Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(49)

Soft. She was so f*cking soft.

She tilted her head back and he kissed her neck. Her nipples peaked, hardening beneath his fingertips. He pulled his lips away to watch her, to bask in her glow.

He didn’t know how long he had. This moment could burn hot, then fizzle out like a dollar-store sparkler. If this was it, this was it. More penance could be paid after. For now, he could only think of committing the crime to do the penance for.

More than anything, he wanted this touch. Her touch. Gentle touch hadn’t been something he’d had a lot of over the years. Save for Caroline’s motherly hugs, or shaking Alessandre’s hand. Or the occasional pat on the back from a client. Aside from that, there had been no touching. Not since Sofie.

He worked her breasts with his thumbs and forefingers, pulling high mewls from her throat. His own skin sizzled in response, all of him on the brink of boiling over. Her fingertips glided along his abdomen, up his torso, over his pectorals. Lost in the feel of her touching him, his eyes sank closed. A groan left his throat. She made him feel… she made him feel…

That was it.

She made him feel.

He hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Is this okay?” she breathed as she raked her fingernails over his chest.

“Sweetheart, better than okay.”

She had no idea how much more than okay this was for him. Flushed pink nipples drew his head down. He tasted one precious bud, while the fingers of one hand worked the button on her cotton pants. The snick of the zipper sounded as his tongue swirled around her nipple, making it pebble.

Her hands grasped his shoulders. He palmed her back, arching her closer, feeling the tips of her dark brown ponytail brush his hands. She tasted like his past, but a good past. Good memories were very few and far in between. He continued pulling her breast into his mouth and drawing the same high, tight sounds from her throat. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

He had to have her. Now.

He gripped her butt in both hands, lifted her, and deposited her on top of the washer. Wrestling with her pants, he managed to free one of her legs, tossing her shoe to the floor as he did. Her hands went to the stud of his jeans. She had them open, her hand inside grasping him one mind-numbing second later.

Through his boxers, she stroked his shaft, and for a moment all he could do was drop his head back and enjoy the sensation of being touched by a hand other than his own.

Her lips caressed the underside of his chin, moved down the length of his throat, wetting his skin, making him crazy. He opened his eyes, grasped the back of her neck, and kissed her. She accepted his tongue in her mouth, joining him in the intimate dance. This was the tension simmering just beneath the surface since he came back to town. Unhinged, unresolved, overwhelming attraction for the woman in his arms.

Sofie had come to him this time. She’d been the one to say yes. And had asked him to “do her,” he thought with a smile.

There was one problem. He hadn’t planned on having sex while he was here. Even after kissing her in the car, even after he’d thrown her over his shoulder this morning, sharing a brief moment of lightness. He didn’t expect to have her practically nude, on top of the washer hours later.

He pulled his lips from hers, and she let out a frustrated grunt, her hands tightening on the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. He had to tell her before this went any further.

“Scampi.”

“Don’t.” She kissed him again, two, three times, quickly on the lips. “Do not try to talk me out of this, Donny.”

He almost laughed. Talk her out of it? Not on her life. He managed a smile, a strained one, but still. “Not talking you out of this. But bad news, sweetheart.” He did some quick math—figuring out how long it would take him to get to town, park in front of Nelson’s drugstore, and run inside to buy condoms. Then drive back, breaking a minimum of nine traffic laws on the way.

Thirteen minutes, he figured. Fifteen, tops.

Risky. Fifteen minutes was enough time for the boiling-over heat between them to simmer. Hell, five minutes. Two. He took in her nakedness, the simple but sexy pink cotton panties she wore, the pants dangling off one leg, the shoe she still wore.

“No condom,” he announced bleakly. “Wasn’t planning on getting into your pants.”

She blinked up at him, eyes going wide for a second. Then she smiled, a gentle, sweet Scampi smile from way back. “There’s one in my purse.”

Later, he would worry about why she had one in her purse. But for now, he could kiss her. So he did. Quickly.

He raced from the room, pausing in the doorway, pants open, chest heaving, the taste of her lingering on his lips.

“Where the hell is your purse?”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN




Dining room,” she answered.

He took one last look at Sofie who was leaning back on her hands atop the washer, the room a sea of white behind her. Her ponytail was lopsided, some of her hair hanging over her face, her bare breasts begging for his tongue. Her panties begging to be tugged off with his teeth. He wanted her so much, he hated to leave her for a second.

Focus. A condom was around the corner.

He found her purse hanging on the back of a dining room chair, snatched it up, and dashed back to the utility room. Thrusting the small bag into her hands, he kissed her neck while she dug through the pockets.