“You want me to show you, huh?” he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.
Do I ever. “Yes, please.”
He lifted away and shoved his hand behind his back. She watched in awe as he yanked at his shirt, clutching the material between his shoulder blades, and started pulling the material forward. Firm skin revealed itself, inch by maddening inch. Screw food. It wasn’t her stomach Emory had to worry about. What she needed was covered by cotton and denim, a fucking crime as far as she was concerned.
Strands of dark hair covered his brow when the shirt slid free. He tossed the clothing to the ground and looked at her, his irises glowing yellow. Her heart thudded before it started pounding erratically. How had she ever managed to run from this man? She must have been blind or crazy—possibly both, considering their history. As for now? Running was the last thing she wanted. Someone would have to pry her away from his side if they wanted her to turn from him.
He watched as she placed her fingers on his chest. His skin was silken and hot, the muscles hard yet smooth. He closed his eyes, a look of contentment and need on his face. “Don’t stop,” he murmured with a soft growl. “I want to feel your soft little hands all over my body.”
“Like this?” She kept the contact light, running her fingers along his pectoral muscles to his abdomen. She traced the lines of his six-pack, tickling his skin with her nails. The corded muscles beneath her fingers hardened, flexing.
“Just like that.” He didn’t open his eyes, his breathing ragged. “I love your touch.”
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached down and flattened her palm against the bulge in his jeans. The hard outline of his cock greeted her, the length unrelenting and solid. His eyes snapped open and locked with hers. There was so much desire in his gaze—so much want—it felt as though it scorched her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, brows drawn together, his expression fierce.
She writhed against him, lifting her hips so that she trapped her hand between his body and hers. “Do I look like I’m afraid of being burned?”
“You should be.”
There was that look again—like he really was going to eat her alive.
He didn’t look away as he rocked against her, grinding his cock into her hand. She groaned and grasped the length of him. With a soft squeeze, she ran her fingers upward until she felt the mushroom-shaped tip. His attention slowly lowered from her face and he stared at her breasts. He dipped his head and ran his nose along her collarbone in a breezy motion. Her skin tingled, fire racing from her stomach to her pussy as he nipped a path down her sternum. His teeth caught her shirt here and there along the way.
“You smell incredible, Mary. Are you excited, sweetheart?”
She started to answer when the words caught in her throat, rational thought obliterated by the fingers that shimmied beneath her T-shirt. She gasped when his hand slid beneath the waist of her sweatpants and traveled down. Heat flooded her cheeks. Forgoing underwear had never been so embarrassing—or so arousing. There was no barrier between Emory’s fingers and her skin. One touch and he’d feel precisely how excited she was.
“So soft,” he whispered and stroked her slit. “So hot and wet.”
His cock jerked against her hand, straining into her palm. Emory slid two fingers inside her, thrusting deep. Warmth spread from her stomach and stretched through her torso. She glided her palm along his length as he fingered her, timing it so they moved in tandem. After several seconds she abandoned her efforts and tried not to focus on the fingers teasing her pussy. If he was going to touch her skin to skin, it was only fair she be able to touch him too.
“Mary—”
“Just wait,” she said, stunned at how deep her voice had become. It took both hands to open Emory’s jeans and part the material so she could reach inside. His breath caught when she wedged her hand between the denim and his hot cock, his skin hard but smooth.
He hissed at the contact, pushing against her palm. The muscle in his jaw tightened as he peered down at her. “Remember what I said about playing with fire?”
“Yes.” God, did she remember. She wanted to burn, to crumble like fresh, smoking ash in his arms. “Show me.”
He moved so quickly she barely had time to register the motion. His lips captured hers, his tongue diving into her mouth, no longer tender but aggressive. This time when he thrust his fingers into her, he used enough force to drive her toward the headboard. She cried into his lips, rocking against his hand when his thumb brushed her clit. This is what she wanted, the very thing that had drawn her from the bedroom in search of Emory. She’d been nervous about leaving the safety of the bedroom but not so much she could deny her need for him.
His fingers hit the sensitive place inside her, rubbing with expert motions. She squirmed beneath him, aching for more, rocking her hips so that his thumb applied more pressure to her swollen clitoris. Soon she’d soar to the stars, gone from one reality and sent to another.
If only he’d keep touching her there.
“You like that?” The heat of his breath caressed her lips. The intimacy was almost more than she could take, keeping her trapped on the edge. “You’re so sweet, Mary. So slick and ready for me.”
Yes, she was. Fuck a duck, she wanted this. Her arms shook, the trembling through her limbs impossible to stop. It was as if she had something inside her, an entity that reached out to Emory and begged him for all he could give.
“Please.” The word sounded so raw, so open. “Please.”
“Right there.” His fingers created a glorious friction inside her. “Do you feel how good this is? Can you take what I want to give you?”
She shattered, fragmenting into unadulterated ecstasy. She forgot to continue stroking him to bring him to climax along with her. The feelings were too good, too damn consuming. Her gasp didn’t pass her lips, caught in his mouth. His tongue teased hers, the tip rotating in dizzying circles around hers.
Emory.
How had she ever existed without this?
How did I exist without him?
“You’re so beautiful.” She shuddered at the words, undulating against the clever fingers testing her more tender inner flesh. “So goddamn hot.”
She felt his breath against her skin, the exhalations against her throat fueling her climax. When the ripples of pleasure subsided, she sagged into the pillows. Her hand remained on his hard cock, the warmth of his skin seeping into her palm.
“I warned you,” he growled. “I said you were playing with fire.”
Before she could question him, he’d yanked on her sweatpants. The material swept down her thighs before it seemed to vanish. She whimpered as cool air brushed the lips of her vagina, so cold against her sensitive and heated flesh. The hands Emory placed on her knees told her what he intended. He applied steady pressure to part her thighs, leaving her vulnerable and open. She spread her legs, trembling beneath his much larger form. As anxious as she was to feel his mouth against her hammering sex, she was also nervous. She was still new to the games lovers played, uncertain and jumpy.
Emory leaned back, giving her plenty of space. “Take off the shirt. I want to see you.”
In order to do as he asked, she had to let go of his cock, fingers drifting from his satiny length. He watched as she pulled the shirt up her torso and over her head. She tossed the shirt to the ground and he simply stared, his eyes roaming over her body. Her gaze drifted down his chest, until her eyes rested on his engorged penis. The broad head protruded from his jeans, the length beneath thick and straining to break free.