Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(25)

He bent down again and covered her mouth with his, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her body to him. She matched his intensity, exceeding it, closing her lips and teeth on his tongue and sucking. He grunted and grabbed her ass. But he couldn’t feel her up in the f*cking hallway. She deserved more than that. She wasn’t club *.

“I want to take you back to my room.”

Without hesitation, she nodded. “Yes. Yes.”

He wrapped his hand around her arm again and led her back.

He ushered her in and closed the door behind them, turning the lock. She went immediately to the bed and began taking her clothes off, pulling her shimmery top out of her skirt. With two long strides, he reached her and grabbed her hands.

“No. Let me do it.” She relaxed. Her hands were in his. They were warm and soft—and so small, fine boned. He lifted her left hand; his thumb filled the center of her palm. Transfixed, he watched as he traced a circle over her smooth skin. Then she curled her fingers around his thick digit. Her nails were oval and polished a dark red, almost brown. On her middle finger, she wore a large gold ring with an odd, multi-colored stone. He’d noticed before that she wore a ring, but had never paid it much mind. Now, fascinated by her skin on his, he turned her hand and ran his thumb over the long, smooth stone.

“Pretty.”

“Thank you.” After a beat during which he continued staring at her hand, watching his thumb move over her knuckles, she whispered, “Show…”

He raised his eyes to hers. Her expression was patient and open, looking up at him. She licked her lips, lightly dragging her tongue, and then her teeth, over her lower lip. Hot as hell.

Show no longer felt drunk. He knew he was, but his head felt clear, as if the drink had shut down the noise, the demons and doubts, and left him alone in a room with this gorgeous woman. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Shannon whimpered—a tiny, lost sound—and then turned her hand and stretched her fingers over his jaw, her thumb on his mouth. He closed his eyes against the emotion he felt at her touch. Without thinking about it, he sucked her thumb between his teeth, biting down lightly on the knuckle. When he released her thumb, she wrapped her hand around his beard and pulled his head down. He grabbed her hips and brought her hard against him, covering her mouth with his and kissing her as hard as he could, as hard as he remembered kissing any woman, his tongue deep and searching. She moaned into his mouth and grabbed his kutte in her fists.

To have a woman in his arms again, a woman like this, soft and beautiful and wanting him—it was more than he could feel all at once. He’d missed it; of course he had. He’d had nights, even lying in the same room as his wife, where the loneliness had lain so heavy on his chest he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to draw the next breath, and the idea that there was no end in sight to it, that he and Holly would always be locked in that shadowy space of dead love, had made his whole body cramp. But until this moment, feeling like this, this excitement, for the first time in years, he hadn’t fully realized how hollow his life had been, long before he’d lost his family.

Getting sucked off by a club whore was nothing but physical release, beginning and ending with his cock. What he’d missed was this—the warm, pliant firmness of a female body, the slight tremor of desire, real desire, he could feel under her skin. The quickening of her hot breath when he moved his hand from her hip and slid it under her top. The way her belly twitched at the contact of his hand.

He broke away from her mouth and brushed her silky red hair off her shoulder so he could press his face against her neck. He could feel her pulse beating against his cheek. And she smelled fantastic, like…he didn’t know what. Spicy, maybe. Just good, whatever it was. Her hands had gone to his back and hooked over his shoulders. As he held her and breathed deep of her, his mouth on her soft skin, tasting her, he could feel her grip tightening.

“Show, please.”

He pulled away at once and looked down into her lovely eyes. “You want to stop?”

She laughed. “No, dummy. I want you to take my clothes off. Like you advertised.” She kicked off her shoes and was suddenly several inches shorter—but still tall, coming up to his shoulders.

He grinned. His cheeks felt stiff, unused to the expression. With a quick glance at her top, he determined that there were no buttons, so he grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head. When she was clear of it, she shook her hair out, the small gold hoops in her ears swinging.

She was wearing an elaborate bra, very low cut, in dark green lace. Christ. Those big, beautiful tits were wrapped up for him like Christmas. He put his hands over them, running his thumbs over her nipples. His balls clenched hard when he felt those round points and heard her gasp. She reached for the waistband of her skirt, but he grabbed her hands again and moved them away. He wanted to undress her. This was more than foreplay. This was a homecoming. He needed to reacquaint himself with what he’d lost.

He found a zipper on the side of the skirt and pulled it down. The dark fabric eased off her lush hips, and she stepped out of it. Show discovered that the green lace was a set, and she was wearing panties to match, low across her hips. Her body was amazing—her hips, her belly curving just right and firm but supple to the touch, her tits sumptuous and her nipples erect through the fancy lace. Her legs and arms were long. Her skin was pale and perfect. She had no ink that he could see, no piercings but her ears.