Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(35)

He really was a beautiful man. The scar only seemed to highlight the near-perfect symmetry of his face. She itched to touch that face, test its texture, feel the scratch of a day’s growth of beard. He was this close. She could.

“What?” The gravelly pitch to his voice made her shiver. The sound of his voice told her everything. He might be waiting, but it cost him. He wanted her. A lot. It seemed impossible.

Wait? Why did you tell him to wait? She couldn’t even remember what she had wanted to say. All she could do was stare at his face, his eyes, the mad tic pulsing in his cheek, and think how much she wanted all of that—him—to unleash on her.

Even with a foot between them, she felt the heat radiating from him. His body was a pulsing rod of electricity. And she wanted that rod. Her lips felt bruised and tingly and aching. Aching for the return of his mouth. Aching for the rest of him.

She didn’t want to stop. She shook her head and leaned forward. “Never mind,” she muttered.

“Thank God.” His head swooped back down. His hands moved from her waist to her hips and yanked her closer, forcing her thighs to open and accept him more fully. “You taste so good. Like you smell. Fresh and clean like rainwater.”

Her robe parted below the waist, falling open to the point where she had belted it tightly. Otherwise she would be sitting spread-eagled and bare from stem to stern. Balanced on the hood of a car with him wedged between her thighs, his hardness positioned directly where she most needed it.

She wasn’t wearing any underwear and the rough hard scratch of denim abraded her tender parts and shot bolts of sensation into her sex. Her eyes flew open even as his mouth continued its assault on her lips.

She cried out, her fingers digging into the hard wall of his chest. She couldn’t even properly kiss him as he ground his cock against her.

He didn’t seem to care. His mouth moved down her jaw to her neck. Her head fell back. He kissed her neck, laved it with his tongue and then bit down on the stretched cord of her throat. A strangled sob broke from her. Wetness rushed between her legs. She inched down and tilted her hips, angling herself, searching, trying to find what it was she needed. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. A wave welled up on her. Big and frightening in its intensity. Like nothing she had ever felt and yet she knew what it was. She knew what was coming, as unbelievable as it seemed, and she swam hard for the crest of it.

“Please, please,” she begged, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

He seemed to know. He understood. His hands slid under her, cupping the bare rounds of her ass inside her robe. She didn’t even jerk at this first touch on her naked flesh. It felt right. The most natural thing in the world.

He groaned. “You have a tight ass, Faith.” Squeezing the mounds, he lifted her, brought her closer, harder against him, digging his denim-covered cock into her weeping sex.

She moaned, her hands dropping to clutch at his biceps. Just a little more, a few more scrapes of denim against her clit and she would be done. Finished.

“Please,” she choked again.

It was like he knew exactly what she needed. He slid one hand deftly between them, testing. His fingers found her core, wet and soaking for him. It was shameful how wet she was, but she was too gone to care. He stroked her folds, parting them slightly to test her opening, tracing it in a slow teasing circle.

It was too much. She was shaking now, crying out against his lips, needing him firmer, harder, driving into her, filling up the unbearable hollowness.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.”

She bit her lip until she tasted the coppery wash of blood. She didn’t care. She welcomed the pain. She had to treat herself so cruelly to stop herself from begging. She craved him inside her. Now. Hard and fast, she needed him to put out the fire he had started in her.

She arched her throat and lifted up, toward him, toward that hand. She was close.

He pulled back from her mouth with a ragged gasp. “Let’s go inside your house.”

She stared at him, unable to speak. Unable to think. That battering ram inside her chest was working overtime now. “Wh-what?” she managed to get out, speaking amid the maelstrom of sensations bombarding her.

“Let’s go inside your house,” he repeated. The words shuddered out of him, a spaced breath between each one. She felt them reverberate into her. Through her. His eyes were dark mirrors reflecting her own torment. “I need to be inside you bad, Faith.”

She blinked and gave her head a small shake, coming to as if breaking free of a fog. “No.”

“No?” he echoed, his voice and face strained.

She nodded, regaining her composure—and good sense.

She wiggled enough to dislodge his hand from between her legs. She brought her thighs back together, locking her quaking knees tight and hastily covering them up with her robe.

Unfortunately, she could not hop down from the hood of the car without touching him. Without bringing her body flush with him, which was the last thing she wanted to do right now with all of her still burning and aching.

He was in the way, staring at her with flaring nostrils and dark, hooded eyes. Part of him looked ready to ignore her and that should have frightened her. But somehow she knew he wouldn’t do that. This killer . . . this criminal . . . he wouldn’t force her.

He wouldn’t have to. She shook off that insidious whisper. Sure. He could probably persuade her. Kiss her a little more, touch her. Bring her to a screaming climax. But he wouldn’t because she told him to stop.