Page 42 of Breaking Danger (Ghost Ops #3)

Jon’s eyes dropped as did his finger, down over the center line of her body, between her breasts. Up again, to lightly circle her nipples, now a deep rose color. When he stroked her breast his thumb ran over the velvety skin of her nipple and she shivered.

“You like that?” Jon whispered, unable to take his eyes from her breasts.

“I like it all, Jon.” Her voice was low, too, though there was probably no one within a radius of fifty miles. No one human, anyway.

He bent quickly, licked her nipple, keeping his hand on her belly. When he licked it again, her belly muscles contracted. He let out his breath in a long, slow release.

He liked that he was engaging in a little foreplay but this was more about him, really. His trying to gain some control. These slow movements, step by step, were helping him.

The tip of his forefinger ran along her side, where she narrowed to a ridiculously small waist then flared out again. She was as perfect a woman as he’d ever seen in his life. Then over her belly to the belly button, the cutest little innie ever. It made him smile just looking at it.

His big, tanned, scarred hand looked like a blunt instrument on her velvety skin. It was the most erotic contrast possible.

His eyes rose to hers now because he was going exploring in a place where he couldn’t see so he wanted to watch her face.

The finger went down, down. She didn’t need for him to tell her to open her legs.

They opened automatically, her heels making a swishing sound on the sheets.

Jon kept watching her eyes but he had excellent peripheral vision and she made this luscious picture on the rose-patterned sheets, skin flushed all over, cherry red nipples, the lips of her sex shiny and open.

For him.

He touched her there, as delicately as he could.

Such tender, tender flesh and his hands were so callused.

But there was no abrasion because she was so slick, so ready for him.

His forefinger slid into her and she just closed around his finger like a little mouth.

He pulled out a little, pressed in and she gave a little sigh.

Again, and again. Then her sex clamped around his finger in one convulsive pull that showed again in her belly muscles.

If he were a gentleman, he’d let her climax around his fingers, then he’d go down on her and make her come again and then and only then he would mount her.

But he wasn’t a gentleman. Not in any way. He slid his hand out from her and pulled her thighs even further apart, moved over her and slid into her, all in one smooth hard motion.

They both stilled. He was fully on top of her, trying to keep some of the weight of his torso on his forearms. He tilted his head forward until his forehead met hers.

“That feels so good.” Her voice was low, warm and rich.

He nodded, his head against hers.

“It would feel even better if you moved, though.” Her lips curved in one of those mysterious Mona Lisa smiles only beautiful women knew how to produce.

He exhaled slowly. Pulled out. Pushed back in. It felt like heaven. He was finding it hard to pull out because it felt so good just being buried deep inside Sophie, where it was warm and tight and welcoming. But he tried it again. It was awful pulling back, fantastic sliding back in.

Again.

His movements weren’t smooth and steady as they usually were. They were jerky, rough. He was barely in control of himself, moving on instinct alone.

Sophie lay her hand on his butt and directed his movements, guiding him until he was able to control himself enough to smooth out his thrusts. Oh yeah. It was better this way, much much better. He’d lost himself for a moment there, but he came back into himself. Just enough.

He took over, thrusting slowly, steadily, head bowed over hers. A drop of sweat fell from him onto her temple. He wanted to lift his hand and wipe it away but any movements at all besides what he was doing seemed impossible. She didn’t even seem to notice, thank God.

Sophie arched suddenly, lifted her legs around his hips, drew in a shocked breath. Her sex contracted once, twice and then suddenly she gave a sharp cry and started rocking against him, soft tissues pulling at his dick tightly, milking him…

Control shattered. Jon’s hips hammered into her, hard, fast, rough.

If she’d given any sign of distress it might have penetrated the heat in his head.

Maybe. He hoped. As it was, Sophie was crying out but not with pain.

She was clinging to him tightly with her arms and legs.

He lowered his entire weight onto her so he could hold her hips while fucking her just as hard as he could.

The bed rocked, swayed, the tall wood and leather headboard beat a hard tattoo against the wall.

It was fast, violent, hot. Hot hot hot. Their bodies were plastered together with sweat. It came pouring out of him and his lungs were on fire.

Sophie’s head was buried in his neck and she licked him, then bit him.

That kicked him up another gear. He was pistoning wildly inside her, panting, sweating…

it was too much. Just as Sophie gave another wild cry he plunged deeply inside her and held himself there as every single drop of moisture in his body poured into her.

He was digging his toes in the mattress to stay as deeply inside her as he could while he exploded in waves, shuddering and shaking.

He’d never had an experience as intense as that. It was entirely possible that he blacked out for a second or two. When it was all over, he was sprawled on her with his entire weight, plastered to her with his sweat, their groins wet with his come.

He was ashamed of himself. Sort of. The thing was it had all felt so goddamned good . He should assess the damage, right away. Find out how she was, see if he’d hurt her or even disgusted her because for a while there he’d definitely behaved like an animal in rut.

But every muscle in his body was lax, not responding to orders from central command. All he could do was lie on her and pant, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs, blood back to his head.

It took forever.

But finally, finally, a little control came back.

Not much. Just enough to raise his head to see if she was smiling or snarling.

If she was mad at him for losing control.

He’d have to explain to her as carefully as he could that that wasn’t the way he usually operated and that he’d try to be more gentle the next time, if there was a next time.

Maybe she was disgusted with him. All that sweating and groaning and, well, he didn’t smell like springtime, either.

So he lifted his head, prepared for just about anything—happiness, anger, anything in between, and instead what he got was Sophie’s head turned to the side, eyes closed and what was that? He turned his ear to her mouth and grinned.

Sophie Daniels, virologist, sexy, classy woman, was snoring.

Light delicate little exhalations that barely qualified, totally unlike the rhinoceros snorts of his teammates in the field, but definitely snores.

Delighted with her, delighted with what was happening to him, he slowly turned with her in his arms, so gently he managed to stay inside her, and adjusted her on top of him.

Sophie made a wonderful blanket. Soft and light.

He took in one deep happy breath and let it out and fell asleep.