Page 83 of In Shining Armor

When he moved her shirt neckline aside to kiss her shoulder, Flicka turned her head and nipped the side of his neck with her teeth.

He hissed air through his teeth, and his body rose over hers, pushing her back on the bed. He caught her arms and pushed them over her head, grabbing her wrists with one hand. He slipped his hand up her thigh as he kissed her.

Yes, this was more like it.

And yet—

Flicka couldn’t move her arms.

She was trapped.

Too much.

“I can’t breathe!”

Dieter released her hands and rolled off her, dragging her with him so that she lay on the bed beside where he was flat on his back. He grabbed the back of her head, pressing her mouth to his.

Excitement zipped through her, but the fear was gone.

She grabbed his arms and pushed his hands up, holding his thick wrists with her hand. Rough hair on his arms tickled her palm.

He chuckled as she kissed his throat, but he didn’t move his arms.

She unbuttoned his shirt with her other hand and shoved his undershirt up to his neck to touch his chest.

An old scar wound over his pecs and ribs. “What happened here?”

“Bar fight,” he said, still chuckling.

“That’s what you always say. Tell me the truth.”

He sucked in a deep breath as she licked his flat man-nipple. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me or I’ll stop.”

“Bar fight,” he laughed.

She sucked on his nipple, and he growled. She said, “Tell me.”

Dieter sighed.“Fine.Getting some Swiss citizens out of Argentina the last time that country fell into martial law. The police didn’t like us raiding their police station. They started a fight. One guy had a knife like a military utility blade.”

She traced the scar up to his collarbone with her tongue. “He almost cut your throat.”

“Seventy staples when we got back to the ship off the coast.”

She flipped her hair back and looked up at him, lying under her with his arms stretched above his head. “He could have killed you.”

“That was his intention when he sliced me.”

She kissed the scar again, and his chest rose beneath her mouth.

She asked, “Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s sensitive. It kind of tickles.”

“What else tickles?” She ran her palm down the stacked bricks of his stomach to his belt.

He inhaled again. The hard muscles of his abdomen rose under her hand. “That doesn’t tickle.”