Page 17 of Guarded By the Bigfoot
Oh, sweet merciful universe. No one had the right to look that powerful. My mouth went dry, fingers itching to trace every inch of him.
He stepped closer, and I reached out instinctively, hands brushing the thick fur along his chest and down over sculpted abs that looked carved out of something sinful. His breath hitched slightly.
“Oh wow,” I whispered. “Okay. What was that?”
His lips curled. “You.”
Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing, effortless, like I was a breath in his hands, and laid me down on the edge of his enormous bed.
He stepped between my legs, and the look in his eyes told me I wasn’t going anywhere.
He didn’t rush. He stood there, eyes glowing with something ancient, hands braced on either side of my thighs, unyielding and terrifyingly in control.
Every inch of my skin prickled with awareness.
“Lie back,” he murmured.
I did, slowly, because something in his voice said this wasn’t going to be frantic anymore. It was going to be deliberate, and devastating.
He reached out, one giant hand sliding under my thigh, lifting and spreading me a little. His touch was firm, claiming. And then he gripped.
Not gentle. Possessive. Commanding.
“These legs,” he growled, low and close to my skin, “are going to tremble for me.”
I was about to respond with something smartass, something witty, when he bit me. Just under my hip, enough pressure to make me gasp.
“Okay,” I whispered, wide-eyed.
I could feel the curve of his lips against my skin. Then his mouth began its slow, meticulous journey.
First, my hip. Then across my stomach, kisses and licks and small bites that made my body jolt and ache and twist toward him.
He paused at my ribs, lifting my arms gently and kissing along the underside of each. I was breathless, squirming, not just from what he was doing but from what he wasn’t doing yet.
Then his mouth found my breast. He groaned like he’d just tasted ambrosia and closed his lips around me, tongue teasing, one hand kneading while the other still gripped my thigh.
I arched. Moaned. “Brock,” I muttered, head spinning.
His mouth left me only long enough to growl, a sound that wrecked me more than the pressure of his tongue.
I reached for him without thinking, fingers trailing down his stomach, finding that thick V of muscle that led straight to?—
Oh. Yeah. Okay. That was definitely not what I was expecting.
He hissed through his teeth, eyes flashing molten gold as my hand brushed the hard length between us. His muscles tensed. His jaw clenched.
“I just wanted to touch,” I said innocently.
“Parker.” His voice was tight, ragged, dangerous.
But I didn’t stop. I stroked again, slow and curious, and the low growl that rumbled out of him made my toes curl. I looked up, smug, until he caught both my wrists in one hand and pinned them above my head.
The world tilted.
His body lowered over mine, heat and weight and wild tension pressing me down like gravity. His free hand slid over my thigh, holding me open without resistance.
“You’re all mine tonight,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in velvet. “No distractions.”
