Page 9 of Memphis Heat
She nipped the point of his chin, and he stifled a groan. “I’m not allowed --”
“To use your position and power to influence me?”
Her bare breasts raked his chest, and his cock slapped his belly. “Something like that.”
“I don’t recall anything in the rookie handbook about werewolves. I think this kind of changes all the rules.” She sprang at him like a cat, and he had to catch her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, or let her slide down, far lower than he wanted her to go.
His cock smashed between them, the head pinned against what felt like an inferno.
“God, you’re hot.” He lifted her ass a little higher, rubbing that delicious heat against the ridge of his cock head, moving slowly, his hips flexing to drag himself over her wet folds.
“Are you trying to take advantage of me?”
“I might be. But you still stink.” She lowered her face to bump his head to the side, pointing him at the shower. “That way. Unless you want to put me down. I can walk.”
“This is a lot more fun.”
Butch hefted Regan up a little and walked them both the few feet to the walk-in shower.
Somewhere between the sick malaise of waking up and the tip of his cock centered on his partner’s pussy, his equilibrium had managed to level out just fine.
In fact, he couldn’t remember ever feeling better.
He felt stronger, more alive than he had in years.
“What a rush. I haven’t felt like this since I got out of boot camp. ”
Regan laughed against his neck as she nibbled her way down. “Like fucking a woman in the shower?”
“Like I could do one-handed handstands again, or run twenty-five miles without getting winded. Or fuck the most beautiful woman God ever put on this earth for hours. Maybe all three at once.”
If he’d called her beautiful a week ago, Regan would have argued with him, even though she’d wanted him to hit on her. Near-death experiences had that effect on her. Now she grinned, flashing sharp, white teeth at him. “Put me down. You need your hands free.”
To prove her point, she ground her nipples against his chest. The soft scrape of skin on skin sent shivers down his spine.
He let her slide down to the shower floor, taking his time, enjoying the slow travel of heat everywhere their bodies touched.
She turned to get the water, dragging her ass across his cock, and a groan escaped, despite his best attempt to hold it in.
“Oh, fuck me,” he muttered. “I am so fucking fucked.”
“Eloquent,” Regan managed, sputtering with laughter. “That’s pretty damned near poetic, for a Marine.”
“Woman, do you have any idea how hard I’ve been, trying not to stare at that ass for the last three months?”
Hot water streamed down over their heads, and she straightened, taking her time with the move, wiggling her ass invitingly. “Really, I had no idea.”
OK. So he was dense as a rock. “You had those fucking uniform pants tailored, didn’t you?”
“Hell, no.” Her grin was pure vixen. “I ordered ‘em two sizes too small.”
He groaned again, either at her comment or her hands as they wrapped around his cock, her fingers working shampoo into the coarse hair around its base and down over his balls.
His shoulders hunched at the shudder that tore through them, and his hold on his sanity came close to shattering.
“That’s not the only place that needs shampoo.
” He was damn proud of how steady his voice sounded.
“Yeah?” She reached for the bottle and squirted some more in her hands, her tits scoring two lines up his chest as she stretched to reach the top of his head. “Hair down there’s longer. Should call you Buzz instead of Butch.”
Her nails scraped his scalp, and for a moment he forgot how to speak. “‘s not.”
“ Snot ? What?”
“‘s not a nickname. Butch. Mom was a Redford fan.”
“I can see that. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Tight ass.” Her hands sculpted him as she cataloged. “What’s not to love?”
He should have argued -- mentioned something about a face that looked like he’d been kicked by a horse at a young age -- but it’d been way too long since a woman had touched him, and longer since a woman’s touch had made him want to let go of his well-known control.
Maybe never.
Speaking of control… Butch picked Regan up and set her ass on the handicapped railing. “Last chance,” he warned her. “You want me to back off, say so now.”
“Back off?” Regan barked. “Back off? You’re an idiot, you know that? I’ve been trying to get you in my bed for the last three months. I’ve done everything but dance naked on your lap, and that was my next move, except I wasn’t sure you’d notice.”
He shook his head, bemused. “You haven’t picked up a pencil I didn’t notice. Why do you think I tried to get Cap to transfer you?”
“‘Cause I’m a screw up?”
He nipped her shoulder, harder than he might have if he hadn’t heard the hurt in her voice.
“You were top of your class.” He kissed the point of her collarbone and traced that ridge across to her neck, laving the flutter of her pulse with his tongue.
“If you were in another precinct I’d have asked you out before the ink was dry on your transfer papers. ”
“Oh.”
He wasn’t sure if the sound was understanding, or her reaction to his tongue in the hollow between her breasts.
He licked across to her left nipple and sucked it between his lips, clamping it there with his teeth, and flicked his tongue over the very tip, circling, then swiping over the tip experimentally.
Regan’s fingers flexed in his hair, not finding enough to hold on to. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, grasping now, digging in with all her newfound strength. “ Ohhh .”
Yup. Definitely a moan.