Page 35 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

AUDREY

I gasp a little.

And yet… yes . This is exactly what I want.

I lean one arm against the headrest, placing my free hand against his jaw again. Gosh, does he know how perfect it is? His whole face, even. The Roman-like nose, his shockingly soft lips, and the half mast eyes that are doing things to me.

He is doing things to me. I forgot that I could feel this way entirely.

Finally, I lean down and close my eyes. A girlish sigh comes out of me once our lips meet again.

I’m going to take it slowly this time around. The rain beats at the car violently, and there’s nowhere better to be than right here, right now. Miguel grabs my waist in handfuls and finally my brain turns off.

I breathe him in deep, the cedar and the man, and his own breath as it mingles with mine.

Miguel matches my pace, his lips caressing mine softly, mapping every contour like he wants to preserve it in his memory.

He’s so hot, so tender, that I’m melting on top of him.

And then the itch for more starts, first in my belly, gradually expanding until every cell in my body’s vibrating.

Until I need him more than air. Until I can’t take sweet anymore.

I need hot.

My tongue comes out to savor his lips, and I can’t hold back after that. Miguel draws in a harsh breath and opens his mouth, and since I’m on top of him I make the big effort of tilting my head for better access. And he gives me all of it.

It’s like an explosion when our open mouths let our tongues meet. Fireworks and lightning, a volcano’s eruption, a car crash that spreads flowers all around. I smile into Miguel’s mouth because I didn’t know I had it in me to be so melodramatic.

One of his hands makes a bold journey from my waist, down to my hip and outer thigh, finding the end of my skirt and sneaking underneath. A moan tears out of him the second he finds skin, and I suck in air.

“Too much?” he rasps out against my mouth.

Yes. No. Not enough. Definitely too much.

I respond with a thick, “I did give you permission to touch my legs.”

“Hmm, thank you for that,” Miguel whispers, his hand rising above my knee and awakening every pore in my skin. “Now, kiss me again.”

I comply. Swiftly. Happily.

We both moan in a way that is so not safe for work.

Oops, I Did It Again is playing in the background and I wish I could tell Britney that yes, indeed, I’m kissing Miguel a third time.

Thank goodness for the storm that keeps raging outside.

My back arches unbidden, pressing me even closer to the man burning up under me.

He mumbles something in Spanish that I can’t understand consciously.

Subconsciously I do. It means more .

My hand palms the powerful column of his neck, muscles working as we eat each other’s mouths like dessert. His hand under my skirt grabs tighter onto my outer thigh, like it’s his. Like it’s a truth universally acknowledged.

Me too , I scream desperately from the bottom of my soul. My hand meets the neck of his dress shirt and tries to slide underneath, but there’s too much resistance. I find the evil button that’s getting in my way, but my fingers are clumsy and too stiff.

Our lips make an embarrassing smacking noise as I pull away. “Help me,” I demand with the same attitude as him when he commanded me to kiss him.

The sneaky man leaves his hand on my thigh, releasing my waist to reach for his button. We’re both breathing like horses as I brace myself against the seat so he can access the button, and he undoes it without an issue.

Then another.

I glance at his face, and the tiny smirk stretching his lips almost makes me faint on top of him. “Should I keep going?” Miguel asks with the deepest, raspiest voice that wraps around my sensitive skin like velvet.

I can’t suppress a shiver.

“Sure,” I respond, with far more bravado than I feel.

My eyes have a difficult time moving away from his lips, especially when he gives the full bottom one a little bite.

I grip the seat even harder and force my attention lower, first at the delectable chin I now want to bite, at the Adam’s apple at his throat that bobs with a swallow, the dip at the base of his throat, the dusting of hair at his chest. His hand keeps working, now at the third button.

There’s a deep ridge where his pecks meet and I snap my mouth shut a second before drooling.

“This good enough?” he asks.

I draw in a sharp breath. “Keep going.”

His pauses just for a second, and then resumes the work.

His stomach starts coming into view. I should probably say that’s enough, but for some reason I can’t—a reason that has nothing to do with my brain and everything to do with my hormones.

I stay very quiet as Miguel reaches the last button before his pants begin, and I almost regret that they’re in the way.

Oh my word, he has a happy trail.

I swallow hard. Of course he does. He’s a man—one with impressive testosterone, and a body sculpted by the heavens. His muscles tighten to the point where his abs become prominent.

“Wow, so you have a sleeper build,” I whisper in awe, not even registering the fact that one of my hands is on his skin.

“Uh…” Miguel tries to clear his throat, and it doesn’t work by how his voice comes out next, “Trust me, I’m very much awake.”

“Does this bother you?” I sound a little shy for the first time tonight, even as my hand is splayed right in the middle of his chest.

After a pause, Miguel responds, “Not one bit.”

Somehow I manage to murder a squeal just as it starts to form.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, touching a man—and not just anyone, but Miguel.

The single dad next door. The new star of my baseball team.

Someone who gets recognized in elevators, who other women would kill to be in this position with.

Moreover, I can’t believe he’s letting me.

But here we are, my hand slowly feeling his chest, the velvet of his skin, the dusting of hair, the steel of the muscles beneath. His breath comes out harsher as I find his abs, like he’s definitely sensitive around here. And as proof, his hand under my skirt rises some more.

There’s nothing soft about how I kiss him now.

Years of pent up need to feel desired finally rush out of hiding. There’s no way after this that I can go back to lying to myself that I’m fine. That I’m better off without this closeness.

Miguel’s other hand finds the skin at my upper back, blazing a trail of fire to hold the back of my neck as I devour his mouth.

With his other hand, he pushes me closer against him and for a wild moment I hope that it keeps climbing up, but it doesn’t.

In fact, it makes a slow descent toward my knee, and surprisingly I find myself not disappointed at all. Not one damn bit.

His mouth is so hot, his larger lips so perfect against mine. His hair is so soft, his chest so hard. What a perfect man. I’m going to dream about this moment for the rest of my life.

Violent thunder goes off, breaking the fantasy just a little bit. My jaw hurts and I’m struggling for breath, so I slow down a little—a lot—but I can’t pull away. Not yet.

“It’s still raining,” I whisper, a clear plea to keep going.

“It sure is,” he volleys back, all serious.

A little laugh tears from my soul. Who cares if my jaw is tired? I’m never going to have another chance like this.

I slide my hand up, under his shirt until I find his sculpted shoulder. Miguel’s watching me with almost sleepy eyes, if it wasn’t for the fact that there’s very clear hunger behind them. I’m sure mine aren’t any better.

He caresses my calf, slowly going up and down, his touch firm and uncompromising. Like he’s also enjoying the moment.

“What if it rains all night?” Miguel asks in a murmur.

My other hand returns to his jaw, sliding slightly forward toward his chin, until my thumb finds his swollen lip. “Then we kiss all night,” I respond like that makes sense and should be obvious. As if that wasn’t dangerous at all for either of us.

Miguel bobs his head a little. “Sounds good,” he says against my thumb and next thing, he’s biting it softly. The gentle scrape of his teeth against the pad of my finger nearly undoes me.

“M-Miguel!” His name trembles in my slip.

The little jerk smirks again, my thumb still captive. When he flicks his tongue against my finger I see…

Not red. I just see him. Pinned under my weight willingly, touching me. Tasting me.

I claim his lips again—or so I tell myself, and not that he’s the one doing the claiming with both of his hands on visible bare skin, with his heat surrounding me, the steel of his body against my much softer one, our breaths becoming one, hearts beating against each other’s chests.

I will the rain to keep pouring, thunder to keep cracking, for this night to never end so I don’t have to wake up from this dream. So I can stay in the embrace of a sweet and delicious man.

So I can keep kissing Miguel.