His eyes narrowed, and the skin over his cheeks tightened. His lips thinned. And God, he was beautiful, his bronze skin contrasting with his crystal-blue eyes.
“I’m not Beck,” he rasped. “And I’m no kid either.”
“Kids run when they’re scared. Which is exactly what you—”
His hands tightened on her arms. His body pressed her against the car. The surprise of cold steel at her back and warm muscle at her front made her gasp and close her fists in the wet folds of his shirt. He lowered his head, pressing his body into hers. A rigid erection indented her lower belly and burned hot beneath his zipper, stealing Grace’s breath. Her body flooded with surprise, confusion…and lust.
“Damn right you scare me,” he murmured, his lips an inch from hers. “You’re the only thing that’s ever scared me, Grace.”
Her mind didn’t have time to process what that meant, because Josh’s mouth sealed over hers, cool and wet and firm. The deliberate press of his lips stunned her for long seconds, while thoughts snapped in her brain like firing synapses. She’d never believed he’d ever cross that line. There had been so many times in the past, perfect moments for their first kiss, but he’d always backed off.
Now, he groaned, the sound a combination of pleasure and frustration. He tilted his head, curved one hand around the back of her neck, and this time when he kissed her again, he meant it—lips parted, searching, suckling. His other hand slipped around her waist and dragged her up against his body.
Her brain scrambled. Let go and enjoy, or push back to safety? Swoon or rail?
She shouldn’t give in to temptation. She knew this was the alcohol taking over. Knew he’d regret kissing her the moment the lust ebbed and his buzz cleared. But then his tongue licked across her bottom lip, her muscles went limp, and her mouth opened. The first sweep of his tongue across hers made her breath catch, made heat rush between her legs. He was hungry, demanding, and far more passionate than she’d ever imagined. The man who’d gone out of his way to deliver appropriate responses, keep respectable distances, and spare her every courtesy, was now fucking her mouth with long strokes of his tongue, exploring in decadent caresses, driving the kiss with hungry urgency.
Grace’s mind spiraled. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason. Couldn’t make any decisions. She just held on tight, experiencing this lightning strike. Every inch of her skin burned with desire. Every cell vibrated with the thrill of being so desperately wanted by a man she’d craved for years. And she needed more of him. So much more. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she didn’t dare ask or even suggest, sure he’d pull away. Again.
She just kissed him back, tasting the hint of whiskey, of mint. The heat, the passion. Letting herself go, letting herself feel his arms around her, soaking in the sounds of pleasure in his throat. She opened her mind to take in every rock of his hips, every squeeze of his hand, every breath lifting his chest, so she could save them in her memory banks for the future.
His mouth slid off hers, kissing a trail across her cheek, resting his forehead against her temple. “God, Grace…”
His hands slid down her sides, curved over her waist, cupped her hips. Grace shivered—a combination of his words, his touch, and the cold. She wanted to tell him how good he felt, how much she wanted him, but feared if she spoke, she’d break this fragile bubble in time. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and scraped her fingers through his wet hair. How many times had she dreamed of doing this? Hundreds? Thousands?
God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Hard. Hot. Wet.
It had been so long since she’d been wanted like this. She pulled on his shoulders and lifted herself up his body, the same way she pulled herself up the stripper pole. He gripped her waist, settling her open thighs around his hips and her ass on the car’s trunk, pressing his rigid cock to her heat with a long groan into her mouth.
She rocked her hips into him, sliding her sex along his length. He broke the kiss on a long “Oh, Gracie…”
She pressed her face to his neck and bit her lip against her need to say his name. Her need to tell him she needed him inside her—right here, right now, in the parking lot, in the rain.
He pressed her against the car and rocked his hips into her, simulating a long, deep thrust. She couldn’t keep the high-pitched cry of pleasure from escaping her throat. Then his hands moved beneath her tee, pushing the wet fabric over her breasts. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, and now he bent his head, watching as he took her gooseflesh-textured breasts into those big, strong, scarred hands and stroked roughly, brushing her nipples with his thumbs.