Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(62)

She knocked on the door, then rang the bell when nothing happened. Not a sound. She rang again, just in case, and waited for two minutes before she heard a muffled thump and a curse. The pause told her Graham was looking out the peephole seconds before the front door flew open.

“Kara!”

He stood there in a towel, dripping wet and covered in nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, held up by one hand fisted in the fabric at his side.

“Well.” She chewed on her lip a moment, giving herself the chance to really take in the whole picture. “And what if I’d been the Avon lady?”

“I wouldn’t have opened the door for the Avon lady. I wouldn’t have opened the door for anyone but you. Get in here.” He reached out with his other hand and pulled her in, shutting the door behind her and kissing her senseless. “God, I missed you.”

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” she reminded him, ridiculously pleased. Her fingertip traced down one pec, following the line of a drop of water as it rolled over his smooth skin.

“Sorry, I’m getting you wet.”

“Yes, you are.” Her voice was husky, unintentionally, but he caught the note of lust.

His hand came down to pull at the skirt a little, baring her thigh. “You look gorgeous. Edible, almost.”

“Graham?”

“Hmm?” He busied himself with nuzzling at her neck. The scent of warm, damp male mixed with his body wash and filled her with longing. As his teeth scraped over her tendons, she shivered, and her nipples puckered painfully beneath the bodice.

“This is a new dress.”

“And I’m getting it wet,” he said again, though he didn’t move away from her. Just slid his lips along the underside of her jaw and chin to reach the other side of her neck.

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not what I was going . . . oh, don’t stop.” He bit gently on her earlobe.

“What?” he whispered. “What were you going to say?”

“Only that . . .” She took a shaky breath. She was the same woman who’d had insane, wild animal sex on his kitchen counter not long ago. She could say this. “Only that, I bought it without trying it on. And as it turns out, it was too tight to wear anything underneath.”

Her skin burned with embarrassment when he froze, taken aback.

“You’re . . .” He cleared his throat, then held her at arm’s length with one hand. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

“Or panties.” She swished the skirt around a little and did her best to look irritated. “The darn thing was too tight to get them on.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said dryly. “Shame.”

“I’m assuming you’re also naked under your, uh, outfit.” She dipped a fingertip between the towel and his skin, loving the power she seemed to hold over him. “We’re a matching set.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, pulling and tugging at the zipper behind her. “But we will be.” And with that, he abandoned any pretense of holding the towel in place and used both hands to unzip her dress. The towel fell to their feet, along with the dress as he roughly shoved it down her breasts, over her hips and off to pool around her ankles.

“Matching set,” he said with satisfaction, then gripped her butt and lifted.

“Shoes,” she gasped as he kissed her and walked her over to the couch. “My shoes . . .”

“Should stay on. Because I’m sexist enough to admit I’ve got this amazing fantasy about you, with these legs of yours, and some sexy heels, and nothing else. Gorgeous,” he muttered as he rested her on the couch lengthwise. “You’re just too damn gorgeous.”

She felt more than gorgeous as he worshipped her with his mouth. She felt powerful. She’d taken her future into her own hands, no longer a victim of circumstance. No longer powerless. Formidable.

He covered her, his erection pressing into her thigh. Because it pleased her, she wrapped her legs around his waist and let the heels dig, just a little, into his backside.

Graham growled and covered her breast with his mouth, sucking hard on the tip while his hand massaged the other breast. His cock prodded and ran down her slit, seeking entrance without guidance. She reached down to help, but he shook his head.

“No, wait.”

A small part of her wanted to argue back. Assert the dominance she’d so newly discovered. Be the force. But the other, wiser part of her whispered, It’s okay . . . because he’s going to make it good. So good. So very, very good . . .

Not weak to give in to pleasure. Just smart.

So she let the torment continue. The thick, fat head of his penis glided through her folds, almost without purpose as he licked and sucked and nipped at her breasts. The occasional, infrequent contact with her clit left her guessing, then experiencing zingers when she least expected it.

When she didn’t think she could last any longer—couldn’t take the madness another second—he arched his hips up and drove into her.

Her eyelids burst with a cacophony of color. Arching into him, pushing hard with the heels of her feet, she urged him into a fast pace to keep up with her growing climax. It was a snowball rolling down the mountain, too long ignored, and was immediately upon her.

A few more thrusts and she burst, screaming his name and loving the harsh way her own name fell from his lips before he collapsed with her. As spent, as exhausted, as completely used as she.