Get a Clue(43)

Panting raggedly against his throat, she gripped him tighter, holding onto his chest in a way that would surely tear out each hair there, one by painful one, and he didn’t care. He hadn’t gotten enough this morning, and logically he knew he couldn’t possibly get enough here, in the light of day, in the library, where anyone could walk in on them.#p#分页标题#e#

But she slid her hands beneath his shirt and stroked his bare back in a restless, desperate sort of gesture, and in the coup de grace . . . sighed his name, just a tiny whisper of a sound, but it was so endlessly, outrageously erotic he fisted his fingers in the stretchy, flashy red material at her shoulders and tugged. The top slid to her elbows, and her breasts popped free, exposing her for his viewing and tasting pleasure.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Lariana was still washing my clothes,” she whispered, resting her head back against the shelving unit. “And I didn’t fit into one of her bras—”

“Breanne.” He stared down at her freed, bared breasts, at the way the nipples were tightening into two little buds right before his eyes, making his mouth water. “Are you somehow trying to apologize for not wearing a bra?”

“Yes, I—”

“Don’t.” This came out slightly more harsh than he intended, and panting for breath, he put his forehead to hers. “God, Breanne. You take my breath.”

She shot him a tremulous smile, and with a ragged moan, he dipped his head and very gently rubbed his jaw along the heavy curve of her breast.

Her head thunked back against the shelf. A few books rained down over them. Not caring, he slid his hands down to the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, supporting her between the shelf and his body as he wrapped her legs around him. Her tight skirt got in the way, and impatient, he shoved that up, giving her the freedom of movement to hug his hips with her thighs.

He looked down, at her bared breasts, at the skirt gathered around her waist, which exposed the smallest pair of black lace panties he’d ever seen.

Wet lace.

Holding a warm, rounded cheek in each hand, he rocked against her, letting her opened thighs and the hot, damp spot between them cradle his aching sex. Then he bent and kissed her nipple, kissing, sucking, before nipping lightly with his teeth, gently tugging.

A sweet sound escaped her, rough and desperate, reaching out and grabbing him by the throat as he rocked against her again, moving in a tight circle, ripping more of those erotic murmurs from her as her breasts jiggled and made him so hard he was surprised the zipper on his jeans didn’t split. She’d slid her fingers into his hair, doing her best to make him bald before he hit thirty-five as she brought his face back to hers to kiss him, her hips mindlessly thrusting to his.

More. He needed more. Dragging a hand down her body, he stroked a finger over that black lace, catching the edge, hooking it. Beneath he could feel her rose-petal-soft folds, hot and creamy.

For him.

He pressed against her and she writhed against him with an unintelligible whimper. With a matching groan, he rotated his knuckle in a slow circle, ripping another sexy sound from her before dragging the lace aside and drinking in his fill. She was so pretty there, all pink and glistening, her clit pouting for him the way her nipples had. He wanted to taste her, wanted to lick and suck until she screamed his name, wanted to watch her fall over the edge for him.

Lifting his head, he looked around them to see where he could get them out of plain view—“In the closet.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think—”

He merely lifted her against him and began to walk.

“Cooper.” Her voice was grainy, her lips still wet from his, her hands shaking as she pushed his chest so that he stopped, having no choice but to let her legs slowly slide down his until her feet touched the ground.

“Sorry,” she said, and touched his tight jaw.

That didn’t bode well for getting behind the shelves and he knew it.#p#分页标题#e#

“I only meant to kiss you—I’m sorry.” Without looking at him, she pulled the red shirt up over her glorious breasts, and if he wasn’t mistaken, shuddered when the material stroked her nipples.

“Breanne—”

“Thanks for rescuing me over and over,” she said as she shoved down her skirt.

“Thanks for rescuing you?” He stared at her. “What the hell is that?”

“You helped me last night. You unlocked the door for me just now.”

“Jesus, Breanne. I don’t want to be thanked for those things.”

“I know,” she said softly, covering her face. “God, don’t you get it? Look at me, I make a living making bad decisions. I don’t want you to be the next one.”