Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(64)

He withdrew his hand—soon, soon—and hurled the sweater across the room. Her hair fell down her back in a tousled curtain, black on white. Inhaling the scent of her scalp, he ran his hands down her body and met her eyes her in the mirror. “You are so damn beautiful.”

She met his eyes, looking alarmed.

“What's the matter?” He pulled her closer and ground his hard cock through the jeans against her bottom, while his fingers teased her nipples through the lace.

Gasping, she shook her head and leaned into him. “You—terrify me.”

“Serves you right.” He brushed her hair aside so he could kiss the back of her neck, still searching for the source of the intoxicating citrus smell that followed her everywhere. It seemed to be everywhere on her skin, sweet and sharp and rich. He dropped kisses along her shoulder then dragged his tongue up the side of her neck to her ear and inside, tasting and breathing and whispering her name.

He watched her reaction in the mirror, surprised to see her staring at him with those stunning blue eyes. Below her face, the red bra with the full breasts spilling out of the cups snared his attention. He looked lower, to the curve of her bare abdomen, and down to the hint of red lace under the waistband of her jeans.

The jeans were as loose as her sweater had been, which she probably intended as a turn-off, but now, sagging low on her hips and exposing her panties, they reminded him of what delights he hadn't explored, delights he'd been obsessed with since that morning in the store's dressing room.

He opened his hands over the indentation of her waist and held them there, willing his body to be patient, go slow. They slid lower, his thumbs stroking her belly while his fingers dove under the gaping waistband.

She sucked in her breath, tensing her abs, and he squeezed the handful of woman in his hands and nibbled the side of her neck.

“No running away this time,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“Too late for that.” He unbuttoned her jeans and slid his hand down over her *. “Don't even think about it.”

Faintly, from the back of her throat, she whispered, “I meant you.”

“I’d die first.” She was hot under his palm. With a fingertip, he traced the elastic bands of her panties, his large hand a tight fit inside the jeans. Having his hand down her pants, and watching her aroused face in the mirror, he worried about losing his control.

He slid his hand away, pleased by her whimper of disappointment, and jerked the pants down over her hips to expose her glorious ass.

“You seemed to like the thong,” she said, her voice rough. “In the dressing room.”

Stunned with lust, Liam took a step back to get a better view of the narrow band of red silk slicing her perfectly round ass in two. Smiling at him, her fear draining away from her face, Bev kicked off her shoes and each leg of the jeans, jiggling her hips and breasts with each move. He closed his eyes to get a grip. The thunder of his heartbeat in his ears and drowned out what she said next.

“What?” he whispered.

Turning to face him, she slid her hands up his chest to the top button of his shirt and began unfastening. “Your turn.”

He barely heard her the second time. The sight of her backside in the mirror, pinched by inadequate scraps of red lace, drove all the blood out of his brain to a presently more essential organ. Vaguely he was aware of Bev sliding his shirt apart and moving the fabric down his shoulders. While he swiftly unhooked her bra and bent over to feel the weight of her breasts on his face, she tugged the last of his shirt off his wrists.

She stepped around him to reverse their positions. Now she stood behind him, peering out from the side, her hands sliding up over his belly and chest, her pelvis grinding into his ass while they looked at each other in the mirror.

Except Bev wasn't keeping her eyes on his face. Embarrassingly enough for him she was caressing his chest and watching the muscles ripple under his skin.

“I thought you didn't like jocks,” he said. Even after a decade exposing his body in public he didn't like to be stared at. Too much of the pudgy kid he used to be lingered in his soul. His mother had always loved him unconditionally, but not the other kids, the P.E. teachers, his father—

She flattened her palm over his abdomen, slid the tips of her fingers down the stripe of hair that led down under the waistband of his jeans, searching. “Like isn't the word,” she said, then wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed.

With a groan he spun around, took her in his arms, and lifted her off the ground. “I know what you mean.” He carried her over to the bed and dropped her onto her back.

She laughed up at him. “Glad you lift weights. No guy’s ever picked me up before.”

“Why do you think I do it?” He leaned over and jerked the panties off her hips in a single motion. He heard her gasp of surprise but didn't slow down until he saw all her dark curls and a hint of rosy flesh underneath. Her feet lifted off the bed, held together by the panties, and her thighs fell apart right under his gaze while she freed herself from the fabric. He shoved her knees wider and kissed his way up her sweet inner thighs until he had nowhere to go but down.

She thrashed under him. “Oh, God.”

He lifted his head, slid his hands between her thighs to delicately work her folds apart. Savoring the sight, he dipped a finger inside her, drew the moisture up. “You are so beautiful,” he said quietly. Then licked her.