Fire Inside (Chaos, #2)(27)

In response to all that, my breaths got shallower and my legs started trembling so much I had to lift a hand and curl my fingers in the side of his tee.

“Three weeks,” he growled. “I go to bed, lie there and think of you. Wake up, you’re the first thing on my mind.”

Oh God.

I liked that.

Oh God.

I couldn’t like it.

I tried to wipe his words from my brain but he went on, “Tell me you don’t feel that.”

I shook my head, short, sharp, and his fist in my hair tightened.

No pain.

Control.

Possession.

I liked that, too.

Yes, when we hit Chaos, I hit trouble.

My knees started to get weak and I lifted my other hand to curl into the other side of his tee.

“You feel it,” he whispered against my lips. “You do the same, lady. You go to bed thinkin’ of me, wake up with me on your mind. You do the exact, f*ckin’ same.”

I closed my eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I opened my eyes.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “You do the same.”

“No,” I breathed.

He held my eyes.

Then I felt the tip of his tongue sweep my lower lip.

Without my permission, my body swayed into his, pressing deep, and my eyes closed again.

“Liar,” he whispered.

He was right. I was lying.

I felt the same. I did the same. I went to bed thinking of him. I woke up, he was the first thing on my mind. Further, throughout the day, he slid into my brain constantly to torment me.

I had to end this.

I had to shut him up.

In order to do that, for some insane reason, I kissed him.

Not surprisingly, he kissed me back.

His kiss was better and my whole body thought so, especially my mouth, which moaned into his and my arms, which wrapped around his neck.

Seconds later I was on my back in the bed, Hop’s mouth still on mine, his tongue in my mouth.

Needing his taste, craving it for weeks, not having it, my tongue forced its way into his mouth.

Just as I remembered, he tasted great.

Spicy.

Manly.

Intoxicating.

Then his mouth and tongue were on my neck and my shirt was torn open, flimsy little pearl buttons giving up the fight easy, the ones that didn’t popped right off. Hop’s head moved as his fingers curled into the cup of my bra and yanked it down.

I gasped.

His mouth closed on my nipple.

My back arched, forcing it deeper.

Hop accepted the invitation and sucked hard.

My fingers slid into his long hair, my head went back and a low moan escaped the back of my throat.

This was good, so, so good to have back, what I needed, the only thing that filled the void in me.

He paid delicious and long-lasting attention to one nipple, then yanked the cup at the other side of my bra down and paid the same attention to that nipple.

Panting, moaning and squirming, even as I held his head to me, I begged, “My turn, honey.”

Hop lifted his head then his torso and he was on his knees in the bed, straddling me.

I knifed up as he yanked off his tee. Hands and mouth moving on him, his belly, his sides, his pecs, his nipples, my tongue sliding up that dense line of hair to the valley at his pecs and then it veered off to the side and my lips closed over his nipple.

Hop cupped the back of my head with his hand as his hips moved forward and he pressed his crotch against my breasts.

With his hardness against me, understandably, I lost interest in his nipple and went for his belt buckle. Scrambling to get my knees under me for better balance and maneuverability, I barely got them where I wanted them before Hop’s fingers curled into the hem of my skirt and yanked it up. Then his fingers went in and slid down, right into my panties.

I dropped my head to his pec and slid my hands up to curl around the side of his neck as his finger hit the spot and swirled.

God, God.

The best.

He pressed his face in my neck and muttered, “You’re wet. Ready. Not your mouth, baby, your *. Get your panties off.”

I nodded, my forehead rolling on his chest, and moved back. I pulled my skirt up at the sides, feeling his eyes on me but I was concentrating. I yanked my panties down, dropped to a hip and peeled them along my legs, over my ankles, and tossed them away.

Back to my knees I went and saw he had his jeans tugged just to his hips, and he was rolling on a condom.

God.

Hot.

“Climb up, Lanie.”

My eyes went to his. I wet my lip with my tongue, his face got hungry, and I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Then the other one. Then a leg around his hip. I used his shoulders for leverage, did a knee hop to get the other one up and around. He bent into me to catch me at my ass at the same time he dropped me to my back in the bed and then he was inside me.

Yes.

Yes.

Injected, the drug that was Hop coursed through my veins. I had it back in a way I couldn’t believe I’d ever managed to live without it.

“Fuck me, your *,” he groaned into my neck, his hips moving, slow, steady, sweet. His head came up and his eyes captured mine. “So tight, baby. Wet, sleek glove. Nothin’ like you, lady. Nothin’ like that beauty.”

I lifted my head, pulling him to me with one arm, pressing my chest to his as my other hand slid over the skin of his back and I urged, “Faster, honey.”