Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(58)

His mouth came down on hers and she froze at the taste of herself on his lips. His hands bracketed her head, refusing to let her turn away and after a few seconds, she didn’t even want to, lost in the hunger of him, the heat.

Then the kiss ended and he rose up, kneeling between her thighs.

She heard something tearing and looked down. Any embarrassment she might have felt was gone because the sight of him sheathing himself utterly fascinated her. No. He was utterly fascinating. He was thick, his balls lying heavy below his cock and she found herself wanting to stroke her hand down him, close her fingers around him, and learn the feel of him.

The taste of him.

“You keep looking at me like that and I’ll be lucky if I last five seconds,” Zane said, meeting her eyes. He’d lost his glasses at some point and his gaze was a little unfocused.

“I thought you couldn’t see all that well without your glasses.”

“I don’t need to see that well to feel your eyes on me.” Then he covered her and she shuddered at the feel of his cock pressing into her belly. He did nothing else, just lay there, as though he was giving her a chance to adjust to his weight, the feel of him. His lashes lay low over his eyes, shielding that amazing blue green from her. “Tell me, Keelie . . . were you looking at me?”

“I think you already know the answer,” she whispered.

“And what were you thinking?” He rubbed his lips over hers.

Gulping, she brought her hands up, absently digging her fingers into the taut, ridged muscles of his back. “I . . . um.”

He rubbed his mouth against hers. “That’s not an answer.” He levered up and started to stroke against her, drawing a shaken, startled cry out of her as the head of his cock moved over her. “I suppose I could just do this until you answer me.”

“That’s . . .” She arched up, seeking more of that teasing, taunting contact. “That’s not nice.”

“I’m not very nice.” Wedging a hand between them, he closed it around his cock and used the head to tease her clit.

She felt every featherlight touch from her head down to her toes, the pleasure seizing at her as though he was pouring liquid lightning into her veins.

“I’m not the nice one . . . everybody just thinks I am. So . . .” He raked her neck with his teeth and sucked in a patch of skin, drawing the blood to the surface. “Are you going to tell me or do I just do this, and play, and play . . .”

She could feel the promise of another orgasm, hovering just out of reach, and she wanted to shove him to his back, or twist her hips until one of those teasing glides had him plunging inside her. At the same time, part of her wanted to do the same thing he was doing—tease. She’d never had a lover . . . not really. The thought of playing with Zane, teasing him, was intoxicating.

She sucked in a breath and then met his eyes. She even managed to smile, although it was shaky, and when he did another one of those taunting, slow glides, that hunger twisted through her again and sent a cry ripping from her.

“I was thinking . . .” she gasped out, once she could breathe. “That I’d like to touch you. Almost like what you’re doing.”

And because Keelie didn’t believe in empty words, she slid a hand between them, her teeth sinking into her lip as she sought him out. Her fingers brushed his hand. His eyes narrowed to slits and then he stiffened over her. His other arm went tight, muscles hard as he braced his weight over her.

“Then do it,” he muttered against her ear, guiding her hand into place.

Blood rushed to her cheeks but she let him guide her, show her. His hand folded around hers and heat bloomed in her belly as he stroked his cock into her hand. “Tight,” he said, his voice rasping over her skin. “That’s . . . that’s it.”

His voice tripped and then he started to surge into her hand.

Her sex clenched and she clamped her thighs together against that burning, aching hunger. Panting, she fisted him as he rode her hand and then abruptly, he snarled.

In movements almost too fast for her to follow, he caught her wrists and pinned them with one hand. His free hand caught one thigh, shoved it high, hooked it over his arm. “Last chance,” he said, the words ragged, snarled against her lips. “Say it now or we move past the point of no return.”

“We’ve already done that.”

A hard, hungry kiss swallowed her cry as he pressed against her.

That same hungry kiss muffled her whimper as he drove inside and she fought not to flinch.


*

Too hard. Too rough.

Distantly, he knew he was being too rough. “A minute,” he muttered. “Just give me a . . .”

Her body shuddered, her hips rolling against his. Sweat popped out on his brow. “Be still.” It was practically a plea and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He thought he was going to die. She was so tight and she felt so good . . . Then she moved against him again and . . . oh. Hell. “Keelie, just be still and give me a minute. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her hands gripped his hips, her nails sinking into his skin. “If you don’t do something, I will hurt you.”

“I need to . . .” He swore as she arched against him again. “Damn it, you’re too tight. I’m being too rough.”

A soft, broken little moan escaped her and she sighed. “It was uncomfortable, but . . . oh.” She brought her knee up, pressed it to his hip. “Zane, if you don’t do something and soon, I’m going to cry.”