Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(33)

Every inch.

The breath shuddered out of him at her touch. That she held power over such a powerful specimen gave her a surge of confidence, and she allowed her questing fingers to ride the ridges of his abdominal muscles down to his fly, seeking, finding—Oh, Jesus—the thick bulge pressing against the denim. His entire body jerked when she caressed it, and his hand went to hers, squeezing hard for a moment. “Let me,” she cajoled, sitting up to steal a kiss from his lips. With a groan, he pulled her questing fingers away and pinned her wrist to the mattress, denying her while his naked chest heaved over her.

“Not yet,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed a path down from her neck. His mouth sought and found her right nipple, his tongue teased it, and it hardened to the point of pain again for him. His hand found the other, and she fleetingly wished she had more to fill his big palm with, but he damn sure didn’t seem to mind. With lips and gentle nips of his teeth, he worked her into a toe-curling frenzy, her thighs writhing against the jeans still covering his hips. She began trying to shove those down and out of her way despite his earlier protest, but it was no use.

Her own thighs were spread around his narrow hips, her dress bunched around her waist, the thin lacy panties she wore the only thing separating her from his touch. They were drenched with her need, rasping against her sensitized flesh, and she wanted them gone. She ground her hips against him, trying to entice him to do something about that before she had to. No sooner had she thought it than one of his hands fisted the delicate scrap at her hip.

“Rip it,” she pleaded, needing to know his strength, gasping at the painful snap when he did so. His mouth found hers again in a frenzy of lips, teeth, tongue. The shock of cool air circulating over her inflamed center made her moan. When the edge of his fingers scorched her there, though, gliding easily through her slickness, she feared she might draw blood from his lip caught between her teeth.

“Fuck, Savannah,” he groaned, his touch strong and rough and almost too much in her heightened state of sensitivity. She jerked and squirmed, her clit throbbing, everything a fevered, liquid ache. He had a way of gently working his fingertips independently of each other over her clit that damn near shot her into space right there.

“Michael, please . . .” He teased lower, sought, found, slipped inside. She clenched his finger, relishing the sound that tore from his throat. Another joined it then, stretching her, burning. Yes. And then he went down, kissing a path over her stomach while his fingers set up a slow rhythm, in and out, so thick. His tongue slid over her folds, teasing between them to her clit, so hot, melting her. She panted, tilting up to meet him, spreading wider when he sucked hard on her, only adding to the maelstrom of sensation and emotion buffeting her. Her body involuntarily twisted in agony when he slowed his strokes. Fists crammed to her mouth, she fought not to come yet and fought to come very hard right now . . .

He pulled his mouth away. She bit down on a frustrated scream. “I see one,” he murmured, the fingers of his free hand alighting on the pink heart below her left hip bone. “Two down.”

Oh, f*ck that tattoo. Better yet, f*ck me! “Michael,” she said as patiently as she could, “there’s a certain urgent matter requiring your attention.”

“I think I should keep looking for the third one. I’m trying to win a game here.”

“I can’t keep this going. Please, just make me come.”

His chuckle was a burst of warm air over her superheated flesh. In her heightened state, it was almost enough to set her off. Glancing down, she watched him trail kisses up her inner thigh, watched him stare between her legs. Every one of her senses focused on him. His fingers in her *. His eyes. His breathing. The taste of him still in her mouth. The scent of smoke that still clung to him.

“I stand corrected again,” he murmured, dropping his head back to her while she wanted to shout hallelujah.

Because oh, shit, he was good at that. Firm and sure of himself, and right in the middle of her poor frazzled mind throwing another not yet! at her needy nether regions, she was lost. Her hips wrenched hard off the bed, but he was immovable, holding her steady so that she couldn’t throw him off his task of wringing her of every drop of pleasure, every joyous cry of release. When she finally did come back to earth from her trip through the stars, she’d nearly pulled the comforter off the sides of the bed and he was hovering over her, looking into her eyes. In her raw state, his gaze was even more penetrating than usual. She shook all over.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Savannah responded by plunging her fingers into his hair and pulling him down for a kiss, into which he fell willingly. On his lips she tasted him and herself, finding the blend highly erotic; they were delicious together.

But then, to her great confusion, he slid to her side and pulled her back to him, wrapping those amazing arms tight around her and nuzzling her neck. The evidence of his arousal pressed into her backside, through his jeans—how the f*ck hadn’t she gotten him out of them yet?—but he made no motion to try to slake it.

“Mike?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you want . . . ?”

A chuckle ruffled the hair at her ear. “Oh, yeah. You’d better believe I want.”

“Me too. So what are you waiting for?”

“Still sure about this?”

“More than ever.”