Page 33 of Dangerous Games (Tempting SEALs 2)

"I told you to shut up," he muttered, dragging his lips from hers, his teeth rasping her neck as he raked down it.

His free hand moved between them, loosening her belt, stripping it from her first before working on the closure to her leather pants. Once the material parted, his hand moved farther up her body.

One hand held her head back; the other gripped the thin, elastic edge of the leather cups above the corset and pulled. They raked over her nipples, sending blinding waves of pleasure shrieking through the hard, gold-studded points.

She had worn the thin gold chains she had purchased for the piercings, letting them dangle below her nipples erotically rather than tightening the subtle noose the two connected chains made as they dangled below the hard points.

"God. That has to be the sexiest sight in the world."

His hand cupped the mound, lifting it as he stared down at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light reflecting from the parking-lot lights.

His lips were swollen, parted, as he breathed roughly. His eyes were narrowed, the rough slash of his cheekbones emphasized by the tense set of his expression.

She arched to him, needing his lips on her, his tongue, the feel of his cheeks drawing on the sensitive flesh.

Instead, his thumb and forefinger gripped the point, tightened, sending her awakened senses exploding with heat and pleasure.

Morganna cried out, writhing beneath him as the flash of pleasure-pain tore through her. This was pleasure. The dark edge of ferocity, a hunger that couldn't be controlled. It rose within her like a demon, raking at her womb with merciless fingers, convulsing in her vagina with the warning tremors of nearing orgasm.

"I like the nipple rings, Morganna," he whispered as she stared up at him blindly. His fingers moved from her nipples, gripped the gold chains, and tugged at them gently.

Her head twisted on the rough truck seat, a whimpering cry tearing from her.

"So hot and ready," he whispered. "Would you be this hot with Drage, Morganna? Would one touch have your body twisting in need?"

"No. Oh God, Clint. You. I need you." She was past lying. She knew she would regret it, knew Clint was going to destroy her with her own body, but at this moment nothing mattered but his touch.

"Damn you. Damn you to hell for what you do to me." He may damn her, but his head lowered, his lips covering the hard point and burning her with the sensation.

"Oh God. Yes." The whiplash of heat that suffused her body left her gasping.

The moist suckling heat of his mouth, the lash of his tongue tugging at the gold chains on her nipples, were nearly unbearable. She twisted against him, not knowing if she needed to get closer or escape the electrical impulses of pleasure tearing into her womb as his other hand slid into her pants.

Her fingers clenched in his hair as she felt his fingers rasp over the swollen bud of her clit. She was wet. So damned wet his fingers sank into her juices as they slid through the narrow slit awaiting him.

He played with her. Toyed with her arousal. He circled the throbbing opening of her vagina, his fingertip brushing over the entrance with firm strokes. Hips writhing, her moans echoing in her own head, Morganna fought for penetration. Oh God, she needed penetration.

"Please, Clint." Surely he wouldn't be so cruel as to deny her. To bring her so close, only to pull back.

"So sweet and hot," he muttered against her breast. "For God's sake, Clint, please ..." A strangled scream tore from her throat. He didn't penetrate with just one finger. He used two. Slow. Easy. Stretching her, burning her. She felt her pussy convulsing around his fingers, felt her orgasm close, so close.

"Do you need me, baby?" His voice was torn, rough, thick, and edged with the same hunger that ripped through her. "Tell me what you need, Morganna." "You."

"What part of me?"

"All of you, Clint," she cried out as his fingers flexed inside her, sliding deeper before withdrawing. "Please. All of you..."-

He thrust inside her, a hard, long impalement that had her hips lifting, her body reaching for orgasm. She could feel it whipping along her nerve endings, thrumming in her blood, and pounding in her head.

"Son of a bitch." Before she could understand the sudden desertion, Clint was jerking from her. His fingers pulled from the clenching depths of her pussy as he jerked the leather back over her breasts and lifted his eyes. His expression was tight as he stared beyond the window.

"Clint, it's Officer Zane Roland. Is everything okay in there?" There was an edge of suspicion, of amusement, in the voice beyond the door.

"Come on." Clint levered himself from her, quickly helping her sit up before the pounding at the window made sense to her.

He lowered the window enough to glimpse the police officer standing outside before lowering it halfway.

"Thought that was you, Clint." Surprise surprise, he knew the police, too.

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