In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(62)

As if I could be so lucky, she thought.

And just when she was sure she’d miscalculated, just when she was about to back up and close the door in his face—a woman could only offer so much, take so much rejection—something changed in his expression.

He went from looking like a torture victim to looking like a hungry hawk that just spotted a wounded mouse hobbling through the tall grass.

Her heart nearly exploded with happiness when he took two big steps in her direction, pushing her back into her room, softly closing and locking the door behind him.

***

He wanted to rip open his jeans, bend her over the desk, and sink himself into her until his heated balls smashed against her smooth ass.

That was one part of him.

The other part of him knew he only had this one night. This one night to make it count.

He reached out to touch her hair, reveling in the sight of his thick, callused fingers against the smooth, golden strands.

He’d always loved her hair, especially like this. She usually had it pulled back in a ponytail, all slick, contained and do-not-touch. But it was certainly advertising “touch me” with the way it fell around her shoulders and down her back in a messy, golden curtain.

He moved to her cheek, rubbing a gentle thumb over the slight bruise that remained there, shuddering when he remembered the absolute terror that’d squeezed his heart when he thought she was going to go over the side of the tanker and the burst of overwhelming relief and joy when his fingers managed to grip her slender ankle.

Lightly he traced the smooth column of her throat, stopping at her rapidly beating pulse-point and feeling the head of his dick pound in rhythm to her heart.

Two hearts beating as one. He’d heard that said somewhere. At the time, he’d thought it a big ol’ load of hooey-gooey nonsense, but now? Oh yeah. He got it. And it wasn’t hooey gooey at all. It was erotic as hell.

She must’ve thought so too, because she was breathing heavily, her big, soft eyes wide, staring with such trust and hope and hunger.

He licked his lips as he let his fingers drift lower, over her delicate collarbone, and further still. Until he brushed the tight, peachy bud of her nipple. She shuddered and an answering ripple of sensation ripped up the length of his spine.

“Frank,” she whispered, trembling openly now.

He didn’t know exactly what kind of sex she wanted. What kind of sex she expected from him…

Most times, he liked sex that was slow and hot, a little bit naughty when his partner was willing, and a whole lot unrestrained regardless. But what kind of sex did Becky want? Because, despite the fact that this was his one night, all he cared about was being perfect for her.

She moved toward him then, apparently through waiting for him to act, and wound her slim arms around his neck, standing up on tiptoe to try and reach his lips. Even with the added height, she was still too short, God love her. So he bent his head and marveled at the smoothness of her lips when they brushed against his own, the taste of her tongue when she boldly licked into his mouth. He couldn’t help but angle her chin with the palm of his hand and return the gesture and—

Watermelon.

That must’ve been the flavor of the last Dum Dum she ate.

It was ambrosia. Nectar of the gods. And she was a goddess.

Especially when she moved closer, pressing herself against him. Breast to chest. Hip to hip. Skin to skin.

She was so hot, so smooth and supple and so very, very female.

Yes, yes, yes, yes…

That’s all that was going through his head. Just that one word over and over again, because it was a stupefying, mind-blowing sensation having Becky, naked, in his arms. Even more mind-blowing when she hooked a heel behind his knee and ground her hips against the hard length of his swollen cock. And when the warmth of her belly pressed against the sensitive head of him, where he was peeking from the waistband of his jeans, he froze…

“Becky—” He tried to pull back from the kiss, pull back from the grip of her sweet arms, but she just pressed herself closer, sighing her approval of the resulting growl that issued from the back of his throat and the hand suddenly grabbing her ass, anchoring her to him as he ground his hips into the wet warmth between her legs.

He’d been about to ask her something, but he was having a hard time remembering what. Especially since her hands were everywhere, in his hair, rubbing over his chest, reaching around to squeeze his ass, and then she was unbuttoning his jeans…

Kee-rist!

It was too good. With her tongue in his mouth and his hand full of her breast, her hard nipple rasping under his thumb.

If he didn’t ask it now, he’d get too carried away, and then he’d be in no position to ask at all. “Becky, what do you want?”

“I want you to keep kissing me, keep touching me,” she breathed, licking the side of his neck and driving him insane.

Yeah, well, that’s a given. So much so he had to laugh. “But specifically what do you like. What kind of kisses, what kind of touches, how do you—”

She devoured his mouth. That was the only way to describe it. She grabbed his face, sealed their lips, and feasted like a starving woman even as she reached between them again, spreading the halves of his fly apart in order to stroke him.

And her hand…

Her sweet, calloused hand—Becky’s hands weren’t soft; she worked with them, and it showed—felt so unbelievably wonderful that his balls hitched up close to his body and a telltale prickle of warning teased at the base of his spine.