One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(67)

Cade’s fists tightened and released repeatedly by his sides, like he was only holding on by the barest threads of control.

“Now you.” I nodded toward him, wanting to see him without his shirt on.

In a flash of movement, he ripped his shirt off, tossing it onto the grass behind him.

Holy Mother of Christ.

I’d traced those ripped muscles beneath my fingers, but it was another thing entirely to see his beautiful body here in the candlelit dark, bared just for me.

He grunted, nodding. “You.”

He’d gone from Cade-Morse code to monosyllabic caveman speak.

Enjoying the power of reducing the incredible man in front of me into a primal creature, I unbuttoned the fly of my jeans. With a slow shimmy, I bent over, slid the denim over my hips, and pushed it down to my ankles. I paused to pull down the straps of my stilettos before stepping out of them and the fabric.

His jaw dropped open a fraction, but he must’ve stopped breathing, because his chest suddenly expanded with a huge breath, as if he needed all the oxygen in the vicinity to remain upright.

“Fucking amazing.”

I grinned, then bit my lip, uncertain about the distance between us, feeling suddenly shy. “Shall I continue?”

His expression flickered from concern to lust, then confusion, as if torn. Finally, he shook his head and crooked a finger toward him. “Come here, beautiful. I want to take those last scraps of lace off your body. With my teeth.”

Padding in bare feet on the cool grass, I crossed to him. Blood pumped hot under my skin, and I was thankful for the sweet relief of the fifty-degree cool night air, which prevented my total meltdown before we even got started.

I gasped when he grabbed me. My breathing reduced to rapid pants as he slid his hands between my arms and my ribs, pulling me closer.

He noticed. His gaze dropped to the rise and fall of my breasts, eyes widening. With a quick twist of my bra strap, he unfastened the clasp and let the material fall slack as his lips captured mine. Hot, demanding. He sipped and sucked, tasting me like the sweet wine.

Fire arced to my every nerve ending, setting me ablaze as it weakened my knees. He increased the intensity of our kiss, teasing inside with his tongue, retreating when I tangled mine with his.

Then he pulled away, his fingers hooking into the loose bra straps on my shoulders. As we separated, he stepped back, holding my arms wide as the bra pulled away. My breasts hung free for his viewing pleasure, heavy peaks tightened from the cool air and my arousal.

His gaze had a primal intensity, wild and feral. I’d become the prey before the hunter. And I loved being caught.

Without warning, he lunged. I didn’t have time to react before his shoulder hit my hips, and I was hoisted into the air. I squeaked in protest but bit my lip to keep from crying out, not wanting to make too much noise in the open-air surroundings.

A low chuckle sounded out beneath me right before a sharp sting bit into my hip. “Did you just snap my thong?”

More shaking of his shoulders.

“Kincade Joseph Michaelson! Put me down this instant.”

“Oh? Middle names, now? And this very instant?” He strode uphill, ignoring my demand. “Give me a few instants more. Then I’ll topple you onto a soft mattress and comforter.”

I growled. “Neanderthal.”

“You love it when I go caveman.”

And I did. Excitement coursed like electricity through my veins.

He ducked us under the mosquito netting of the tent entrance and knelt onto the mattress, tumbling me gently into a soft landing. His gaze turned molten, drinking my body in with slow measure. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. I am definitely the luckiest guy in all of Philly.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Such flattery will get you everywhere.”

Remaining on his knees, he tilted his head and raised his hand, caressing the side of my throat. “What’s your middle name?” He trailed his fingers in a meandering line between my breasts, down my quivering belly, to the top edge of my thong and up again, barely touching me.

I shivered from the whispered contact and swallowed hard, searching for my voice. “Noelle.”

An easy smile curved onto his face. “Noelle. Because you’re a holiday baby.”

I nodded.

He lowered onto his side, his lips brushing the side swell of my right breast while his hand slid across my ribs and cupped my left. “Now you’re my holiday baby.”

I laughed, then gasped as he pulled a nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, then released it with the scraping of his teeth. I moaned, rubbing my legs together as an ache built between them.

He paused, his dark gaze holding me captive. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s not my birthday. And it’s not a holiday.”

On a deep, rumbling laugh, he lowered his head again, tending to my nipple in torturous ways—kisses, sucks, nips of his teeth—while mimicking the movements with his fingers on the other. “It was just my birthday. Close enough,” he mumbled against my nipple.

I groaned, pleasure whipping through me.

“And I’ve decided tonight is f*cking Christmas morning.” His hand skated across my abdomen and slipped under the lace of my thong. He gripped between my legs with hard possession. “I’ve never had such an incredible mound of presents.”

I cried out, but he silenced it with a demanding kiss.