God, had he somehow figured out she was in his suite—
That thought was abruptly cut off.
Before Gypsy could do more than draw a breath, he’d pushed her against the door, his lips covering hers as his hands curved around the back of her thighs and lifted her. Dragging her legs around his hips, he used his body to hold her against the door as he ground the hard wedge of his cock against the sensitive mound of her pussy.
The whimper that left her lips was embarrassing.
Hungry, desperate need. Like a friggin’ cat in heat was what she sounded like.
Her hands slid into his hair, her lips parting beneath his as she accepted the hard thrust of his tongue against her own before the subtle taste of spicy sweetness had her attempting to lick at the invader demandingly, her lips closing on it to catch as much of it as possible.
Each taste seemed to push her higher. As though the teasing heat of his kiss were enough to stroke her senses to a fever pitch of arousal.
Her knees gripped his hard hips, another moan escaping her throat as the heated strength of the heavy shaft ground against her. The firm pressure stroked denim and silk over the swollen bud of her clit as her hips tilted to get closer to the caress.
Oh God, this was what she needed.
He was what she needed.
And she needed more.
Her nails bit into the fabric of his shirt. Clenching it, pulling at it, she fought to get closer to him. The feel of his flesh stroking against hers, the heat of his skin warming her.
She’d been so cold. Brutally cold. She’d burned on the inside, frozen on the outside as she fought every instinct demanding that she find him.
“You’ve destroyed me,” she whispered as his lips slid from hers to take firm nips and stroking tastes of her jaw. The caresses had nerve endings screaming out in pleasure, the sexual tension ratcheting higher inside her as she still tried to fight the needs clawing at the flesh between her thighs.
Her pussy was so swollen, so sensitive that the heat of his cock could be felt even through the barrier of their clothing.
“The hell I have,” he growled, nipping at the upper curve of her breast as he tore the edges of the skimpy top apart. Buttons flew across the floor, and a snarl dragged from the depths of his chest voiced his satisfaction as her breasts were revealed beneath the skimpy lace of her bra.
The bra didn’t last long. She was certain the front closure would never work again as he jerked it apart as well, filling one hand with the swollen curve of her breast.
Sensation tore past misgivings and distrust to ensure that there was no chance she could deny him. Instead, the demands tearing at her senses had her crying out at the fear of rejection instead.
The rough pad of his thumb brushed over her nipple, the pleasure spearing straight to her womb before lashing at her clit.
“Please.” The moan was a shocking plea.
Gypsy Rum McQuade didn’t beg a man for anything.
But she evidently had no problem begging this Breed for his touch.
Overwhelming, overpowering,
The hunger was riding her harder, faster, and his touch wasn’t keeping up. He was going too slow, pushing her too high, too fast, flooding her body with such pleasure that it bordered pain.
When his lips covered one hard, peaked nipple, drawing it into the heat of his mouth as he began to suckle firmly, Gypsy swore that a charge of pure, undiluted pleasure exploded in her womb.
Her pussy wept in need, her clit throbbing with it as she fought to get closer to the heat and hardness pressing against it. Yet no matter how she fought to get closer, she couldn’t get close enough.