Merry and Bright(11)

“Organic?” There was a light in his eyes that made her nipples tingle. “As in edible?”

“I s-suppose.”

“I like honey.” He smiled, and it was so wicked she quivered. He dipped a finger into the bowl.

“ Jacob—”

“I leave for New Orleans tomorrow, so that is your last chance at the whole Mr. Wrong experiment.”

“Oh. Well. I don’t think—”

Which was the last thing she got out before his mouth claimed hers. And while he distracted her with his very talented tongue, he gently urged her legs open and stepped between them, putting their bodies up flush together.

Oh, God. “This is such a bad idea,” she managed as he took his lips on a tour over her jaw.

“This kind of bad is good.” He took his finger, the one he’d dipped in the lotion, and touched it to her throat, then leaned in and licked it off. “Yum.”

Dizzy, she clutched at him, holding him so tight to her that he couldn’t have gotten away if he’d wanted to. “I really think we should take a moment and discuss this.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably, against her flesh. “You go ahead and discuss.”

“You sh-should know, I might just be using you for the fantasy I’ve had since high school. The one where I was the girl in the empty classroom with you.”

“Use me,” he murmured, his tongue taking a hot lick at the dip in the hollow of her throat. “You locked the door, right?”

“No.”

“I got it.” He slipped the lock and kissed her again.

God, he was a great kisser. The king of great kissers. Greedy yet generous, soft yet firm, hot and wet but not too wet, and while he was going about rendering her incapable of remembering her own name, he undid the buttons on her blouse, letting out a low, appreciative throaty groan at the sight of her white lace demi bra, which was doing its job of holding up and displaying—until he unhooked it, that is. Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the full curves plumping out of the top of the lace as he dipped his fingers into the lotion again.

“Jacob—” The word choked off as he painted the honey lotion over her bared breasts, following up with his mouth as his very busy hands skimmed down her legs and then back up again, taking the material of her skirt up with them.

Her pulse skittered. “I don’t know about—”

“You taste better than the honey.”

“Thanks, but—”

“You never answered my question. Just hot sex? Or . . .” With a naughty bad boy grin, he flipped on the vibrating mixer at her hip and wriggled his eyebrows. “Extra stuff?”

She took a big gulp as he nudged her blouse off one shoulder. The soft material of his shirt was stretched taut over his leanly muscled chest, loose over his belly, which she could feel beneath her fingers, fingers that somehow slipped beneath the tee to touch warm, hard abs.

“Tell me,” he said.

She played with the waistband of his jeans. “Um . . .”

“Oh, don’t lose your nerve now.” His mouth was at her ear. “Tell me, Maggie. Slow and sweet?” He skimmed his thumb over a nipple, making her arch into him. “Or fast and hard?” His other hand was up her skirt, playing with the edging of her panties. “Or somewhere in between?”

“Fast and hard,” she decided as she shoved up his shirt, revealing his stomach, which made her mouth water. “Really fast,” she choked out, as his finger slipped just beneath her panties.

“I can do fast.” He glided the pad of his finger over her, his own breathing uneven, his body tight against hers.

She was breathing just as erratically, and her body was every bit as tight, and also trembling.

And wet.

She dropped her forehead to his chest. She could tell he was holding back, being careful with her, and she’d have expected that from Mr. Right but not Mr. Wrong.

She didn’t want careful.

She wanted wild, unmitigated, unadulterated passion, from him, for her, and she wanted that now, along with her fast. So she kissed him, gliding her tongue to his. He made a low, rough, intimately thrilling sound from deep in his throat and his arms came up, banding tightly around her, pulling her flush to him.

Careful restraint gone. Mission accomplished.

“Tell me it’s like getting back on a bike,” she gasped. “That I’m going to remember what to do next.”

“Trust me, you’re going to remember.”

“Okay.” Desire was getting the best of her, and her fingers outlined the bulge of him straining the front of his jeans.

“See?” He breathed shakily. “You’re remembering already.”

She could hear the loud beat of his heart in her ear, could feel him shudder in pleasure when she stroked him. He wanted her. Her Mr. Wrong wanted her. Unlike her last encounter, the man she was with wasn’t worrying about the time, or his next meeting, or how he looked. He was thinking of her, touching her, kissing her, completely lost in her, and she let herself get a little lost in that, lost in the heat, the passion, the need, all the things she’d deprived herself of for so long.

He tugged off her blouse, let out an extremely satisfying growl at the sight of her, and lapped up some of the honey concoction he’d left on her breasts, his thumbs rasping over her nipples until she thunked her head back against the wall. “Definitely remembering.”