Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(55)
God, he could kiss. He kissed with the same power and confidence that had attracted her from the beginning. No hesitation, just a brutal onslaught against all of her senses.
She tugged his T-shirt from his jeans and slid her hands under the cotton to feel the warm hardness of his skin. His tongue tangled with hers, challenging her on yet another level as his body pinned her against the dresser.
She couldn’t believe she was kissing him like this after so many months of yearning and wondering. After so many months of telling herself she was going to steer clear, stay away, protect herself from the heartache that would inevitably follow this stupid, stupid decision.
But it didn’t feel stupid right now—in fact, it felt unbelievably good to have his wide shoulders under her hands and his body pressed against her. She combed her fingers up into his hair and rocked her hips against him, and the groan deep in his chest gave her a rush of adrenaline. Was she really doing this? Right in this room, barely a stone’s throw away from all the people she worked with? She dug her nails into his scalp and kissed him with a vengeance that pushed the doubts and logic out of her mind.
His knuckles brushed against her stomach as he worked the button of her pants free, and she heard the soft hiss of the zipper. She pulled back, and their gazes locked as her slacks slid to the floor. Her legs felt bare and exposed. The hot intensity in his eyes made her stomach flutter and made her think again about what she was doing, but before she could voice any objections, his hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her onto the dresser as if she weighed nothing. He clutched the back of her knee and hitched her thigh up to his waist, and she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close.
“You are so fucking sexy.” His mouth burned a trail over her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes and stroked her hands over his shoulders. They were so big—he was so big, everything about him.
They kissed and kissed until she felt like she was going to combust, and then he unhooked her ankles behind him. He dropped to a crouch to untie his boots, still watching her, desire burning in his eyes as he jerked the laces.
He was here. They were doing this. The determined look on his face made her ears ring and her pulse race. He stood up, then toed off his boots and kicked them away.
She reached for the waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer as he yanked the shirt over his head. And then they were fighting with his belt, his button, his zipper.
“Hurry, or I’ll lose my nerve.”
“No, you won’t,” he growled, nipping her neck. He shoved his jeans down, and she squeezed her legs around him as hard as she could. He lifted her right up off of the dresser and carried her to the bed and laid her back on it with surprising gentleness. His movements were careful, but the fierce look in his eyes made her heart skitter.
And then her gaze slid down his body, and her heart nearly stopped altogether.
Oh, my God. She sat up on her elbows to look. She traced a hand over his shoulder, his chest, his perfectly sculpted abs. He rested his knee between her thighs, and he stretched out over her, supporting himself with his arms as she looked at him in awe. She knew he kept in peak physical condition. She knew he spent hours and hours a week running and swimming and lifting and God only knew what else. But actually seeing the evidence of it . . .
“Wow,” she said, and her cheeks warmed, because it sounded so childish.
He smiled and kissed her, and she ran her hands over his shoulders, unable to get enough of him, so blown away it was almost embarrassing. No, it definitely was embarrassing. She’d never been with a man who was so completely male in every conceivable way. She squirmed out from under him, and he gave her a confused look as she nudged him onto his back. Heat flared in his eyes, and she felt the shift in equilibrium as she shoved him back against the bed and straddled him.
“I need to just—” She settled herself against his erection, and he closed his eyes and groaned.
“Sorry.” She brushed her hair from her eyes. “I need to look at you.”
“Don’t be sorry. Jesus.” He gazed up at her, and his jaw was tight, and he looked like he was almost in pain as she sat back on him and stared. “Look all you want.”
He’d asked about her scar, but he had so many more. She traced her finger over the welt on the side of his shoulder and the one under his collarbone. She traced over his chest to the trail of dark hair that started at his navel, then ran her finger back up to his ribs, where there was a jagged mark. Shrapnel? Her heart jumped into her throat, but she forced a smile.
He slid his hands over her thighs and up under her blouse, and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back as he cupped her breasts with his huge palms. His thumbs rasped her nipples, sending little shivers down her spine as she undid her buttons one by one.
He watched her intently as she shrugged off her shirt and reached back to unhook her bra. She slid it from her arms, and he sat up and dragged her against him, and the hot pull of his mouth made her go dizzy. He felt so good. Everywhere. Everything. His lips, his hands, the big, hard ridge of him pressed between her legs.
She rocked against him, again and again, until the tension started to build and their movements and kisses became more and more urgent. He shifted her and held her at the edge of the bed with one arm as he pulled her panties down her legs and tossed them away, and then she was back astride him, fusing herself against him and kissing him until she could hardly breathe. She noticed the condom sitting on the nightstand and had no idea when it had come to be there, only that she needed it desperately. She reached across him, and he went after her breast, and she fell against the table with a yelp. His mouth was hot and greedy against her skin. She pressed the condom into his hand and then distracted herself by kissing him as he shifted and pulled it on. And then he moved under her.