Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(11)

Once again the word whispered through her overheated brain. And she realized that for right now, for this one small moment, he wasn’t just any warrior, he was her warrior.

Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, she continued to devour his mouth, sucking, licking, laving, moaning when he met her caress for caress. She pulled back when she could spread the two halves wide. And there it was…

The miles upon miles of his hot, hard, tanned flesh.

Her hands smoothed over the crinkly hair that grew in the space between his bulging pectoral muscles and flat brown nipples, following it as it narrowed into a thin line down his flat belly before disappearing inside his pants. His corrugated stomach muscles flexed and quivered under her fingertips, and she delighted at the sight, could have gone on rubbing her palms over him forever. But there was something else she needed to get her hands on. Right now…

Reaching down, she palmed him through his fatigues. And though she was expecting it, she was still surprised by what a delicious, ridiculous handful he was. It was a good thing she already knew they would fit, or else she might have hesitated.

“Uh-uh. No dice.” He manacled her wrist, forcing her to look up at him in question. A muscle ticked in his jaw, making his beard twitch.

“Why?” she whispered, leaning forward to drag her tongue over one delicious nipple. She grinned when it instantly beaded against her lips.

“Because I’m too amped up. I could go off before I’m inside you. And that would be a crying shame. Not to mention the fact that since I pride myself on being a gentleman”—he gently pulled her hand away from the hard throb of his manhood—“it’s ladies first.”

Bless him. She knew he spoke the truth.

Her fingers lamented the loss of his pulsing shaft, but he didn’t give her much time to mourn. He grabbed the bottom hem of her wet top and yanked it over her head. Her bra hit the floor next, instantly unfastened by his nimble fingers. And then he was cupping her. Weighing her. His rough thumbs brushing over her distended nipples until her pleasure bordered on pain. Her womb pulsed in that age-old rhythm of arousal, making her toes curl inside her kitten heels, sending her head into another spin, causing her legs to become Jell-O.

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she gave her legs a pep talk that began and ended with don’t fail me now. Then she watched his eyes darken with passion as he closely monitored the changes his caresses made to her body, as he eagerly observed her nipples puckering so tightly the areolas nearly disappeared.

“Table or cot?” he husked, hungrily licking his lips.

She didn’t need him to clarify. She knew exactly what he was asking. “Table. Quickly.”

One downward jerk of his chin was all the answer he gave before grabbing her waist and pulling her to him. When the tips of her breasts grazed the hot skin of his chest, she gasped, feeling burned, branded. Then his wonderful, knowledgeable mouth reclaimed hers in a kiss that had her sighing with pleasure.

She didn’t realize he had moved, that he’d spun her and nudged her toward the table, until the backs of her thighs hit the edge. With a strength that amazed her, he lifted her onto the flat wooden surface and reached down to pull her skirt up to her thighs. She kicked out of her shoes, feverishly returning his kisses, running her hands over his chest, brushing her fingers over his little nipples, listening avidly to the sounds of approval growling low in his throat.

Her veins had turned to rivers of fire, her heart a furnace that burned in her chest. But the place between her legs flamed the hottest. And when he skated his callused palms up the outside of her thighs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, she stilled in expectation.

The little scrap of black silk she hadn’t given a passing thought to when she?d put it on that morning was whipped off her legs in one smooth, sexy move. Then he backed up, her panties clutched in his big hand, letting his eyes run over her breasts as they bobbed with each panting breath. Over her legs that were spread in invitation. Over her center that was swollen and damp with need for him.

“You’re so f*cking beautiful, Harper,” he rasped, his gaze fierce.

For a moment, she thought about calling bullshit. After all, it was her turn, right? And the truth of the matter was, she’d never considered herself beautiful—not with her flyaway mass of curly red hair and her pale skin that required she maintain a daily SPF regimen. As a teenager, she would have sold her soul for sleek, blond tresses and smooth, tan skin. But if Michael looked at her now and saw something beautiful, then she was glad she hadn’t made a deal with the devil way back when. And when she bit her lip, searching his face, reading the blatant hunger in his eyes and the way the skin on his high cheekbones was stretched tight, flushed with desire, she had to admit she felt beautiful.

“Michael.” She reached for him, beckoning him closer. “Make love to me.”

He didn’t hesitate to come to her, pushing his gear toward the opposite end of the table as he gently laid her back, bathing her neck and chest with kisses. When his lips closed over the beaded peak of her right breast, sucking the bud into his hot mouth, the hard pleasure rushed down an invisible line of nerve endings to explode between her legs. She knew he was preparing her, softening her, loosening her. Readying her to receive him. And she loved every second of it.

“Yes.” She buried her fingers in his hair. It was almost enough. Just having his lips on her was almost enough…but not quite. And she was suddenly so achy that the only thought was relief. “Touch me, Michael. Please. I need to feel your—Oh! Yes!”