Page 30 of Back in the Texan's Bed
The moment he lifted his head, she dipped a fingertip in the wine, swirling it. Setting the glass on the end table next to his, she turned back to him and slowly, sensually painted first his top and then the fuller bottom one with the wine. She stared at his stained mouth, her breath a ragged, heated thing in her chest.
Lowering her head, she hovered above him, halfway expecting him to tilt his head back and confiscate this kiss. But with his blue eyes like crystal flames in a face of harsh, almost severe angles, he didn’t move. Just watched her. Waited. And for a man accustomed to control in the bedroom and out, this show of temporary submission was unusual...and hot as hell.
A moan caressed her throat, but she trapped it, not willing to betray the erotic storm that whipped and howled through her body. And she hadn’t even kissed him yet. But she’d rectify that.
Now.
Curling her fingers around the back of the couch, she closed the scant distance between them. Swept her tongue over his plush bottom lip. Tasted Moscato and him. Again, she locked down that telltale moan. She repeated the stroke over his top lip, drawing the flesh between her teeth, sucking every bit of the wine from him.
His grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. What did it say about her that she secretly hoped he would mark her, leave a souvenir from this taboo and unwise pocket of time? Either that she was desperate or sad, or a total sucker for this man’s possession.
Probably all three.
Shoving the distressing thought aside, she sank into the kiss, stroking her tongue between his lips, tangling with him, sliding against him, licking at him. That raw sandalwood, rain and Texas wind scent that clung to his skin was stronger here inside his mouth. Richer. Even more delicious. She could drown in his taste. Drown in this almost overwhelming sensation of heat, liquid lust and pleasure.
The moan she’d been so determined to rein in broke free, and she released the sound into his mouth. His tongue curled around it, claimed it as his own, and with a tilt of his head and a hard thrust, demanded another. And God help her, but she gave it to him. Surrendered it, along with the control she’d wielded but now wanted him to seize.
As if sensing the shift, he grabbed her ponytail, tugged hard on it, jerking her head back. Smoking lightning bolts of need struck her, and the whimper that escaped her would probably bring the sting of humiliation later, but not right now. Now she closed her eyes, relishing the sting across her scalp, dwelling in the sense of vulnerability from her exposed throat.
“If you’re going to be sorry for this later,” Ross murmured against her skin, his breath a hot, damp caress, “then I’m going to give you something to really regret.”
Then he dragged his teeth down her neck, the slight burn vibrating through her so it reverberated in her nipples, down her spine, in her sex. And when he clamped a firm, possessive bite on the crook where her neck and shoulder met...
“Ross,” she groaned, loosening her clutch on the couch to burrow her fingers through his thick, dark blond hair, fisting it. Holding him to her.
“Missed that,” he growled, rubbing his lips over the spot that had just received his teeth. “Missed the sound of my name when I’m about to give you what you need. And you need this, don’t you, baby?”
She shuddered, her grasp on him tightening. The scraps of reason that still remained forbade her to answer, to give him this ammunition against her. But those remnants didn’t stand a chance against the lust coursing swollen and unchecked through her body.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Give it to me.”
His dark chuckle tickled her skin, a faintly menacing warning wrapped in seductive, rough silk. “Ask for it. Nicely.”
For real? She ground her teeth together, trapping the order to “get on with it.” Because past experience had taught her that when he was in this kind of mood, a taunting mood where anger roiled just below the hunger, he could—would—drag out this pleasurable torture until she begged for what only he could deliver. An ecstasy that would break her.
“Ross, I need—” The wordyoulodged in her throat. But she didn’t needhim; she needed what he did to her body. Two different things as he’d so expertly shown her. “I need you to make me come.”
“Damn right you do,” he rasped, and hauling her head down, he crushed his mouth to hers.
This kiss was fire and ice. Gasoline and cooling water.
A reunion and searing loss.
He ate at her lips, and she tilted her head, serving herself up. Leaving her mouth tender and wet, he dragged stinging kisses down her chin, lower to her neck and lower still to her collarbone. He paused, sucking the thin skin there between his lips, marking her. And she loved it. Silently urged him to suck harder,longer.
Impatient fingers gripped the bottom of her sweater and yanked it up and over her head. For a moment, panic flared bright inside her, and she almost lifted her hand to her neck. But then, she barely managed not going limp in relief. She’d removed the necklace and pendant before leaving the house.Thank God. What would his reaction be if he saw she’d kept it? She shook her head as if that could erase even the possibility.
“What’s wrong? Where’d you go?” he murmured, tossing her top to the couch, leaving her clad in only a thin tank top and a black, scalloped lace bra. Being a chef who worked long hours, most of the time her body only knew chef coats, T-shirts and black pants. As a concession to the woman who loved fashion, she had an addiction for pretty underwear. And the desire flaring in those light eyes telegraphed his approval.
“Nothing,” she replied, skimming her fingers over his shoulders and avoiding his gaze. “Nowhere.”
He didn’t call her on her bullshit; instead he slowly slid a hand up her side, rucking the tank top so the fire-warmed air brushed her exposed skin. She held her breath, her chest lifting and falling on her deep, labored breaths. Oh, God. It’d been so long. And she ached so much.Touch me. The words screamed in her head like a pissed-off banshee.I need. I need. I need.
The chant exploded in her head like pop rockets, quick, loud and bright.
His lips closed over her nipple. And she cried out. Jerked in his hold. Melted against him.
“Shh,” he soothed, sweeping his lips over the tip through her thin top and bra.
