Page 24 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

"What are you—" She gasps as I slide down her body and press my face into the apex of her thighs.

A shiver runs up her body. Her breath hitches. "Connor, the balloon operator?—"

"He’s called the balloonist. He can’t see or hear us. He’s also signed a non-disclosure agreement, so he won't talk about this trip to anyone."

A small smile curves her lips. "Are you always this thorough?"

"You ain’t seen nothin' yet." I grab her hips to hold her in place. "You smell decadent."

She whimpers.

The sound turns my blood into a river of lava, my cock a volcano swelling with the pressure of the shifting tectonic plates deep below the surface.

I glance up into her flushed features, her parted lips, the red streaked across her cheeks. "If you want me to stop, tell me. Now," I order her.

She blinks, then in the next breath she raises her hips, bringing that sweet, delightful flesh between her thighs closer to my mouth.

"Good girl."

She shudders, the anticipation flowing up her body like the tips of waves flush with the promise of a tempest. One I intend to surf and harness for her pleasure, and my own.

I squeeze the tops of her thighs, pulling them apart.

She groans. And when I fasten my mouth around the ripe fruit of her cunt, she cries out.

"Connor." She digs her fingers into my hair and tugs.

The pain ricochets down my spine and clamps around my cock, making it swell.

It’s a preamble, a taste of how incredible it’s going to be when I’m finally seated inside of her.

But first, I need to tease her, to taunt her, to show her the power of pleasure, the rightness in making her come.

The absolute ownership I have over her body—only, she doesn’t know it yet.

I’m going to teach her what it's like to revel in the kind of sensual gratification the poets have written about, and icons have sung about.

Something tells me, my hard-working doctor has drowned herself in work because she hasn’t been satisfied in other aspects of her life.

Which is where I come in. The thought of anyone else holding her, kissing her, loving her, brings out my inner beast. My chest swells with anger.

My lungs feel like they're on fire. I intend to wipe away the memory of anyone who came before me.

So that she only remembers my touch, my feel, my scent, the way I tug on her pussy lips and make her jolt.

The way I lick my way down her slit to her forbidden hole, wetting the fabric covering her center.

"Connor, please," she cries. "Please. Please. Please."

With a wicked grin, I fasten my teeth around the button of her clit outlined through her yoga pants and panties, and tug. She bows off the floor of the hot air balloon, the action making the basket rock gently. She moans, spreading her legs further apart. "Help me, Connor."

"What do you want?"

"I want—" She swallows. Then, as if unable to voice the demand trembling on her lips, she throws her arm over her eyes. "I want to come," she mumbles under her breath.

I sit back on my haunches, and after a second, she peers out from under her arm and stares at me with a panicked expression. "What are you doing?"

"What do you want me to do for you, Doc?"

"I told you, didn’t I?" She presses her lips together.

"I need you to say it louder, and slowly, please."

Her eyes flash, then she lowers her arm, her fingers bunched into a fist. I merely tilt my head, enjoying the flush deepening across her cheekbones. She seems like she’s going to refuse, then she tips up her chin. "I want to come. I want you to make me come."

"How?"

She stills.

"How do you want to come? On my fingers? My tongue or my—" I lean in slightly. "Cock?"

"On your—" She swallows. "On your cock."

"Hmm…" I nod. "That’s good. But you haven’t done anything to deserve it yet."

"What?!" Her jaw falls open.

I manage to stifle the chuckle crawling up my throat, enjoying her shock and surprise. Not that I don’t want to be inside of her. I want nothing more than to feel her snug walls close around my throbbing shaft. But not yet.

First, I want her to enjoy the foreplay.

I want every part of her body to feel like it’s awake and open to receiving.

I want her cells to tremble with yearning, the way I feel inside.

I want to see the stubbornness that’s such an inherent part of her awaken.

I want to see the fight in her stance. For every time I challenge her, she rises beautifully to the occasion.

She comes alive like a flower opening its petals to the sun.

Allowing herself to live in the moment. That is the woman I want to see more of. So, I nod.

"What are you willing to do for this orgasm, baby?"

She frowns. I wonder if it’s because of the nickname I used, but then she bites out, "Anything. I’ll do anything for it. Please use your fingers or, preferably, your tongue, or even better, your big fat cock on me, please?"

I bark out a laugh. "You surprise me at every turn."

The skin around her eyes softens. "And you… Are a bundle of contradictions. Diamond hard on the outside. Oozing with softness inside."

I reel back as if she’s struck me. "Soft? You must be mistaken."

"Am I?" A knowing look comes into her eyes. "You dropped everything to help out a friend—my brother, in this case. Never mind, it was to do something not strictly legal. Still, you couldn’t turn down his plea. Then, you found out about my ER being in trouble. You took advantage of it to spring that crazy scheme about marrying me—again, it’s an idea in a gray area—but underneath it was this desire to help me. "

I stalked her because I was obsessed with her. I used her weakness—the fact that she needs help and would not ask her own family for it—against her. Yet she sees it as evidence of my caring disposition.

A part of me is angry that she can be so gullible.

That she chose to give me the benefit of the doubt throws light into the darker corners of my soul. This curvy, intelligent, sensuous woman sees through the mask I wear for the world.

Deprived of the love of a mother, with a weak father, and an overbearing grandfather who equated nurturing with enforcing his brand of exacting discipline, my brothers and I grew up in a loveless atmosphere.

My brothers found solace in the discipline of the Marines—the rules honing them into weapons effective in times of conflict.

My older brothers have been lucky to meet women who’ve redeemed them.

But I haven’t held out such notions for myself. I’ve taken on enough missions where I had to hide my true self, so I haven’t had to face my own ghosts. It's much easier to subsume myself in a character.

The fact that this woman has seen through my facade makes me panic. And angry that she sees me so clearly. The need for her builds to a crescendo.

The need to punish her… To punish myself for wanting her so much. For becoming dangerously addicted to her in a way I swore I’d never allow myself to depend on another.

I slip my fingers under the waistband of her yoga pants, and in one smooth move, I jerk them down her legs and off, along with her clogs.

She gasps and begins to close her thighs, but I grip each one and stop her.

I stare at the wet patch on the crotch of her panties, and a fierce satisfaction grips me.

"Look at you, already so wet and ready for me.

" I cup her pussy. "The heat from your core could melt the devil himself. And I am but a man."

She makes a sound at the back of her throat, and when I jerk my chin up to look at her face, it’s to find her panting.

Her pupils are blown, the hazel having turned to a thin circle of gold blazing around the black infiltrating them. Her lips are parted, pulse beating wildly at the hollow of her neck.

"You’re a goddess." I jerk my chin. "Raise your arms."

When she does, I pull off the T-shirt, then lean back on my heels. I take in the black lacy bra, with demi cups over which her breasts spill. Her aureoles are a shadow against the fabric, her nipples buttons of delight that peak the longer I stare at them.

My eyes move down to her narrow waist, the flare of her hips encased in the sheer panties forming a pair with her bra. "Did you wear this for me, hmm?"

She moans, then shakes her head. "Why would I?"

"Because you knew I’d come for you. Because you knew I wouldn’t keep away. Because you knew you’d spun your web, and I’m caught, and I wouldn't be able to rest until I have you."