Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(26)

“Christ, you’re gorgeous. You know that?”

She only smiled, then pushed his kutte off his shoulders. He caught it as it reached his elbows, then pulled it the rest of the way off and laid it on the dresser nearby. Even now, he didn’t drop his kutte. When she’d worked open the buttons on his shirt, she pushed that off, too, and he let it drop to the floor. His beater was next; he helped her discard it.

She stopped then, her eyes wide and intent, and spread her hands over his chest. Fuck, her touch—satin on his skin. He closed his eyes and made himself breathe steadily as she ran her hands over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his belly.

“God, Show. You’re like…I don’t know. A statue. A Rodin.” She reached up then and pinched at his beanie, pulling it off his head. When it was loose in her hand, he tossed his head, clearing the strands from his face. She laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I figured you were hiding a bald spot under this thing.”

“Nope. Full head.” He smiled.

“I see that. It’s nice.” She ran her fingers through it, her nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he thought his knees would give. He pulled the beanie from her hand and dropped it, then pushed her onto the bed.

She scooted back and watched as he toed off his boots and socks and lay down with her, still in his jeans.

He was in no hurry. Leaning over her, propped on his forearm, he took her mouth again, reveling in the tangle of their tongues and in the sweet sound of her little moans and whimpers. He felt the pull as she coiled his hair in her hand.

With his free hand, he cupped the full mound of a breast, still wrapped in lace. She arched up into his touch, and he slid his hand under the lace to pluck at her nipple. She tore her mouth from his with a gasp, and her hips pushed hard against his thigh. He could feel the heat between her legs. He claimed her mouth again.

Maybe he was in more of a hurry than he thought.

Moving his hand to her back, he tried to unhook her bra. Back in his tomcatting days, there wasn’t a bra in the world he couldn’t release with one hand—hell, with two fingers. But this one, no. He struggled for a few seconds, until Shannon chuckled against his lips and reached back herself. He lifted up so she could pull the bra off her arms; she tossed it away with a flourish.

And there they were, bare and perfect, her areolae large and blush pink, the skin taut with her arousal.

Feeling a need growing desperate, he bent his head and took one in his mouth, not trying to be gentle, sucking her nipple firmly against his teeth.

She cried out, her back arching sharply, her hands snarling in his hair. “Oh, God! Oh, Show, yes!”

At her enthusiastic response, he shifted to lie on top of her, propped on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush her, and lavished starving attention on her phenomenal tits. She writhed and moaned, sounding as if she might cry, her hands in his hair, holding him close. Her hips flexed over and over, pressing her hot, lace-covered core against his belly again and again, and he had no idea how he’d gone so f*cking long without this.

He couldn’t go any longer.

He pushed himself off the bed and stood staring down into her eyes as he opened his jeans, pushed them down, off his granite-hard cock, and let them fall. Her eyes slid down from his face, flaring when they reached the level of his hips.

He put his knee on the bed, his cock nearly reaching out for her. Hooking his fingers under the lace of her panties, he yanked them down with one swift pull, dropping them to the floor when he got them clear of her slim ankles. Her toenails were polished to match her fingernails. He grinned. She was a little bit of a glamourpuss.

Shannon spread her legs in invitation, and he stretched out against her, pushing his hand between her legs. She was hot and wet—and a natural redhead, her ginger curls trimmed short and shaped into a neat wedge. But she gasped and jumped a little at his touch, and he stopped and looked.

“That hurt you?”

“No. It’s just—your hands are rough.”

“Want me to stop?”

“No. I like it.”

He flicked the pad of his thumb over her clit, and her hips came off the bed. “You like that?” She nodded.

He pushed a finger deep inside her, and she gasped and bounced. “That?”

“Oh, yes.”

He pulled out and added a finger. She cried out. She was so wet that he could feel it trickling down his fingers to his palm. He curled his fingers inside her, pressing against her inner wall. “That?”

“Yes! God, Show. Make me come. Please, make me come.”

He didn’t know how long he’d last inside her. So many years. He didn’t want to humiliate himself or disappoint her. He wanted to make sure she got off, and well. “You want it hard?”

This time she only nodded, spreading her legs wider. He gave her what she said she wanted, f*cking her hard with his coarse hand, his thumb at her clit, his fingers slamming into her. She writhed and flexed, keening, until the keens became screams, and she sat up, driving herself down, f*cking herself with his hand, her eyes on his, wide with what looked like surprise. Then she dropped back down to the pillows all at once, and he stopped as she still spasmed around his drenched fingers.

He grinned. Like riding a bicycle. He rolled over her and grabbed his cock.

And remembered what he was forgetting. Fuck!

“I don’t have condoms. Goddammit!” No way he was going around the clubhouse hunting one up. Not even for this. He pushed himself up onto his knees, preparing to get up, but she grabbed his arm.