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For Caleb. He thought because he’d been a warrior, that he could handle Vincente.
He was wrong. Vincente never acted alone. Never played by the rules. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.
She pushed thoughts of her ex-lover away. He didn’t belong here with her and Caleb.
Instead, she dedicated her entire attention to the man in front of her.
What next?
Chest.
Ah, yes.
Her hands slid over his shoulders, down his torso. She gathered cotton and tugged. “Take this off.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His biceps flexed. The t-shirt landed on the floor.
Gia moved from behind the chair to drink in the glorious sight.
Defined pecs. Smooth skin and dusky nipples. The carved peaks and valleys of his abs.
A beautiful male specimen. Her fingers trembled, eager to touch.
She threw a leg over his lap and settled, straddling him. Leaning in, she inhaled sandalwood and spice.
His scent dripped over her like hot fudge over ice cream, melting her insides.
Caleb jerked.
She froze, waiting for rough hands to grab her hair. “Should I stop?”
“Hell no.” His knuckles were white with the death grip he had on the edges of his seat. “I enjoy your hands on me.”
“I enjoy touching you.” A blush heated her cheeks as she admitted it.
She smoothed her palms up the corded muscles of his forearms to his biceps. He was all lean, hard muscle, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow.
Her attention shifted to the angles of Caleb’s face, tracing the straight line of his nose, admiring the symmetry of his features. His lashes were sinfully long for a man.
Those lashes lifted, the lust burning in his gaze nearly knocking her off his lap.
Speaking of his lap.
An evil grin twisted her lips.
She ground the hot and needy part of her against the hard ridge between her thighs.
Pleasure shot from her clit to her womb and traveled up to her breasts. Enough to make her eyes cross and a gasp to escape.
Caleb’s lips parted on a groan.
Who knew freedom could be so addictive?
More.
“Jeans off.” Desperate. She couldn’t get in a proper breath.