Hard to Handle (Caine Cousins #2)(25)

“Reagan…”

The way he said her name was a warning, she knew.

She ignored it.

Sliding her hand behind his neck, she urged him down toward her, their eyes locked together until her eyes crossed from his nearness. At that point, she let her eyelids lower and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

Warm, soft.

And Jesus, he smelled so good. Like laundry detergent and soap.

Lynx didn’t kiss her back. In fact, he didn’t move. She could feel the tension in his entire body.

Pulling back slightly, she forced her eyes open only to find his were closed.

“Why won’t you kiss me?”

“Because I promised,” he whispered as his eyes opened and he focused on her.

She studied him momentarily, allowing her gaze to bounce from his lips to his eyes, then back again.

“But you want to?” She had to ask; she needed to know.

“More than anything,” he rasped.

Holding his gaze for another second, Reagan let that sink in. If he wanted her and she wanted him…

“Fuck that promise,” she murmured before grabbing him roughly and jerking him toward her.

This time Lynx didn’t resist, and the second his mouth was on hers, Reagan’s world lit up like the Fourth of July back in the day when the only thing that mattered was shooting bottle rockets and lighting up the sky, her body buzzing like that one time her brother dared her to stick a fork into the electrical socket in their kitchen.

Quick, powerful. All-consuming.

It was a kiss to rival all, and it only took seconds before she realized she wasn’t in control here. In fact, when it came to Lynx, Reagan was completely out of control.

“Fuck,” Lynx groaned, his arms coming around her, his hands cupping her ass and lifting her off her feet.

Reagan felt nothing except for the warmth of his mouth on hers, the confidence in his tongue as it plunged past her teeth, dueling with hers. She inhaled him, unable to get enough. There was nothing sweet or seductive about this kiss. It was fueled with years’ worth of pent-up desire, the sexual frustration finally finding an outlet.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she lifted herself with her arms around his neck, trying to get closer, trying to take everything this man was willing to give her.

The rough growl that rumbled in Lynx’s chest had her pussy clenching tightly, the emptiness inside her never more apparent than that moment. He held her so easily, as though she weighed nothing. She liked it, for whatever reason. Lynx Caine made her feel feminine in a way she’d never felt before.

When her back met an unmoving force, Reagan grunted, but didn’t pull away. He’d pushed her up against one of the steel beams holding up the second floor, which ultimately allowed their bodies to press more tightly together. Reagan ground against him, the seam of her jean shorts rubbing deliciously against her throbbing clit, a zing of pleasure slamming through her. She could feel his erection, thick and hard, grinding against her most sensitive spot.

“Christ, Reagan,” he groaned against her mouth. “This is dangerous. You know that, right?”

Oh, she knew. She knew exactly what he was feeling and she was grateful Lynx didn’t pull back. There was a fire burning out of control inside her, and every second that he kissed her, it heated until she was consumed by it.

When his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, Reagan sucked in air and pulled back abruptly. He was touching her, and heaven help her, it felt so damn good. His rough fingers against her skin, searching, seeking.

“Lynx! Oh, fuck… Oh, yes…”

“So fucking wet,” he growled against her neck, his mouth doing delicious things to that sensitive skin while his fingers probed beneath her panties, finding her slick entrance.

Rather than pull away, Reagan tried to move closer although she was pinned between his hard body and the steel beam. “Don’t stop,” she hissed when his fingers stilled. “Please don’t stop.”

“Not sure I can handle it,” he rasped roughly. “Feeling you come on my fingers might do me in, girl.”

The way he said that … girl. There was a sexiness in it, almost like a term of endearment. It made her hotter, wetter.

“Once I start, I won’t stop,” he insisted.

But she needed that. She needed him to make her come. If he didn’t, she was going to spontaneously combust.

“Make me come,” she pleaded.

When he pushed one finger inside her, she moaned long and loud. It was all she could do to not move, her body desperate for the friction that only he could provide right then.

Oh, who was she kidding? It wasn’t the friction she needed, it was him.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Lynx muttered. “I wanna taste you. Wanna feel this sweet pussy on my mouth.”

Opening her eyes, Reagan watched his face. His eyes were so dark, his hunger for her apparent. When he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, Reagan tightened her grip on him.

“Make me come,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

She could tell he was debating.

In an effort to reassure him, she grabbed his hair, pulling his head back so she could look in his eyes.

“Just this once.”

His body went stone-still, his fingers, while still lodged in her body, no longer moving.

“Not once,” he growled. “If I make you come, Reagan, it’ll be the first of many. I won’t settle for one fucking time.”