Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(94)

So, that’s Mac’s home… And, yeah, she could see the allure. The beauty in the vastness of the land. The windswept wonder of it all.

Fido walked around the room, sniffing furniture and shoving his snout into a wastepaper basket. Then he climbed atop one of the leather chairs, curling himself into what she’d come to term the doggy-doughnut—where his nose met his furry butt—and immediately closed his eyes. She turned to Mac. He was hovering on the threshold, looking ready to bolt. “You coming?”

He shook his head. “No, I—”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his arm and hauled him inside the room. When she kicked the door closed, the look on Mac’s face went from merely startled to flat-out terrified. Her heart clenched for him. But she couldn’t give in to the desire to comfort him or confront him. He wasn’t ready for either. That would come later, when he was softened up, during the warm afterglow of hot, sweaty sex. For now, she needed to focus entirely on seduction.

Lucky for her—and all women, really—seducing a man didn’t take much.

Bending to yank off her biker boots and socks, she instructed Mac to do the same. Her shirt and bra went next, followed by her jeans and panties. When she was standing buck naked in front of him, the cool air in the room raising goose bumps over her skin, she looked up to find him still completely clothed. Not that she was surprised. He was going to fight this. She’d known on the ride over that he was going to fight this every step of the way.

Fortunately, she was a stubborn woman. And once she set her mind on task, woe to any man, woman, child, fruit, vegetable, mineral, or other that stood in her way…

She strolled over to him, making sure to give her hips an extra little swing, delighted that his eyes were superglued to the bounce of her boobs. When she reached for the hem of his T-shirt, he grabbed her wrist, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the tan column of his throat. “W-we had a deal. A one-night stand only. No strings. No hurt—”

“I’m reneging on that deal,” she said, feeling not one ounce of regret even when his wonderfully dimpled chin jerked back. “We’re going to make a new deal,” she said, reveling in the feel of his hot skin along the backs of her fingers where she was still gripping his shirt. “A new deal where we take this thing one day at a time. Every day, I’ll wake up and remind you that I’m not your mother and that you are not your father.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked frantically as his nostrils flared wide. She saw she’d distracted him enough to whip his T-shirt over his head. The sight of him, of all that tanned, toned flesh made her throat constrict and her nipples furl.

“Every day I’m going to wake up and tell you I love you.”

His eyes became overly bright. His big chest began to quake. It caused tears to prick behind her nose—seeing big, bad Mac McMillan so scared and vulnerable—but she swallowed them. She had to remain strong, resolute. It was the only way she was going to win this game. Win against years of hurt and confusion. Win against plain ol’ wrong-headedness.

“And every day I’m going to wake up and tell you that I’m not leaving you.”

She could see him struggling. Struggling against his past. Against the desire to believe her words. Against the tears that filled his eyes. She knew he was hovering on the precipice, and she knew this could go one of two ways. Either he’d admit his love for her and agree to her terms, or he’d fall back on his old patterns and kick her out of his bedroom…

In such a volatile state, she didn’t trust him to make the right decision. So, she put it off for a bit longer by reaching for his belt buckle and saying, “So, what’ll it be? The dresser again?”

“Huh?” he gulped, shaking his head, blinking rapidly.

“It just seems to me,” she whipped off his belt and started in on the buttons of his fly, “that you’re a bit partial to dressers.”

“I—”

He stopped talking, his eyes rolling back in his head when she reached into his pants, into his boxers, and wrapped her fist around the hard, hot, pulsing length of him.

“Mmm,” she murmured, stepping up to him, thrilled by the warmth radiating from him as she pressed a kiss to his delectable Texas tattoo. “I’ve missed this.” She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, simultaneously licking the flat brown disk of his nipple, delighted when the little nub sprang to life against her tongue. “Have you missed this?”

“God, yes,” he admitted, his fingers plucking at her, causing a liquid ache to build and throb between her thighs.

When her hand slid to the end of his shaft and she felt a silky drop of moisture waiting there, she couldn’t help herself. She dropped to her knees, simultaneously dragging his jeans and boxers down his large thighs.

Mary and Joseph, just look at him…

So unapologetically male. So big and…and angry looking, all red, violently veined skin and shiny, plump head. Saliva pooled on her tongue. She leaned forward to kiss the tip of him, to clasp his shaft in a hard fist just as he’d showed her, to cup his tight, warm balls in her free hand.

“Delilah!” Her name was barely discernible his voice was so guttural. And when she opened her mouth and swallowed the head of him, drank in the salty essence of him, he was reduced to nonsensical syllables.

Both his hands were fisted in her hair. His hips moving slightly, the muscles in his thighs twitching as if he were struggling to keep himself from thrusting forward violently. The feel of him against her tongue was amazing. Such soft skin covering such unyielding hardness. His veins were bumpy. They pulsed rhythmically when she pressed her lips against them.