Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(80)

Holy cow, could Rock ever kiss. And simply kissing him was more pleasurable than many of the full-on sexual encounters of her life. And she didn’t want it to stop. She never wanted it to stop. But she had to. Because she couldn’t figure out how to undo his stupid belt.

Ripping her mouth away, she frowned down at the offending accessory. “What the hell? Does this thing have a combination lock?”

Rock was breathing hard, and his rough chuckle tickled her ears and sent a frisson of pleasure skittering down her spine where it exploded at the base of her belly. Oh, man, she could listen to him do that all day. And if he did it while he was inside her…?

Of course that would require her getting off this ridiculously stubborn belt!

Sonofa—

“Here,” his long, tan fingers brushed hers aside, and she watched, for future reference, how he grabbed the big buckle, pulling it in the opposite direction she would have guessed. And then the belt was undone and it was her turn to push his hands away.

“Let me,” she said. And they both watched as she undid the top button on his Levi’s and slowly, tooth by hard, scritching tooth, unzipped his fly.

“Ah, there you are,” she breathed when she shoved his jeans and his boxers down the length of his legs and his erection sprang free, thick and violently red, the tip swollen and weeping.

“Indeed.” His voice was like a rusty hinge when she reached forward to stroke him. And, oh, hot.

He was so hot, burning her hands, scorching her brain as she watched her fingers move over him, around him.

“Non, chere,” he pulled her hand away. “I’ll never last if you start doin’ that thing again.”

“What thing?” she asked, tearing her eyes from the unapologetic jut of his impressive sex in order to drink in the corrugated ridges of his flat stomach and the delicious line of muscles that formed a V above his hipbones. A smattering of hair grew in the center of his chest and narrowed into a path that trailed down his belly. There were a couple of raw patches on his pectoral muscles, no doubt from the plastic explosives—plastic explosives…Jesus!—that’d been strapped there. And tattooed over his heart in big, loopy cursive? The words Always Remember.

She’d seen the ink before, of course. But now that she knew what it meant? Now that she knew all he’d suffered? Well, just throw on the scuba gear and air up the tanks, because she was sunk. Completely, totally, sunk. In over her head.

And she wasn’t going to think of what it’d mean, or how bad it’d hurt, if by tomorrow he didn’t realize he was in the same sunken boat with her. Because for now? Bliss…The bliss she was feeling, the elation and passion, was all she could concentrate on.

Just look at him. With his pants bunched down around his alligator cowboy boots and all that maleness on display, with his dark hair messy and his hazel eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling, he looked like he belonged on a Cowboys Gone Wild beefcake calendar. And, oh, how she wanted to touch him again. To feel him pulse and throb and fill her hand…

“That thing you do that shoots me to the moon,” he grumbled, reminding her she’d asked a question. And, okay, so he wasn’t in the mood for a repeat of what happened out in the jungle. Which was just fine by her. Because she wanted more this time, too.

Hell, she wanted it all. And she wanted it fast and hard.

She wanted it now…

“Touch me,” she breathed, realizing she’d never craved anything as badly as she craved Rock’s touch. His hands were so big and hard, so knowledgeable…

“My pleasure, chere,” was what he said. But what he did?

Oh, good grief!

He spun her until she was bent over Patriot, her stomach cradled on the alligator skin seat, one hand braced on the back fender, the other on the big gas tank. And her ass? Well, her ass was there on display. And the sight must’ve pleased him, because he sucked in a ragged breath before making a low growling noise that tickled her ears—she could swear she felt the resultant rumble in the wet, aching spot between her legs.

His erection brushed her hip when he leaned forward to smooth a hand over her ass, and it was so hard. So hard and so hot it nearly burned her, branded her. And she welcomed it. She wanted to be marked. By him. And screw the feminist movement, because right now she was glad she was a woman and he was a man, stronger and bigger and able to bend her to his will. The operative word being bend.

“Poor, chere,” he crooned, rubbing a callused palm over her butt cheeks. “Too many bruises on this beautiful, beautiful ass.”

And until he mentioned it, she’d forgotten. Forgotten she was sore, forgotten she was discolored, forgotten everything but the mesmerizing feel of his hands on her and the way they made her womb pulse and throb until she thought she couldn’t stand it another second.

“Please, Rock,” she begged. “Please touch me.”

And he knew what she was after, because he used one booted foot to spread her legs wide and then…

Holy cow!

His hand slid over her ass one last time before traveling farther. Down to the swollen lips of her sex where he cupped her in his palm. Then, when she was about to open her mouth to beg him for more, he used two fingers to gently grind her lips against her aching clitoris. Her eyes crossed, her head fell to the side, and she moaned.

It felt so good. So good and almost enough. Almost.