DONOVAN (Gray Wolf Security, #1)(73)

I lifted her to the edge of the sink without breaking the kiss, my hands sliding under her shirt. Her spine stiffened slightly when I touched this one spot along her ribs, so I had to touch it again. She moaned, the sound a vibration against my lips. And then I pressed my hand under the cup of her bra and that moan became a groan that I felt deep in my balls, the need growing inside of me reaching that point of no return.

It was crazy. A mistake. I knew it as she pulled the t-shirt from my body and discarded it on her perfectly polished kitchen floor. But I couldn’t have walked away if I had wanted to.





Chapter 7



Penelope

I don’t know how it started. I’m not even sure how we ended up in my bedroom. All I know is that his hands were gentler than I imagined they would be and his kisses were enough to make my thoughts become nothing more than background noise.

Damn, he knew what to do with that mouth!

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed me this thoroughly. Or the last time a nibble on my ribs had felt like a promise of paradise. And that thing his tongue did to my clit…there were no words!

I was completely naked on my childhood bed with the most incredibly handsome man I’d met in…well, ever, doing things to me that I’d always thought were just a figment of some romance writer’s imagination. I pressed my hands into his hair and pulled him closer to me, moving my hips so that he touched all the right places, noises I didn’t think my body capable of flowing from my mouth.

If I was dreaming, I hoped no one would wake me. Ever.

There was a twinge of disappointment as he began to slide back up the length of my body. But when our lips found one another again, and the taste of my juices was warm on his tongue, it was like the sweetest nectar of the sweetest peach ever eaten. I pressed my hands against the small of his back, pushing at his jeans with my fingertips and my feet, anxious to feel him inside of me. He chuckled a little before pulling back and helping me by unzipping his fly—gee, why didn’t I think of that?—and sliding them over his narrow hips. I watched, enjoying the show. And what those jeans revealed made my heart do a funny little dance it took it a minute to recover from.

Could God have made a more perfect man?

I reached for him and he closed his eyes as my hand wrapped itself around his girth, a moan slipping from between those perfect lips that made my juices run that much more freely. And then he positioned himself at my opening, sliding carefully inside, his movements controlled as he slowly—painfully slowly—buried himself as deeply as he physically could. I lifted my hips, welcoming him. And then we moved into a perfect rhythm, rocking together as though we’d done this a million times before, our bodies just instinctively aware of one another and the way in which we needed to be touched.

I wanted it to last forever. I buried my fingers in his flesh, held him tight against me even as he reached underneath me and lifted my hips to his. I must have cried out over and over because my throat was raw later, but I barely remember it. All I remember is how good it felt, how quick the tingle of orgasm built, how excruciating the pleasure truly was. And I remember the rawness of his screams, buried in my pillow, as he reached his climax.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heavy breathing slowing, remember the smell of him filling my every pore. I can still smell him as I lay here now, aware that morning has arrived, that he’s gone. But I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m not ready to face the reality of what I’ve done.

Reality, however, wasn’t going to let me ignore it for long. The doorbell rang. It was an innocent sound, at first. But then it came over and again, like someone was leaning on it.

I reluctantly climbed out of bed and tugged my bathrobe over my nakedness, pulling it modestly against my curves.

“Can I help you?” I asked the bored looking man who stood on my front doorstep.

“Penelope Monroe?”

I nodded, glancing past him out into the street, trying to figure out what time it was by the number of cars in my neighbor’s driveways. After eight, at least.

“You’ve been served,” the man said, shoving an envelope into my hands. “Would you sign here?”

“What do you mean, served?” I asked, my attention drawn back to the stranger on my doorstep.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just deliver them. But my guess is, you’re being sued.”

I managed to sign his paper and close the door despite the rising panic in my chest. The only thing I could think it might be was a creditor my parents left unpaid that I’d missed in all the mess they’d left behind. I took the envelope into the kitchen and sliced it open with a steak knife, pouring the contents out onto the counter next to the scotch glass Harrison had slipped from my hand last night as he began to…

Harrison. His name was all over these papers. But not his name. Harrison Philips.

The name set off a bell in my mind. I knew that name, but I wasn’t sure how.

Harrison James Philips it said toward the bottom of one of the pages. It was a court order stating that he was to take custody of one Jonathon Tyler Monroe.

My head was spinning. I didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” a voice said behind me. “I tried to stop them.”

I couldn’t even turn. I couldn’t pull my eyes from those words.