Page 43 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

Alina

I liked Winter. Maybe we should be making more Wicked friends.

Atlantes

I’d rather die.

T he words were barely out of Winter’s mouth before Erikson was standing and tugging her toward his vehicle, patting his pocket to make sure he had the keys.

“There’s a dirt path that leads to the pumpkin patch,” she said once they were inside, sliding her hand up his thigh.

Something wicked inside her gloated with satisfaction when his knuckles turned white on the wheel.

“Here,” she said, pointing to a barely visible turnoff just before the driveway hit the road.

Erikson made the turn, his palm spinning the wheel even as he looked over at her with feral need.

Two minutes later they reached a bare field surrounded by towering pines and naked maples.

He threw the truck into park, but left it running so they wouldn’t freeze, and shoved his seat back. “Come here.”

Winter didn’t need a second invitation. She crawled over the console and straddled him, her thighs spreading over his lap and her hands wrapping around the back of his thick neck.

She played with the silky hair at his nape and looked deep into his eyes.

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much of a turn-on eye contact was.

Usually, she avoided looking at the men she slept with.

She planted a kiss below his ear and slid the zipper down on his jacket.

He helped her peel it off him, leaving him in a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans straining at the fly.

She rubbed over him, kissing his neck and his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble on her tongue.

She pressed her lips to his once, twice, almost teasing as she took her time tasting him.

His hands flexed on her thighs, but he didn’t rush her, and he didn’t take charge the way he’d told her he typically did.

She tugged on his hair and eased her way into another kiss, this time sweeping her tongue into his mouth and rubbing it against his.

His forearms tensed as he kissed her back with the same languid perusal.

The gentleness of the kiss, the way they explored each other’s mouths like it was a lazy, sunny Mediterranean day rather than an urgent last chance, made a soft sigh of contentment escape her mouth.

She didn’t know if everything about this felt right because of fate, or because he was Erikson and she’d chosen to share this moment with him.

For once, she didn’t care.

She rocked over him, his hardness pressing against the seam of her jeans.

She practically whimpered at his size. He was obviously aroused, but he still didn’t move to progress their union.

Eventually she stripped off her own jacket and threw it to the side, then dragged her top over her head and tossed that into the passenger seat as well.

His eyes seared into her skin, tracing a hot path from her freckled collarbones, down and over her less-than-generous breasts in her lacy, pink bra, to her stomach, which was hollowed with desire and arousal. Under his ravenous gaze, her skin flushed and broke out in chills.

His hand drifted over her waistband, his calloused thumb stroking her skin just above the denim as he looked his fill. Finally, he lifted his gaze to hers. “Pink looks good on you, Elf. I like that no one else but me knows it’s under here.”

She wedged her hands between them to grasp the hem of his shirt, and he helped her tug it over his head, his hands knocking into the ceiling of the cramped cab. He cursed and she let out a quiet laugh as they wrestled it off, and she tossed it into the back seat.

Now it was her turn to look him over, and holy Mother Mage, the goddess had outdone herself with this man.

His shoulders were broad, his skin soft as she traced her fingertips over him.

Chest hair lightly dusted his defined pectorals, and there was a visible ridge between his stacked abs.

She drank him in, unabashed and more than a little greedy.

He was thick with muscle, his body emanating heat, and he smelled so glorious that she wanted to lick him everywhere.

In fact . . . she leaned forward and kissed him in the hollow of his throat, then bent to flick her tongue across one pebbled nipple.

Her fingers dragged through the hair on his chest, and then down, grazing the bumps of his stomach.

He tightened beneath her, his jaw rigid and cords standing out in his neck, but he still didn’t move to touch her further or speed along the process.

She sat up and studied him, a frown line between her brows. “Do you want this?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I would destroy half the planet for this.”

“You prefer it this way, then? Gentler?” This was not how Viking Erik had taken Irish Winter.

That Erikson had been feral, unhinged, unrelenting—and Irish Winter had reveled in it.

However, it was possible that Viking Erik had been a product of his time, and she had to respect her Erikson and his desires in the now.

Despite what he’d previously told her, if he preferred gentler sex, she would work with that. She wanted him to be comfortable.

Now he frowned. “I wouldn’t say it’s my preference, but you told me you like submissive partners. I want this to be good for you.”

“Oh.” She leaned back, the steering wheel pressing into her lower back. “You were right when you questioned my reasons for that. I think I chose submissive hookups because that way I could ensure my own pleasure, and theirs too.”

His eyes sharpened as he toyed with her bra strap. “So you don’t need to be the dominant partner to find pleasure. You simply chose to be so you didn’t end up with an alpha asshole who only focused on himself.”

She nodded.

He slid the strap down, baring her shoulder, but left the cup in place. “Then you don’t mind an equal partnership in bed?”

Her throat flexed as he slid the other bra strap down. “Right.”

“And if a man were to promise that he was devoted to your pleasure, you’d be all right if he took control at times? Fucked you? Mastered your body in ways you don’t even know you like yet?”

Winter practically panted at the filthy promise in his words. His blue eyes fell to her mouth and darkened. “Well?”

“If that man is you. Only you have carte blanche.”

“Right answer,” he growled, and his fingers tunneled into her hair. He pulled her head down and devoured her mouth.

Holy shit, now this was a kiss. He plundered her mouth, biting and sucking and swirling his tongue over hers until her entire body was trembling.

She’d never, ever been kissed like this before Erikson, like she was sustenance to a dying man.

She met him kiss for kiss, her own hands diving into his hair, both of them consuming and giving in equal measure while she rotated her hips in his lap.

He tore his mouth away to run it down her neck, nipping and laving the sensitive skin as her head dropped back, granting him access to her throat.

His hand slid between her shoulder blades, and with a quick flick, her bra was falling away, revealing her small breasts.

She didn’t worry about if she stacked up to the Winter of his imagination; the way he was looking at her was nothing short of worshipful.

“The way I’ve dreamt of cupping your breasts,” he said in a deep voice.

He did exactly that with one breast, while his mouth fell on the other one.

He wasn’t gentle, and she loved it. He suckled strongly, making her back arch as she cried out.

He pinched her nipple between his fingers, rolling and tugging.

Sweat began to bead in her hairline, the heat still blasting from the vents.

She gripped his shoulders, holding his mouth to her breasts, and rocked on his length, her core temperature steadily rising and her control slowly slipping away.

Erikson pulled back, panting. Her nipples were damp and stiff from his attention; his cheekbones flushed. “Wait, wait . . . I just thought of something. I have to tell you another theory. I’m not sure, but I?—”

“Later.” She smoothed her palm over his abs and deftly flicked opened his belt buckle. “Tell me about your theory later.”

“But I think I should?—”

She gripped his head between her hands and stared into his eyes. “Erikson. Shut up and fuck me.”

His protest died on his lips and he yanked her jeans open. “Take these off,” he growled, his entire demeanor shifting from Respectful Erikson to Viking Erikson in a single heartbeat.

She scrambled off him and rolled back into the passenger seat.

She didn’t care how much awkward squirming she had to do to pull her jeans down, because the motion jiggled her breasts and his eyes were glued on them even as he unzipped his jeans and tugged them down, pulling a foil packet from his pocket as he did so.

“This fucking tiny cab,” he groused as she climbed back onto him, hovering so that she didn’t quite make contact with his bare length yet.

“We need more room. I want to spread you out and taste you.” As he spoke, he dragged his fingers down her hipbone to the juncture of her thighs, and then his fingertips slid through her wetness with complete ownership.

He groaned, his free hand tightening on her hip so hard that she knew she’d have faint bruising the next day.

“This is my pussy. My swollen little clit.”

She would have argued, but his thumb found her clitoris and began rubbing circles, and every thought she’d ever had vanished.

There was only intense pleasure and the sound of his ragged breathing.

She reached down, palming his cock for the first time, and she literally whimpered. “Oh my god, Erikson!”

He gave a low laugh as he slid two fingers inside her, still expertly applying pressure to her clitoris. “Problem?”