No, wait. She was gripping spikes of his hair, tugging them. Hard. A few had already ripped from his scalp and were wrapped around her fingers.
He didn’t complain.
She eased closer to him, relaxing her clasp. Her mouth found his neck, and she licked. His skin was a little abrasive, but perfect.
“You’re so hot,” he said.
“On fire,” she agreed. She licked the seam of his lips.
He captured the tip of her tongue and sucked. The hand on her waist slid down . . . down . . . and cupped her ass. As he’d correctly guessed earlier, she wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the tops of his fingers teased her most feminine core. She was so wet, she practically dripped between her legs.
“Shit. You’re killing me.” One of his fingers stroked her clitoris.
A tremor rocked her. Shouldn’t be this good. Not with him.
Before the thought finished whispering through her mind, her entire world spun. Then cool bark was pressing into her back, and Falon was searing her front. He pinned her arms over her head with one hand and palmed her breast with the other.
“I knew you’d be this good,” he growled, not sounding the least bit happy about it.
“Wh-what?” Trying to find her common sense, she blinked open her eyes. When had she closed them? Falon loomed over her. His features were harsh, lined with tension, his gaze a swirling sea of blues, purples, and pinks. How odd. They’d never looked that way before.
His shoulders were so wide, his body seemed to engulf her. Sweat beaded over his sun-kissed skin. He was like an animal whose stomach was rumbling—and he’d just spotted his prey. “Knew it,” he finished. “Feared it.”
What was he talking about? Feared what? And why wasn’t he kissing her? “Falon, I—”
“I want this nipple in my mouth.”
“Yes.” Please, yes. That still qualified as kissing. “Hurry.”
He ripped her nightgown down, revealing both mounds of her breasts. They were large. Overflowing. The nipples were pink, the hardened tips desperate. For a long while, he simply stared down at her.
Glory’s cheeks began to heat, and not with desire. Did he like what he saw? He was used to slender women, had once turned Glory away because she wasn’t his type. How could she have forgotten?
Embarrassed to her soul, she jerked at his hold, meaning to slide the nightgown back in place. He held strong.
His lips curled in a frown. “What are you doing?”
“Ending this,” she said, unable to look at him.
“Be still.”
“No.”
He increased the death grip on her wrists, and his other hand cupped her chin, forcing her to face him. “Why do you want to end it?”
“Because.” Like she’d say it aloud. But maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s how he meant to punish her.
Punishment. Of course. How could she have forgotten?
You brought this on yourself. Tears burned her eyes, and her chin trembled.
“What’s wrong? You look ready to cry.”
“Let me go,” she commanded brokenly, focusing on his nose so that she wouldn’t have to see those amazing eyes of his and whatever emotion was now banked there.
A moment passed in silence.
“Glory,” he said.
Do it; look at him. Get it over with. See his disgust and start to hate him again. Slowly, her gaze lifted. When their eyes met, she gasped. There was a fire raging there. Tension still branched his mouth, and sweat still trickled down his temples. He looked on edge, aroused to the point of pain.
“I think you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. And, like I said, I want your nipple in my mouth, and I think you want it there, too.”
She gulped, unable to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.
“I’m going to release your arms. You can push me away or you can urge me closer. The choice is yours.”
And just like that, she was free. Her arms fell to her sides. She gripped the tree, and jagged bits of bark cut past her skin. The sting did nothing to dampen her desire. He was so hard and hot against her he was like a brand. The pulse in his neck galloped fiercely. His lips were red and glistening from the kiss.
His chest had stopped moving, she realized. He was holding his breath. Waiting. The knowledge . . . softened her. Was he afraid she’d leave him?
With a shaky hand, she reached out and palmed his erection.
He hissed in a breath.
The tip of his penis had risen well above the waist of his jeans. Actually, the material was so strained, the button had snapped open on its own.
“Trying to torture me?” he croaked. “’Cause it’s working.”
Was it? She moistened her lips and released him. Was bereft without him in her hand.
Now he moaned.
Despite the warnings trying to slither into her mind, she cupped her breasts and lifted them. “Touch me.”
His eyes widened in surprised delight. A moment later, he dipped down and flicked his tongue against one pearled nipple, then the other.
She’d experienced pleasure before, but that had been nothing compared to this. There was an invisible cord from each of her nipples that lead straight to her core, as if he were actually thrumming her clitoris while he licked her. This was Falon, the man she’d fantasized about for years. The man’s whose strength and heat and raw intensity destroyed her defenses and made her crave . . .
Soon she was writhing, couldn’t have remained still if the plan had been to pretend she felt nothing for him to undermine his confidence and try to convince him he was lacking. He was not lacking.
He scraped her with his teeth, and she groaned. His fingers caressed a path down her stomach. Her muscles quivered when he paused. Glory felt as though she stood on a precipice, waiting to be pushed over. Would he delve lower, like before, only . . . deeper?
“How did I ever find the strength to send you away?” he asked hoarsely.
Some of the flames inside her dwindled to a crackle, and she almost screamed in frustration. If he kept talking, kept reminding her of their painful history, she might lose her pleasure buzz. “No more talking. You’ll ruin it.”
A soft chuckle rumbled from him. The tip of one finger traced a circle around her navel, then dipped again, lower this time. Dabbling at the small triangle of hair, tickling. “Nothing could ruin this. You’re perfection.”
Her? Perfection? Entranced, she parted her legs, giving him all the access he could possibly need.
Through the material of the nightgown, he circled her clitoris next. Again. Finally. He pressed.
“Oh, bright lightning,” she gasped.
“Like that?”
“Yes. More.”
He didn’t give it to her but continued to play with her, revving her to that sense of uncontrollable desire again. “You’re so wet,” he praised. “For me.”
“Yes. You.” She tried to arch into his touch, tried to force his fingers to press harder. “Falon.”
“Oh, but I like the sound of my name on your lips.” His tongue glided up to her collarbone, his teeth nipping along the way. She turned her head aside, and he sucked at her pulse.
“I want to get on my knees. I want to taste between your legs. Say yes.” He gripped the hem of her nightgown, slowly lifting.
“Ye—” Red alert! blared inside her mind, shoving past her need to scream yes. If he touched the knot in her gown, he would discover the pen. He would realize he’d taken a stick from her instead.
His knuckles brushed her thigh, and her knees almost buckled. “All you have to do is say yes, and my tongue will be inside you . . .”
His dark head, buried between her legs . . . one of her knees, draped over his shoulder . . . his tongue, stroking her to orgasm . . . She yearned for it so badly she had tears in her eyes. But she forced herself to say, “No,” and at last to shove him away.