Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(49)

Until I pulled his hand up to my breast, curled it around, arched into it, and when he slid his thumb over my nipple, I moaned into his mouth.

This was it.

This was the good stuff.

Real.

Open.

Safe.

I believed.

I believed in that.

And I believed I deserved to have it.

I pulled at his jacket.

He yanked it off and tossed it away.

I tugged his shirt out of his pants, dove my hands under and felt his smooth, warm skin.

Lord.

Heaven.

“You feel good,” I whispered against his mouth when he stopped kissing me so he could nibble my lower lip.

His thumb slid back over my nipple, and I whimpered a little and arched into him again.

“You feel better,” he rumbled, slanted his head and kissed me again.

And again.

Then more.

He made me dizzy with it.

Lost to it.

Until it hit me I wanted even more.

I went after the buttons of his shirt.

His mouth went after my neck as I undid the buttons of his shirt.

That felt nice.

“Please tell me you brought condoms,” I breathed in his ear.

Another button open.

“I put three of ’em in my wallet the night after the Rock Chicks broke in.”

Oowee.

I smiled.

And opened another button.

He lifted his head to catch my smile.

Then he dropped it to kiss me again.

I forgot about his buttons because his kiss was so sweet, so hot, I had to hold on or I’d get an ice-cream headache at the same time I melted into my bed.

And I had to get serious about that, and in doing so might have curled my nails into the flesh at his back.

He instantly let my mouth go to lift up a smidge in order to undo his cuffs then he yanked the still half-buttoned shirt over his head.

I caught sight of his wide pecs, the swells and planes that made his midriff, his flat stomach, the crease of his navel.

And it was then, I lost control.

In other words, I attacked.

He was on his back and I’d yanked my skirt up to straddle him, but hunched over to get my mouth on that chest.

His skin felt good.

It tasted better.

“Baby,” he murmured.

I licked his nipple.

His hand clamped on the back of my neck. “Fuck, baby.”

He was all kinds of goodness to offer to go slow.

But enough of that shit.

I had nails to his abs, mouth to his neck, when I felt his fingers tug the skirt of my red, long-blouson-sleeved, cold shoulder dress.

“Want this off,” he murmured.

I lifted up and twisted my arms behind me to get at the zip.

He curled up to sitting and said, “Before you dislocate a shoulder, let me.”

He was smiling at me.

I went in and kissed that smile off his lips.

The zip went down fast.

The dress then went up, up . . .

I broke my mouth from his and lifted my arms . . .

And away.

His eyes fell to my body.

I clasped his bristly cheeks to lift his head so I could kiss him again, but I got nowhere.

Except on my back with Moses on top of me.

“I liked the dress,” he growled.

“Good,” I pushed out, staring into his face, that face wearing an expression I’d never seen before.

I saw it with my eyes, but I felt it with my lady parts.

Nice.

“But the underwear . . .” he went on.

I had to admit, I had a thing for underwear.

Lacy underwear.

“Did you know we’d be right here, right now?” he asked, his hand smoothing over my side, starting to go in.

“Um . . . no. If you’re asking if I wore these for you, it’s not even my best set.”

His expression shifted to another one I’d never seen before and my lady parts rippled.

Hot.

“Stop talking,” he ordered, his hand now at my belly.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His eyes held mine as his hand went down.

“Good?” he said softly.

I nodded.

His fingertips hit an edge of lace.

“Good?” he repeated gently.

“Yes, baby,” I answered.

His fingertips slid in, more, down, curved, the middle one gliding tight.

My lips parted, I hooked my ankle around his calf and my nails definitely dug into his flesh.

“I’ll take that as good,” he rumbled appreciatively.

“Yeah,” I panted.

He kissed me.

He stroked me.

He built it in me.

And I sucked his tongue deep when he made me explode.

He was cupping my sex and nuzzling my ear when I came down holding him to me.

“How late you wanna be for our reservation?” he murmured into my ear.

I’d had mine.

He’d given that to me.

He hadn’t had his and the evidence of that was pressed against my thigh.

“Mm? Sweetheart?” he prompted against the skin at the side of my neck.

He was hard.

And if I said I was hungry or if that was as far as I could go right then, he would have put his shirt on, his kickass blazer, helped me zip up my dress.