Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(79)

He kissed her with everything he had. He loved kissing her. Because kissing her was absolutely breathtaking, like oh-my-God-I’m-about-to-come breathtaking. Except they still had all their clothes on, which come to think of it, was a definite plus since he’d undoubtedly already be balls-deep inside her if they didn’t, and they happened to be missing one very important component.

Tearing his mouth away, he started to say something then completely forgot what that was when she immediately kissed her way back to his ear, tugging his lobe between her teeth and licking sweetly.

His eyes crossed, and his toes curled inside his boots. How did she know to do that? How did she—

It took everything he had to grab her shoulders and push her back. And when she looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded, sparkling with dark feminine triumph because, oui, she’d certainly won this battle—he was a goner, no more fight left in him—he nearly forgot, again, what it was that’d made him stop in the first place. But then she moved, rubbing herself against his throbbing erection, and a mere wisp of sanity returned. It curled like a thin line of smoke through his passion-hazed brain and set fire to just enough synapses to have him gritting one word through clenched teeth, “Condom.”

Then, even with most of his brain focused on the place where their bodies were sliding together, he had the wherewithal to wonder if he’d be able to hold off long enough to even make a condom necessary because, merde, she felt so damn good in his arms. All smooth skin and soft curves. Feminine in every sense of the word.

His gaze was riveted to her movements when she lifted a hand and reached into her T-shirt. Then he was surprised he didn’t start drooling, tongue hanging out and eyes bulging like a cartoon dog, when she began pulling out the accordion-folded length of condoms she’d stored between her breasts.

Belle ange—his beautiful angel—had come equipped, had she? And Lordy, just the thought of her upstairs, stashing those condoms in her bra because she was bound and determined to seduce him, ratcheted his desire to another level. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, considering right at this moment, he was hornier than he’d ever been in his life, but the way she pulled those condoms out of her shirt, slowly, seductively, had his breath sawing from his lungs and his knees going weak.

Thankfully, he was supported by Patriot’s sturdy chassis, or he might’ve proven just exactly how much of a goner he really was, how wild she really drove him, and taken a header into the shop floor because…

“Merde, woman,” he breathed, “that might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” And it reminded him of the time she pulled a pistol from a thigh-high holster beneath her skirt. It’d been during a hotel stakeout, and he hadn’t thought it could get much better back then…

Whowee, had he been wrong.

The corner of her mouth twitched just as another flash of lightning illuminated the shop, electrifying the air around them to a fever pitch. He actually felt the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck lift as she leaned forward to whisper against his lips, “Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

And then she did it. She took a step back, whipped her T-shirt over her head, reached around to unfasten her bra—damn, he barely got a look at it, just a quick peek of ball-tightening red lace before she tossed it over her shoulder—and pushed her yoga pants down the smooth, tan expanse of her legs.

And, as if that move needed a symphonic accompaniment, thunder boomed overhead, an auditory exclamation point to emphasize the sweet spectacle in front of his eyes.

Holy, holy, holy shit. He wanted to prostrate himself before her and swear fealty to all things woman. Because she was the very picture of femininity: round hips, round breasts, high, round ass. Her sex—her bare sex, Lord help him—was swollen and plump, and looking at her, he couldn’t help but feel awkward and gangly, made up of sharp corners and hard planes. The very opposite of her lush ripeness. And he was so overwhelmed by the beauty that was Vanessa Cordero, by the temptation she represented just by standing there, he was surprised he could talk. Yet somehow he managed, “Tu es magnifique.” And it was the first time since he’d left the bayou that he didn’t have to translate when he told a woman she was magnificent. “But, chere,” he had to rip his eyeballs away in order to glance around the shop, then up at the dark second-floor balcony. “Here?”

“Right here,” she breathed, stepping back up to him, winding her arms around his neck, sealing their lips once more.





Chapter Twenty-one


Vanessa’s heart was a sledgehammer, pounding, drowning out the sound of the occasional thunder clap over the wet city outside. She’d done it! She pushed past his defenses, and she was in his arms and—

Oh, was she ever in his arms. His solid chest was a warm wall against her breasts, his strong hands anchoring her to him even as she dug her fingers into the deep divot of his spine, reveling in the hard line of muscles on either side.

They were so close, touching everywhere, but she wanted to get even closer, she wanted to absorb him into herself. Since she couldn’t do that, she satisfied herself with reaching down to grab the hem of his T-shirt, releasing his lips just long enough to whip it up and over his head, tossing it aside before clutching him to her again, reveling in the feel of his pectoral muscles, warm and hard against her furled nipples, glorying in the sensation of his flat stomach cushioning the gentle curve of her own. And then she reclaimed his wonderfully wicked mouth.