Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(12)

She opened the door and stepped in, turning back with a welcoming gesture. “And yet you were skulking around while I was away. You’d have been inside if the door weren’t locked, right?”

He came in and took the door from her to close it. “Hey, I was worried. Your cage was here, you weren’t. Thought there was trouble. Who’d’ve thought you were running around town in your underwear.

On purpose.” Without even a pause, he grabbed her arm and turned her, pushing her front-first against the wall. He leaned down, and she felt his beard on the skin of her shoulder. Growling again, he licked from her shoulder to behind her right ear. “You taste great—salt and musk, and something sweet.” His hands went around her hips and into her shorts, pushing between her legs. “Oh, yeah. Feel how wet you are.”

The fingers of one hand probed her core; the others moved over her clit. The pads of his fingers were calloused and hard, making her nerve endings catch fire. She moaned and put her hands on his, over her shorts, pressing him harder to her tender skin. Then, with a quick, forceful move, she shoved him back, gasping as his hands slid roughly out of and away from her. She turned and grabbed his kutte, yanking him back. Leaning in and going to her toes, she pressed her mouth to the base of his neck and bit down. He jerked and grabbed her ponytail, pulling her head back. She liked it rough, but she wanted to make it clear to him that she gave as good as she got.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. “You like a tussle, do ya? Why doesn’t that surprise me at all?” Grabbing her ass in his large hands, he lifted her up along his body, hooking her legs behind him, until they were crotch to crotch. He was hard against her core, and she could tell he had substantially more to offer than average. She draped her arms over his shoulders, looping his hair lightly around her fingers. He headed down the little hallway.

“Bedroom’s to the—” she stopped when he automatically turned left, the correct direction. She furrowed her brow at him.

He winked. “It’s a small town, Sport. Don’t think there’s a house I haven’t been in. You’re living in the Olsens’ old place.”

He went straight into the “master” bedroom. When he saw the bed, though, he stopped and let her legs drop until she was on her feet. “Well, gotta say, I expected sheets and pillows.”

There was nothing on the mattress but her sleeping bag. “Told you I had errands. I need to get some bedding. Are you saying you’re too soft to f*ck on a bare mattress?”

“Saucy wench.” He put his hands around her waist and tossed her onto the bed. Before she could react, he snatched the sleeping bag out from under her, dropping it to the floor. Then he had her foot, yanking her running shoe off without untying it. Sock. The other shoe. The other sock. He took her bare feet in his hands and pressed his thumbs into her arches. He hit exactly the right spot to make her feet and legs— which had very recently run a long distance—relax exquisitely, and she moaned.

“Oh, I do like that sound.” He loomed over her and grabbed the waistband of her shorts. She lifted her hips, and he tugged them down and away in one swift, determined move. He stood at the side of the bed and looked down at her greedily. Seemed like she had the kind of effect on him that he had on her. She sat up and scooted to sit on the bed in front on him.

When she put her hands on the big silver buckle of his belt, he growled again. She liked that sound, felt it right between her legs. As she opened his belt and began to unbutton his jeans, he bent over her and grabbed the hem of her snug running tank, his blunt nails grazing her back as he pulled it up. The tank served as bra, too, so it was tight. She stopped what she was doing and helped him pull it off. Now, she was nude.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous, Sport.” The words were little more than a breath. When she looked up and met his eyes, his expression had changed to something intense and unreadable.

She opened his jeans. She was pleased to see that he wore boxer briefs—in this case, black.

Considering the Johnny Cash vibe he had going generally, couture-wise, they were probably always black.

As far as Lilli was concerned, there were only two ways for a man to wear underwear—boxer briefs or not at all. The lump of his erection was impressive and extended down his leg, even as it swelled and curved.

She slid her hands into his waistband and pulled his length free. Wow. Nice. Long and thick. And hard as steel. She wrapped her hands around him and squeezed. His hips rocked toward her as he growled again.

He shrugged his kutte off his shoulders and, while she held his cock in her hands, folded it and leaned over to lay it on the dresser. Lilli thought that said a lot about this man. She let go of him and raised her hands to unbutton the rest of the buttons of his shirt. He watched her, his hands on her shoulders. When she was done, he shrugged it off and let it drop to the floor in a pool.

Lilli took in the wide expanse of his chest. Jesus Christ, he was beautiful. Arms, chest, abs, all of it perfectly defined, dark curls covering his pecs and then tapering to a trail into the black nest around his cock. Both shoulders and his arms to his elbows were covered in intricate blackwork ink. His chest and belly were free of ink. He was standing before her, tall and broad and beautiful, his long, sable hair loose on his back. Without thinking at all, she grabbed his hips and leaned forward to press her lips to his hard, ridged belly. She ran her tongue through the hair around his navel. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so viscerally attracted to another human being. It almost had to be a pheromone thing, their chemistry just perfectly in sync.