Page 19

She had no time to congratulate herself for her daring before his head lowered, his lips capturing hers.

She wasn’t even sure what to do to match his expertise, so she copied every move he made.

When he dipped his tongue into her mouth, she dipped hers into his.

When he slanted his head and began to explore, moving deeper, she followed suit.

He tasted of lime, sweet and tart, and she took him in, consumed by the moment, by him.

Creative impulse had her changing course, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth, grazing it with just enough pressure to test, to tease.

A ragged groan burst from his throat, and the kiss changed.

Everything changed. Intensity, speed, depth.

His arms tightened around her, his hands settling at the base of her spine, pulling her flush against him.

A river of liquefying pleasure surged through her, sparking along each nerve ending, unraveling her from the inside out.

Sensation blurred thought, left her breathless, weightless, lost in the moment.

She would swear later that the tips of her toes tingled.

Amazed, she wondered what he’d been holding back with the previous kiss because he hadn’t been giving his all.

He no longer played, no longer toyed, and he incited her to do the same.

This kiss—straining the boundaries of what she could tolerate while standing, with every piece of clothing still in place—made her drunker than any glass of wine.

On nothing more than a promise.

Rising to the tips of her toes, struggling to uphold her end of the bargain, she reached for him, trailing her fingers along the exposed breadth of skin above his collar before tangling them in his hair.

His skin was warm, slightly damp, his breathing ragged—impatience threading through the haze between them.

“More,” she whispered. When he didn’t make a move toward her bedroom, she tugged a lock of hair and repeated the command.

“I’ve dreamed of this every second since I saw you on the side of that road,” he said against her lips. “No rush. No .”

Angling his head, Campbell’s hands began a leisurely glide up her back, his thumbs rubbing in delicious circles, kneading, possessing.

Gathering strength of purpose, he varied—softly kissing her one moment, then diving in deep the next—until she clung to him, awaiting another assault, his arms the only thing keeping her from melting to the floor.

More . Again, the word slipped past sensation.

He was more ; this was more .

Stubble bristled below her tongue, fascinatingly coarse.

Salty. Rough and smooth in parts, his jaw muscles quivering beneath her assault.

A low moan rumbled in his throat, his fingers digging into her shoulders, squeezing, pulling her closer until her aching breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.

Beyond belief, this is what I’ve been missing .

“You’ll miss nothing tonight, Hellcat. I promise you.”

She moaned in reply, unconcerned about voicing the thought. Unconcerned if he took her right there on the kitchen floor. Anything, as long as he didn’t stop.

Hands moving to cup her face, he ravaged—teeth nipping a tender spot below her ear, lips parting on a warm, rasping breath as he sucked her skin inside. Placing kisses along her jaw, he circled back to her mouth, tilting her head to prove how deep they could go, how fiercely they could battle.

Deliciously outmaneuvered, senses afire, Fontana barely noticed the hands clasping her waist, lifting.

Instinct had her twining her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck.

Fingers tangled in his hair, she held on, rubbing her body against his, feeling his erection straining the button-fly of his jeans.

“The bedroom’s”—she wriggled, trying to get closer, seeking relief for the persistent pulse between her thighs—“along the hallway…to the left.”

She pulled his head down, fitting her lips to his. “Hurry.”

In response, he kissed her until she could do no more than hang on for dear life. She thought he smiled when a whimper she couldn’t contain slipped free.

A talented man who could tie a woman in a knot with his lips and tongue and nothing else. And he knew it.

She wasn’t a virgin, but the sensations flooding her, the tempestuous, uncontrollable tide of expectation, were leagues beyond anything she’d experienced in the back seat of Daryl Zinsky’s Z-28.

She’d been completely unprepared. For the first time, she sympathized with Jaime and Campbell, even Henry, because she had scorned passion.

Now, she simply scorned her ignorance.

“Please, Atlanta.” She urged him with her body, her tongue, her teeth, figuring what she lacked in experience she made up for in enthusiasm. A quick study, she’d already identified some of the things he liked. “I’m ready. Come on.”

He laughed raggedly and, with a side sweep of his hand, sent her mail from the kitchen counter to the floor. A fleet half-turn, his lips never leaving hers, and he settled her on top.

Puzzled, she tore her mouth away. “The counter?”

“Ye of little faith.” His hands gripped her firmly, fingers kneading as he slid her forward, aligning her body exactly where he wanted her. The ache between her thighs deepened, anticipation licking up her spine like a live wire, her pulse drumming in response .

“Open your legs,” he murmured, his voice rough, dark with suggestion.

Complying, she watched him as he watched her. Eyes downcast, damp hair curling over his brow, he seemed caught in a trance.

Stepping closer, he traced his fingers along the inside of her thigh, his touch deliberate, almost reverent.

A plaintive sound she’d never before uttered slipped free, raw and aching.

In reply, a faint smile tipped the corners of his mouth—teeth flashing, dimples flaring, satisfaction gleaming in his gaze.

A bright glow lit Fontana from the inside out. He wanted her like this: aroused to the point of delirium, feral and intoxicated.

And, God help her, she wanted to give him exactly that.

His hips bumped her knees, forcing them wide. “Yes, that’s it,” he said, moving in. He was so tall, the counter provided flawless accompaniment, aligning them with intoxicating precision. “Perfect.”

She parted her lips to speak—maybe to ask, maybe to plead—but thought scattered the moment he brought her flush against his hard cock, a demanding presence he didn’t try in the least to hide.

A grinding shift from left to right, right to left, and their bodies locked into place.

“Oh… ohhh , I get it.”

“Just wait.” His words, rough and tender, landed like little darts of passion against her lips. “You’ll get more.”

Dazed, she closed her eyes and moved with him, helping him establish a languid rhythm. His hands gripped her hips, guiding. Her hands clutched his shoulders, urging.

Through layers of denim and cotton, his solid length nestled against her—molten, abrasive, and so utterly seductive.

Delightful and wicked. Heedless, she leaned in, nuzzling the pulsing hollow beneath his ear, working frantically to contain the heat pulsing through her core.

His hair, the ends slightly damp, brushed her brow, her cheek.

She inhaled against the silken strands, his tangy scent flowing through her.

She nipped his jaw, licked to soothe, and he laughed, pulling her closer.

It felt so natural when his hand slid lower, cupping her breast, his thumb angling to tease her nipple.

Tongue, hips, fingers—driving her wild, working in a consolidated rhythm designed to unravel her, to send her over the edge.

And just as she felt the wondrous, irresistible rise of an orgasm, he released her.