Raw Deal(20)

Gently, so gently, the tips of his fingers skimmed up her arms and  slipped beneath the thin straps of her dress, sliding them down. Instead  of pulling her dress down as she expected, those fingers trailed back  up over her shoulders, tracing her collarbones, which felt so delicate  beneath his big hands. His eyes lit on the tiny pink heart tattoo she  had at the edge of her right clavicle, barely any bigger than a freckle.  It had no outline; she'd wanted it to look like a natural part of her  skin.

"Jesus," he rasped, his fingertips circling it. "That's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

Somehow she found it within her to laugh, but it came out a mere gust of  air. "That?" As if to show her how much he meant it, his mouth went to  where his fingers had been, and her head fell back, her legs tightening  around him.

"Mm-hmm."

"You'll be happy to know, then, that I have three more just like that one. I'll leave it to you to find them."

His rough growl vibrated against her skin and his hands went to her  waist, fisting on the fabric of her dress. She feared he might rip it,  then decided she didn't give a damn. "Is that a little game you like to  play?"

"Sometimes."

"What do I get if I win?"

Oh, if only he knew. "I'll tell you if you win," she said breathlessly.

"I think the reward might just be in the playing."

That too. For his delectable mouth and big hands to explore her entire body . . . she shivered with the promise of it.

When his grip relaxed at last, his hands slid up her torso, thumbs  brushing just at the outer curves of her breasts. All the while he  rained worshipful kisses over her shoulders, her neck, her jaw, while  she allowed her hands to roam the breadth of his back and tried not to  squirm too wantonly against the rough press of his jeans between her  thighs. When he finally touched her he was going to find her  embarrassingly wet, but thinking about it only made her wetter, made her  throb harder, made her squirm more.

His hands returned to her waist, gathering the fabric of her dress.  Without her straps to hold it in place, the bodice crept downward. He  watched its progression as her breath heaved, his eyes full of naked  need, hunger. Greed. She licked her lips as the ruched edge reached the  top of her areola, barely revealing its dusky rose hue before his mouth  was there and the protection of her dress was completely gone. "I stand  corrected," he murmured against her, then her nipple was in his wet,  sucking mouth, and she cried out, clutching his head to her.

When he found sexy things, he liked to kiss them. Good to know. As he  leaned into her, she let her legs ride higher on his waist, feeling her  dress slip farther up her thighs. Barred only by the thinness of her  panties, the scent of her own arousal bloomed around them. It must have  gone to his head; he cursed and ground his hips into hers, moving his  mouth to give her other nipple the same thorough treatment as the first.  His tongue swirled tantalizing patterns, his mouth sucked her to an  aching peak, his teeth gave tiny nips that made her whimper. She had  always considered herself smallish in the boob department, but they had  never felt so heavy and feverish, sending arcs of pleasure like gentle  lightning between her legs where she clenched on emptiness she was near  begging for him to fill.

And at last, just as she was beginning to ponder if orgasm from nipple  stimulation alone was a possibility for her, his mouth came back to  hers. "Didn't find it," he said. "Need to keep looking."

She couldn't gather her wits enough to reply, only giving him a helpless nod.

With her arms and legs wound tight around him, her naked chest held  tight against him, he strode through the dimly lit house into the  darkness of a bedroom. She tipped dizzily and her back sank into a  pillow-top mattress covered with a thick, soft comforter. He moved away,  and after a moment soft light filled the room from a lamp in one  corner. Enough to see, dim enough to conceal. Her gaze never left him as  he reached behind his head and pulled his shirt off, then crawled up  the bed toward her. Savannah's hands immediately flew to his body,  desperate to feel the heat and smoothness of his skin, trace the dips  and lines of his muscles. Never, ever had she been with someone built  like him. She wanted to know every inch of him before the night was  over.                       
       
           



       

Every inch.

The breath shuddered out of him at her touch. That she held power over  such a powerful specimen gave her a surge of confidence, and she allowed  her questing fingers to ride the ridges of his abdominal muscles down  to his fly, seeking, finding-Oh, Jesus-the thick bulge pressing against  the denim. His entire body jerked when she caressed it, and his hand  went to hers, squeezing hard for a moment. "Let me," she cajoled,  sitting up to steal a kiss from his lips. With a groan, he pulled her  questing fingers away and pinned her wrist to the mattress, denying her  while his naked chest heaved over her.

"Not yet," he whispered in her ear, then kissed a path down from her  neck. His mouth sought and found her right nipple, his tongue teased it,  and it hardened to the point of pain again for him. His hand found the  other, and she fleetingly wished she had more to fill his big palm with,  but he damn sure didn't seem to mind. With lips and gentle nips of his  teeth, he worked her into a toe-curling frenzy, her thighs writhing  against the jeans still covering his hips. She began trying to shove  those down and out of her way despite his earlier protest, but it was no  use.

Her own thighs were spread around his narrow hips, her dress bunched  around her waist, the thin lacy panties she wore the only thing  separating her from his touch. They were drenched with her need, rasping  against her sensitized flesh, and she wanted them gone. She ground her  hips against him, trying to entice him to do something about that before  she had to. No sooner had she thought it than one of his hands fisted  the delicate scrap at her hip.

"Rip it," she pleaded, needing to know his strength, gasping at the  painful snap when he did so. His mouth found hers again in a frenzy of  lips, teeth, tongue. The shock of cool air circulating over her inflamed  center made her moan. When the edge of his fingers scorched her there,  though, gliding easily through her slickness, she feared she might draw  blood from his lip caught between her teeth.

"Fuck, Savannah," he groaned, his touch strong and rough and almost too  much in her heightened state of sensitivity. She jerked and squirmed,  her clit throbbing, everything a fevered, liquid ache. He had a way of  gently working his fingertips independently of each other over her clit  that damn near shot her into space right there.

"Michael, please . . ." He teased lower, sought, found, slipped inside.  She clenched his finger, relishing the sound that tore from his throat.  Another joined it then, stretching her, burning. Yes. And then he went  down, kissing a path over her stomach while his fingers set up a slow  rhythm, in and out, so thick. His tongue slid over her folds, teasing  between them to her clit, so hot, melting her. She panted, tilting up to  meet him, spreading wider when he sucked hard on her, only adding to  the maelstrom of sensation and emotion buffeting her. Her body  involuntarily twisted in agony when he slowed his strokes. Fists crammed  to her mouth, she fought not to come yet and fought to come very hard  right now . . .

He pulled his mouth away. She bit down on a frustrated scream. "I see  one," he murmured, the fingers of his free hand alighting on the pink  heart below her left hip bone. "Two down."

Oh, fuck that tattoo. Better yet, fuck me! "Michael," she said as  patiently as she could, "there's a certain urgent matter requiring your  attention."

"I think I should keep looking for the third one. I'm trying to win a game here."

"I can't keep this going. Please, just make me come."

His chuckle was a burst of warm air over her superheated flesh. In her  heightened state, it was almost enough to set her off. Glancing down,  she watched him trail kisses up her inner thigh, watched him stare  between her legs. Every one of her senses focused on him. His fingers in  her pussy. His eyes. His breathing. The taste of him still in her  mouth. The scent of smoke that still clung to him.

"I stand corrected again," he murmured, dropping his head back to her while she wanted to shout hallelujah.

Because oh, shit, he was good at that. Firm and sure of himself, and  right in the middle of her poor frazzled mind throwing another not yet!  at her needy nether regions, she was lost. Her hips wrenched hard off  the bed, but he was immovable, holding her steady so that she couldn't  throw him off his task of wringing her of every drop of pleasure, every  joyous cry of release. When she finally did come back to earth from her  trip through the stars, she'd nearly pulled the comforter off the sides  of the bed and he was hovering over her, looking into her eyes. In her  raw state, his gaze was even more penetrating than usual. She shook all  over.