Page 104 of Protecting What's Mine
“What? The little woman barefoot in the kitchen?” she teased when she drew back. Surprised that her body could get that revved that fast from a little morning peck.
He pinched her bare ass under the sweatshirt.
“Smartass. You wearing nothing but my sweatshirt with your hair all messed up and your eyes all dreamy.”
“Shut up. They are not all dreamy.”
“Wish I could stay and prove you wrong,” he said, picking up the smoothie and giving it a testing taste. “Mmm. A hot doctor in my sweatshirt and a healthy breakfast. I might just save all the lives today.”
“You better.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, a mechanical machination of cogs and gears. “You’re heading out early.”
“Gotta pick up Sunshine from my sister’s. Bec’s not a morning person on her days off,” he grinned.
“I can pick her up,” she offered. She’d be home most of the day anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to have some fluffy company.
Linc’s face lightened.
“Don’t read anything into it,” she said defensively. “I like your dog. I’m off today. I can pick her up at a reasonable hour. This isnota marriage proposal.”
He glanced down at his watch and then back up at her with a wicked grin. “That saves me fifteen minutes that I could use to do something else.”
“Like what?” she asked with suspicion.
He slid down her body to kneel on the floor in front of her.
“Oh.That,” she said breathlessly.
Those big, calloused palms slid up the outside of her thighs until they caught the hem of the sweatshirt. The soft material bunched as he shoved it to her waist.
Stepping her feet wider, Mack complimented herself on being so accommodating and respectful of Linc’s truly excellent morning routine.
“I dreamed about fucking you with my tongue last night,” he said, his breath hot on her bare skin.
She watched in fascination as he pressed his mouth to the apex of her thighs. Blue eyes on her as he did so. The whimper clawed its way free from her throat when his tongue, that goddamn talented tongue, darted out and slipped into her cleft.
“I can’t get enough of your flavor.” As if to demonstrate, he sank two fingers into her. She spread wider for him and watched as he pulled out and then sucked them into his mouth. Her knees quaked, and he took notice.
“Get on the floor and spread your legs for me, Dreamy.”
“What’s with you and kitchens?” she murmured even as she complied.
“It’s you in kitchens and any other fucking room.” He groaned as she opened for him.
“Is this floor clean?” she asked.
“Clean enough to eat off of.” And with that he dipped his head between her legs and made her head spin. His tongue was relentless in its attack on her clit. His fingers—were there three now?—pumped into her, stretching that channel to its limits. And oh, did Mack like it.
She couldn’t brace her left foot with the walking boot. But it didn’t matter anymore because he was looping her legs over his shoulders. He was devouring her.
“Watch me lick you, Mackenzie. Watch me.”
Lifting her head, their eyes connected. Her abs flexed hard as those overused inner muscles gave their first flutters.
“Baby, I feel that,” he groaned reverently. He was on his stomach, his hips grinding into the unyielding concrete. “Squeeze my fingers.”
She clamped down on him, gritting her teeth at the change in sensation. It was like forcing her orgasm from probably to definitely.
He went back to torturing her with his tongue as he thrust into her.
