Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(5)

But his hunger focused on the smooth, creamy flesh mounded up by the tight bustier. Slowly, he reached out to push the flannel down her bare shoulders. “Very, very pretty,” he murmured as he eased the shirt away.

She bit her lip. “They aren’t real.”

“The diamonds? Yeah, I got that. Your tits? I’m thinking those are very real. But let me check.” He dipped his head and kissed the upper curve of her breast. “Yeah,” he rumbled. “Just as I suspected. Those are the real deal.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. Now that he wasn’t active duty, he kept forgetting to keep it short, and he was suddenly glad he had something she could hold on to.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Sliding one hand under her ass, he lifted her hips and unfastened the button of her jeans. “Shiny as these are, I bet what’s underneath is even more of a treasure.”

“You’re so full of it,” she said, but she angled her legs to let him skim off the sparkly denim.

“Maybe. But only because I was saving it up for you.”

“You didn’t even know I existed.”

“Guess that’s why it feels like it’s been too long.” As he whisked away her jeans, the aroused scent of her rolled over him, smoky and sweet, like a mint julep melting under a southern sun, the bourbon turning to sugar. He whistled low under his breath as he revealed her thong. “What is this? I’ve died and gone to heaven. That explains all the white and gold around here.” He yanked the denim and her boots off in one move. “But the red on top makes me think of flames. And that’s no angel.”

She snorted. “I swear to god, if you ask if the rug matches…”

“No need. I got eyes, and your panties are so damp, I can see right through them.”

She gasped and clamped her knees together, but he cupped his hand over her mound, slicking one finger past the wet silk and over her slippery folds. “Don’t get shy now,” he said. “Or tell me to get out. You know the word.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

“Bold and bossy,” he said. “Let’s see where that takes us. To the bed, maybe?”

She hooked one arm over the back of the couch and pulled herself half upright. “No. Not going anywhere, remember? Here. Do me right here.”

Ah, so she didn’t mind his tongue down her throat but she didn’t want the intimacy of the bed. Fair enough, since she picked him out of the alley.

Although he had to admit, it stung a little. But he’d long ago given up being anybody’s special someone.

He surged over her, pinning her back to the cushions. “So impatient.” He wedged his knees between her, nudging her thighs apart.

“I’m sure you have things to do,” she said.

“Yeah. You.” With one hand, he loosened the crisscross ties on the front of her bustier. She took little sips of air that sent her breasts surging over the top of the fake gemstones, a tidal wave of soft flesh. “Goddamn, Red. You’re gonna make me come in my jeans.”

“Then get ‘em off.”

“First things first.” He gave the bustier another downward tug, and her nipples popped over the rim. “And second.”

She gasped again when he palmed the heavy globes, freeing her entirely from the stiff confines of the top. He framed her nipples between forefingers and thumbs, the cherry-red tips already distended and pouting for his kiss. He obliged, first one, then the other. She squirmed under him as he drew a big, wet circle with his tongue and sucked up the tight, velvety bud between his teeth.

One nip, not too hard, had her hips bucking up toward his cock. Which was hammer-hard and banging on the back of his fly. But he ignored it to switch his attention to her other breast. He was not a soldier who left things half done.

She clutched at his hair, holding him to her breast, panting a harsh tune.

“So sensitive.” He turned his head to blow a cooling breath across the wet line he’d left, and she writhed, mewling. “So pretty.”

Her hands skimmed down his shoulders, nails raking lightly. He shuddered at the sensation. A mate would know all his secret places…

He pulled himself up short. Why the hell was he thinking about a mate? This wasn’t the mating season. And never would be for him. He’d spent too many years on the run as a kid to learn how to do forever, and his years in the military hadn’t changed that.

She curved her hands around his pecs, rock-skipped down his abs, and anchored on his waistband. She glanced up at him through her lashes. “What’s your escape word?”

“Same as yours,” he said. “And ain’t neither of us gonna use it.”

She let out a breathless little laugh then sucked it back in as she eased his zipper down and his cock sprang out like a f*cking attack anaconda coiled to strike.

He groaned as she cradled his weight, her mouth making a little O as she stroked him. “Gotta open wider than that,” he warned.

She sneaked another glance up at him, giving him a second long, slow caress. The muscles in his thighs jumped and quivered. “This all for me?”

“I don’t f*cking share,” he growled. Then he gave himself a mental shake. He hadn’t meant to sound so adamant. She obviously knew her way around a good time, and he was fine with that. This wasn’t even a one-night stand.