Trust Me (Paris Nights #3)(61)
“I did say I wanted to kiss all your freckles, didn’t I?” Lina said.
He hooked his hands under her shoulders and hauled her up his body. “Start up here.” He offered her his elbow.
She frowned at him. “Are you into self-denial or into keeping control?”
He rolled them over, pinning her legs with his thigh. “I’m into making sure you have a good time, too.”
“I’m having a great time.” Wasn’t that obvious? She felt giddy with life and the pleasure of seizing happiness.
“You’re still laughing,” he said, his voice deep and dangerous. His hand cupped her breast. His head lowered over hers. “Got to give you something you can’t laugh about.”
His mouth closed over hers, and this time the kiss was lush and invasive. It didn’t test for her consent. It took it for granted and took her over, then invited her to take him over, too. Heat and tongues and lips, and his hand squeezing her breast, his callused thumb teasing her nipple until she scraped her nails gently down his back and started to whimper.
There was nothing in this world sweeter or hungrier than kissing him. Touching and being touched by him.
“That’s a little better,” he whispered, taking her lower lip between his teeth for a gentle nip before he slid down her body.
His tongue teased her nipple. His hand went farther south, cupping her through her jeans and rubbing gently. Then, as he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked, his hand squeezed, squeezed, as if she was an orange and he was going to draw out all her juices.
Lina bucked and grabbed his head, holding him to her. Heat flooded through her.
“There you go,” Jake whispered, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding his hand down over her panties to rub her own dampness against her. “Let’s warm you up.”
“I’m warm,” Lina said, arching against him involuntarily, dragging on his shoulders.
“Yeah, but you’re not begging yet.” Jake slid his hand under the elastic of her panties.
Heat and strength and calluses, playing with her. Pressing into her. Squeezing her. Easing back to torment her by the barest of touches. He pinched and he kneaded and he toyed and he thrust one, two fingers in her until she was writhing and incoherent, grabbing at him, pulling. “You,” she said again and again. “I want you, you, you. Jake.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I want you, too. You.” He rolled away abruptly. His hands were shaking as he ripped open the packet. She sat up on one elbow to follow him, to touch those faint freckles again wistfully before they got covered up.
He grabbed her hand off him and kissed her fingers, then pressed her hand away as he took care of the condom.
“I wonder what freckles will feel like inside me,” Lina said, happy and hungry.
He kissed her hard on the mouth. “They don’t feel like anything. Except possibly latex at this point. Shh.”
“In here, they do.” She touched her forehead. “They feel like you.”
His eyes were dark, intense, as he stared down at her, a hint of color spreading all the way down over those powerful shoulders and that hard chest. The man who liked to be so inscrutable could be read like a recipe from the shade of his skin, once you got his shirt off.
“You’re so f*cking gorgeous.” It was a rough exhalation as he nudged his hips between hers. “Be gentle with me. It’s not my first time.”
***
He didn’t mean to thrust into her as hard as he did, but she was so goddamned pretty and strong and inviting, and she dug her fingers into his butt and pulled with a low sound of pleasure as if her vagina could taste him and he had the best damn flavor.
He’d never known a woman quite so playful, quite so confident, quite so tough and resilient and sensual and determined to forge ahead, quite so warm and…thoughtful. Compassionate, maybe—willing to think about what he said. He’d sure as hell never known a woman so damn pretty.
Oh, God, her body felt good yielding to his. Her thighs wrapping around his hips, her hips pushing up to meet his. He sank, sank into her and pulled back and sank again, just for the all-powerful pleasure of feeling her body yield again to his hardness. Addictive pleasure, a man had to do it over and over once he started, ease out and thrust, ease out and thrust, yes, her lush heat yielded, her muscles wrapped around him every time.
He settled his thumb over her clitoris to make sure he took her with him, rubbed and rubbed in time with each thrust, a careful discipline, but it sure as hell was worth it.
It made her cling tighter when he was deep inside. Made her fingers dig harder into his butt. Made her make more little sounds when he pulled out of her, little begging sounds that spilled all over his skin, tightened around his head and his heart and his cock, squeezing all of him out of his body toward her. An intensity of pressure, as if she had started from his top and just squeezed, squeezed, squeezed him on down, until the whole of him was built up in that one outlet, desperately trying not to explode too soon. Before she…before she…please, dear God, honey, hurry up so I can let this pressure out.
She made a sudden, whimpering sound, and her nails, which she’d been careful with up until now, scraped once harsh against his butt, and she arched into him, shattering, those shaking little convulsions of her body as she turned her head away, her eyes closed, her black curls spilling all around her face.