, watching for any hesitation and seeing none, he slid the shirt off and away, followed by the bra. With his hand supporting her behind the shoulders, like she was a delicate piece of crystal, he eased her back down to the bed.
Trailing his fingers over her neck, breasts, and stomach, he wanted to feel every single inch of her body. Memorize it. In case they never... no. He shook his head and paused.
"You okay?" Her voice, both soft and rough, snapped him the hell off of whatever path his mind was heading. With a featherlight stroke of his bruised cheek, she asked, "Is this bothering you?"
"With you in front of me, I feel zero pain." He shifted his position on her hips and grimaced. "Well, maybe a little pain, but it's the good kind of pain. Besides, your touch takes it away."
Reaching for the front of his slacks, she whispered, "Then I've got some more cure."
