Page 58 of Guilty as Sin
Shoes. Ankle holsters.He had them off, and she was doing the same thing with her own shoes.
Outside, the house shook with the force of the storm. Inside, she shook from cold, and from him. He knew it. And he needed to be closer. He got a forearm under her thighs, picked her up, and took her mouth again, and she wrapped a hand around his head and kissed him back.
Upstairs.He hadn’t managed to turn off his torch before dropping it, and it lit his way across the room to the stairs. He was still kissing her, her mouth was opening under his, and he wasn’t sure how he made it up to the top of the stairway, except that he was there, tumbling her onto the bed, and coming down over her.
Her hands were under his T-shirt, pulling it with difficulty over his chilled skin, the wet fabric resisting her. He helped her out, yanked it over his head, and tossed it as her hands went to his waist. She got a leg over him, flipped him onto his back, and he could swear his eyes rolled back in his head.
Her hands were on his belt buckle, but if she was going to be over him like that? He needed totouchher. He was pulling that clinging, silky top up and over her head, and finally, her breasts were filling both his hands.
He couldn’t see her, but oh, could he feel her. Her skin was cool under his searching hands, and her gasping breaths were loud in his ears when he pulled her down over him and took one puckered nipple into his mouth. It was pink, he knew it without seeing it, and it was sweet, hard, and perfect. Her palms were on the bed on either side of him, her body sprawled over his, and she was making some noise, rocking over him, looking for more.
This time, he was the one flipping her, putting her on her back, dragging the soaked leggings over her hips, down her legs, and off her. Whatever she was wearing underneath them came with them, because when his hand stroked up her leg again, there was nothing there but cool, silken skin. Her thighs parted like she couldn’t help it, and he was there.
Oh, bloody hell, yeah.Wet, and warm, and open. She was yanking his belt loose, pulling down his zip, and he wanted that, and still, he focused on what he was doing. He needed to be here. When his wet jeans were off, though—well, he had to notice that, because that was even better. He was sliding up her body to kiss her mouth again, threading his fingers through her hair, holding her head for him, and her hands were on him, moving up and down his back like she needed to feel more. Like she needed to feel everything.
He was going to give her more. He was going to give her everything.
She couldn’t think. Too much sensation. Too much Jace. Inky darkness, drumming rain, and his hard mouth on hers, stealing her breath. His lips moving to her neck, her throat. His hand on her breast like it had to be there, like he needed her as much as she needed him. And then he was kissing his way down, that hand still gentle, but so firm, lifting her breast for him, holding her there.
She should be participating. She couldn’t manage it. She was making some noise, and her hips were moving in time with his mouth. The lightning flashed, and she caught a glimpse of muscular shoulders, but what she felt was his fingers threaded through hers, holding them hard against the mattress. His mouth at her breast. His other hand stroking down her body, and her legs opening to let him touch her.
There. Yes. Like that.
She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until he said, his voice oddly tender, “Baby, I’m going to. You hold on. I’m going to.”
So she did hold on. And he did.
His hair was wet, and her hands wrapped themselves in it and held him there. The rain still pounded the roof, but the darkness didn’t matter anymore, because her eyes were closed. She felt his hand, and then his lips. And, finally, his tongue. He hit exactly the right spot, she sucked in a hard breath, and he must have heard it, somehow, because he did more of that. More of what felt the absolute best.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Please. Oh…” And she felt that smile again against her tender flesh, his hand gently nudging her thighs farther apart, a finger stroking its way inside, finding the spot there, too, and going to work.
No rush. No judgment. No pressure. Nothing but patience. Nothing but every bit of his attention. He was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he wanted to do, and she knew it. She could relax into the feeling, could lose herself in the electric shocks of his mouth on her, rivaling anything the lightning could offer. She could call out, could say his name over and over again, and she did. And he took her pleasure in and multiplied it until she lost her words. Until she lost control. Until she let go.
She was hot. She was sweet. She was coming, her muscles tightening around his fingers, her thighs tensing hard, her cries filling his head. She knew he was the one doing it to her, too. She’d said his name.
He made sure he stayed with her every bit as long as it lasted. And then he slid up her body again, felt her arms wrapping around him in the darkness, and kissed her, long and deep. Using his tongue and his lips and his teeth, invading and exploring her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, biting gently at it, and feeling her response.
“Please,” she said when he finally gave her breath to say it, “tell me you have a condom. I need you inside me.”
Were there five better words in the world? “I have one,” he said, before he had to take a second and kiss her again, because that was just how sweet her mouth was. “In my wallet. Hang on.”
“One,” she said with a sigh. “We’d better make it good.”
He laughed, and if it didn’t come out steady—well, you couldn’t blame him, not with a woman like this. “Oh, baby. We will.”
Of course, he may have had to do some crawling on the floor, some patting around in the darkness. And she may have done some giggling, too, although as always, she hadn’t waited for him to take care of it. She was down there with him in the dark, finally saying, “Jeans. Yay. Here.”
He moved toward the sound of her voice. And promptly bumped heads with her, hard enough that he rocked back, then grabbed for her. “All right?”
“Ow.” She was laughing, and moaning some, too, but in the “pain” way instead of the “hurts so good” way. “Yeah. Fine. Ow. Did I kill the mood? Say no.”
“Nah. Not possible.” Head pain? What head pain? He had his wallet out of the soaking-wet jeans, had found the packet. “Get yourself up on that bed again and on your back, and the mood’s right there.”
She sighed. “I love it when you sweet-talk me.”
This time, he was the one laughing. He stood up, reached a hand out and found her arm, pulled her up with him, and tumbled onto the bed with her. She reached a hand down his body, found what she was looking for, and said, “Oh, yeah. Guess you’re right. I think you’ve got this.”
“Mm.” It was about all he could manage. She’d distracted him. He got the condom on in the dark, found her mouth again, kissed her with absolutely all the sweetness he had in him, so grateful that she was here and needing to let her know it. “Such a pretty girl,” he told her, his hand stroking down her cheek. “Such a lucky fella, hey. Let’s see what we can do.”
