Page 11 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
She blew that thought from his head when she moistened her lips and said, “Okay. Here’s the deal: I want the full monty, Hawk. I want every trick you’ve got. Don’t hold back on me, now. This doesn’t happen to me often, so make it memorable. Make it . . . dirty.”
Then she rose up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck, and put her mouth on his.
Sweet mother of—she tasted like tequila and green apples and a sweet, delicious ripeness that was just her. He lost himself almost instantly, pulled into her taste and scent like a swimmer pulled into a riptide. He allowed himself to just luxuriate in the kiss, in the soft heat of her body pressed against his, in the low, small sound she made deep in her throat.
She mewled as he crushed her tighter against him, and again as he slid his hand up her body and squeezed her breast. Small and firm and perfect, they were the breasts of an athlete, and he longed to take a nipple into his mouth. He wanted to drift on this current of pleasure forever. He wanted to drown in it—
Hawk broke the kiss and pulled back, startled by the force of his reaction to her. He never wanted to drift, or drown, in a woman. He never let himself get close. But if she could drag him under with just a kiss . . .
No more kissing, he told himself firmly as he stared down at her. She was breathing heavily, her eyes were soft and drowsy, and he smelled the fragrance of her arousal like perfume in the air, delicious hot readiness that made every part of his body ache with want.
“Damn,” she whispered, leaning into him, “you taste like Christmas morning.”
He hadn’t had a woman so completely ready and unabashedly carnal in, well . . . how long? She wasn’t second-guessing herself or him; she wasn’t holding back, that was abundantly clear; she was ready for anything he wanted to give her. Anything.
God, that was sexy.
She’s an evil wench, he reminded himself. When a spike of anger shot through him as he remembered the part she’d played in getting those anti-Shifter laws passed, he pulled her head back with his hand fisted in her hair.
She looked at him with big, enthralled blue eyes, her fingers twisting into the front of his shirt. “Oh—are you going to be rough? That. Is. So. Hot.”
“You like it rough?” he growled, staring down at her with what he hoped was a murderous glare, digging his fingers into her bottom.
She responded with a soft, happy sigh. “I like you, however I get you.”
She liked him. That did something strange to his stomach. Before he could spend too much time pondering why he cared that this cold-hearted, bigoted, despicable excuse for a human being liked him, she was talking again.
“Let’s get you naked, stud muffin. I want to see my birthday present.” She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and flattened her hands over his stomach.
Stud muffin? Present?
Several things clicked into place, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing.
Oh, this was too, too good. This was better than he could have ever expected.
His gaze fell on the Canon with the telephoto lens on the nightstand beside the bed, and with a thrill of victory he realized that now it was better than he could have ever expected.
Because the downfall of New York Times senior war correspondent Jacqueline Dolan was going to be epic—
And caught entirely on film.
The noise she made was loud, animal, and incoherent. It tore from her throat as her back bowed into an arch against the bed and every single muscle in her body clenched.
“You like that, don’t you, Red?” Hawk said in a throaty murmur. When she moaned her approval, he added a second finger to the first.
It had taken him all of ten seconds to get both of them undressed and on the bed, and her into a very compromising position that involved his hot, demanding mouth and fingers, and her spread legs.
“Please!” she gasped, writhing against his hand. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
She was too close for him to stop. If he stopped now, she’d have to kill him.
He chuckled. “So bossy. If you want me to keep going, you have to tell me what you want, Red. I want to hear you say it.”
Her hips bucked as his fingers pressed deeper inside her. “Mouth—please—lick me—suck me—oh God!”
Her gasped plea ended as he lowered his head and took that most sensitive little nub of nerve endings into his mouth again, and sucked, hard. Then with both hands spread under her bottom, he lifted her up and ground his mouth against her. She came in an explosion that felt nuclear.
She sobbed his name, clenched her fingers into his hair, and came again.
