Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(3)
“When you’re in the room, I can think of any number of things I’d rather do than play with fire.”
Dropping a quick kiss on my lips, he crosses to the minifridge and pulls out two bottles of water. Hands me one.
I watch him drink, mesmerized by the way his throat moves. By the way he— I shake my head sharply, determined to snap out of the sensual spell he casts without even trying.
It’s easier said than done, though. Except for the time I spend working at Beanz, the coffeehouse I own down on South Congress, we’ve spent much of the last week in bed. Which has been fun and intense and sexy as hell, not to mention a million other things, but it hasn’t exactly been conducive to talking. And today, I need to talk.
He leans forward to steal another kiss—a playful sweep of his lips across mine that quickly turns into something dark and dangerous and utterly mind-numbing. His arms link around my waist, pulling me closer, and before I go under completely, I slap a hand against his warm, bare chest and shove him away.
“We need to talk,” I tell him, putting some distance between us so my nerve endings can stop firing . . . and so my brain cells can start.
He quirks a brow. “Aren’t those the four most dreaded words in any relationship?”
“Only when they’re followed by, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
He’s silent for a second, then—“So is it?”
“Is it what?” I’m baffled by the guarded look on his face and by his sudden reserve.
“You, not me?”
I laugh, certain he’s joking. But the look in his eyes is solemn. Though I only get a glimpse—Declan is a master at hiding his emotions—it occurs to me that the question might be real. That he’s just as confused about this strange relationship as I am. And maybe as uncertain.
This time I’m the one who wraps my arms around him. I press kisses over his warm, hard torso, starting at the base of his throat and working my way straight down the center of his body until I get to the spot where his heart thumps heavily beneath my lips. I kiss him there, then rest my head on his chest and pull him even closer.
His arms tighten convulsively around me. “You make me crazy.”
I look up at him through my lashes. “Believe me, the feeling is more than mutual.”
He kisses me again, and this time I savor every second of it. He tastes like cinnamon and magic—dark, spicy-sweet and delicious. It’s a flavor I’m quickly becoming addicted to.
His tongue sweeps out, traces my lower lip. Plays with the corners of my mouth. Dances across my top lip and the little indention right in the center of it. My arms tighten around him, and my mouth opens in a desperate need to get closer.
He nips at my lower lip, then sucks it softly to soothe the hurt away. I bite back, just enough to remind him that I have my own teeth, my own power. He groans deep in his chest, reaches for the bottom of my pajama top and whips it off. Then we’re standing there, bare skin to bare skin, and it feels so good I forget every word of the carefully rehearsed speech I came in here to deliver.
His hands slide up my back to cup my head, his fingers tangling in the chin-length strands of my hair. He pulls my head back, tilts my chin up. And then he devours me.
His mouth is ravenous on mine, stroking, sucking, biting, kissing. He explores every inch—every centimeter—of my mouth with his tongue, his lips, until I’m little more than a quivering mess of a woman. Only then, when my whole body is trembling with need and want and unchecked desperation, does he move on.
I moan a little in protest, try to hold his mouth to mine. But he has other plans. His lips skim across my cheek. He pauses for a moment to nibble at my earlobe—it sends shivers down my spine, like he knows it will—before kissing his way down my jaw and neck.
He stops at the hollow of my throat—his favorite spot—and licks and sucks until my knees go weak and my body feels like it will spontaneously combust at any moment.
Declan knows what he’s doing to me. He knows that he has me now. Knows that I’ll do anything to feel him inside me. Just like he knows that I’m seconds away from my legs no longer being able to support me.
Without raising his head, or his mouth, from the wicked, wonderful things he’s doing to me, he sweeps a leg out and gently knocks mine out from under me. He catches me against him with one strong arm, then boosts me up so that I can wrap my legs around his waist.
This is one of my favorite things about making love with Declan. How strong he is, how easily he’s able to manipulate my body into whatever position he wants me in. And how absolutely, ridiculously easy it is for him to pick me up as though I weigh almost nothing.