Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(43)

Mmm, horizontal…

That sounded pretty good. Damn good, as a matter of fact and she got distracted from thoughts of wrestling him back toward the bed because, right then, he did something magical. He softly caught her tongue between his teeth, simultaneously sucking and flicking the tip with his own before once more plunging into her mouth.

Holy hell, the man can kiss. Not that she was all that surpri—

Whoa. What?

Just as quickly as the kiss began, it ended. One minute his tongue was rubbing languorously against hers, his big, warm hands spanning her waist, his hard chest cushioning her aching breasts. The next minute he was just…gone. G.O.N.E. Having broken the seal of their lips and taken a step back.

“How was that?” he asked, panting slightly.

“Uhhh.” She coughed, pressing a hand to her spinning head. “Good,” she managed to croak. “It was good.”

“All out of your system?”

She lifted her eyes to his face, gratified to find it flushed with desire. Not even attempting to be sly, she let her gaze slide down to his fly. And, sure enough, there it was. Mr. Woody. And, really, who was he trying to kid?

“Out of my system?” she asked incredulously. “Are you insane?”

Without a second thought, she slammed into him, pushing him back until he stumbled over his biker boots. The instant his back hit the wall, she was up on her tiptoes, ravaging his delectable mouth with everything she had.

Now who’s doing the plundering and conquering, huh?

***

Damned if Mac wasn’t kissing Delilah right back…

He couldn’t believe it. And there was a large part of his brain that was screaming, What the f*ck, dude? It was supposed to be one kiss! Just one kiss!

Yessir, a large part of his brain was screaming exactly that. Over and over. But the rest of him? Well the rest of him was yelling something else entirely. Something that started with “oh” and ended with “yeah” and had a “hell” thrown in somewhere in the middle.

Which could mean only one thing. He was dumber than dirt. Dumber than a barrel of hair. If brains were leather, his wouldn’t be able to saddle a flea…

Shit. And he knew there was a reason this was all so very dangerous. He knew there was something he should be remembering right now. Something important. But the way she was moving against him made it impossible to latch onto a single thought. She was so sinuous, so…goddamned sexy. Like a cat. Like a cat with boobs. Great, glorious, gorgeous boobs—excuse the alliteration. But damn. He could wax poetic about those things for hours on end, compose sonnets to their majesty, write plays exalting their grandeur and—

“Mac,” she breathed against his lips, pressing her hips into him softly, suggestively. And when she felt the steely length of his erection pounding against the metal teeth of his zipper, like a honeymooning couple in Texas, she took things over-the-border, thrusting her pelvis forward to rub against him in the most mind-numbing way.

Mind-numbing. Yessir. That was the only way to describe it. Because in that instant, even the fleeting, insubstantial thoughts in his head clenched right along with his nuts. He was no longer in control. He was a beast bent on rutting. Bent on ravaging this woman who’d been driving him crazy for four long years.

He was so hard he hurt. He wanted to pull those tight-ass jeans from her long, silky legs, yank aside the crotch of her panties, and thrust himself into her wet heat in order to satisfy the ache.

Someone growled. Was it him? He couldn’t be certain.

What he could be certain of was that it was him who grabbed her waist and spun her around, pressing her back into the wall and shoving his thigh up high and tight between her legs.

Oh, Lord have mercy, sultry…

He could feel her heat even through the double layer of denim. She was so steamy she damn near set him on fire. His dick pounded in appreciation and in a simultaneous bid for freedom from the close confines of his jeans.

“Delilah,” he whispered her name, unable to help himself. Unable to stop the hand that skimmed up the edge of that ball-swelling T-shirt as her deliciously agile tongue darted into the depths of his mouth.

The woman was a witch. She’d cast some sort of spell over him with her killer curves and cat-eyed stare, with her soft mouth and mewling little sounds of encouragement. Not that he needed any encouragement, really. Because he was already skating his hand up the smooth skin of her side, reveling in the goose bumps that met his touch, coming to a sudden stop when his thumb brushed the underside of one gorgeous breast.

Delilah tore her mouth away. Mac watched her, watched those beautiful eyes of hers roll back in her head when he cupped her, weighed her. He growled—yeah, that had probably been him earlier, too—in masculine approval as he rubbed his thumb over the crest of her.

Her nipple was tightly furled. He could feel it through the satin of her unadorned pink bra. It pressed against him in wanton abandon. And when he pinched it ever so lightly between his thumb and forefinger, her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Her irises had darkened a shade in passion, going from fern green to forest green, and the sight was enough to spur him on.

Pulling the cup of her bra down, he lowered his chin and just…looked.

“My God,” he whispered, realizing he sounded a bit like a penitent but unable to help himself. He wasn’t a religious man. The only deity he’d ever really known was a .45 caliber bullet in a smooth working piece. But one look at her and he became a believer. Because only God could craft something so beautiful. So completely, unequivocally perfect.