The Bachelor's Baby (Bachelor Auction Book 3)(15)

She let go of the bottle so it clinked lightly against the ones in the box and lifted her hand to his shoulder, angling herself into him, lifting her mouth in invitation…

He reminded himself that he’d just promised not to rush her, but it was hard. He was hard. The semi-arousal he’d been trying to ignore since this morning, when he started wondering if he’d see her again, pulled to demanding attention. His scalp tingled and his lungs felt tight. He kissed her with as much control as he could manage when arousal was blinding him. When she tasted like something heady and drugging.

A little noise escaped her throat and she leaned closer.

He pivoted so his back was to the counter and pulled her with him, smoothing his hands around to her back and learning the shape of her. Her sweater was duckling soft. His hands slid easily over the warm knit, shaping athletic muscles that flexed in response to his touch. He opened his legs, hitching a bit lower so they were closer in height and her stomach came in firm contact with his aching erection.

With a gasp she pulled away. “Let’s rush,” she breathed.

A sharp laugh cut the back of his throat while his brain could barely grasp a coherent thought. She was wiggling a hand between them, caressing him through his pants, inciting him.

“I’m afraid to get naked with you,” he admitted. “It’ll be over before it starts.”

She smiled under the kiss he tried to land, continuing to caress him while he tightened his hold on her, taking a few more liberties, shaping her hips and up her ribcage so his thumbs nestled in the pocket of heat beneath her breasts.

Really nice breasts. That wasn’t bra padding he felt when he caressed the soft swells. That was all her.

Her breath hitched and she licked into his mouth, nearly undoing him. He turned her into the wall, crowded her with his weight and let her know that she was stoking a very big fire. When he shifted his grip to cradle the firm globes filling his palms, exploring to find the tight points of her nipples and rubbing through the thin cups of her bra, she sobbed a pleasure noise into his mouth and softened all over, accepting him.

Surrendering.

They were rushing big time.

“Meg,” he groaned, wanting to take her on the damned counter. “Are you sure you’re with me? ‘Cause I’m really turned on.”

“I am. This feels so good…” She drew him down for another kiss, feminine fingers playing in his hair so a shiver of pleasure chased down his spine.

He found the bottom of her sweater and dragged it up, over her head and off. Then he released her bra and dropped it away.

She sucked in a breath and a shadow of uncertainty came into her eyes. It was the womanly one that needed reassurance. He always thought it was so odd when women were insecure about their chests. He loved breasts of any size or shape. Why did they ever imagine they wouldn’t measure up? Hers were amazing. He tried to tell her, but something feral gripped him. Something regressive and insatiable that just wanted to possess.

“Beautiful,” he managed, fighting to keep his hands gentle when he wanted to clasp the swells in a firm cage of ownership. Her nipples were a rosy beige, tight and aroused, standing taut against his caress. And each brush of his thumb against them made her twist and whimper in need. He had to lick at them. Had to suck.

Meg let her head fall back against the wall as he bent to capture her nipple with his hot mouth. The dull thud of connecting didn’t hurt. It gave her leverage to arch deeper into the burning pull of his mouth.

While a distant part of her wondered how she was even doing this.

From the moment he’d taken them back onto the road and headed toward his house, she’d been waiting for a shadow of misgiving to show up and warn her that she was being reckless. All she’d felt was an ember of nervous anticipation growing in strength, warming her with gradient levels of heat from the pit of her belly outward. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen, so sensitized she thought she’d orgasm from his attention on them alone.

He took his time, savoring with slow licks and gentle sucks, then lightly biting, stopping just short of pain, while pulses of sexual heat throbbed showers of wetness into the ache between her thighs.

“Linc,” she moaned, opening her legs so he could press his hand there.

He caressed her with a deliciously slow and knowledgeable flex of his hand. Then he stroked her thigh, lifting her knee so he could bend his own and let her feel the power of his hips as he pressed them sex to sex and mimicked what he wanted to do to her.

She was so weak she thought she’d faint, but she pushed back with her pelvis, signaling that her body was eager for the thrust of his.

And he watched her while he rocked against her, lashes low and spiky as his green eyes glittered. His face was taut with arousal, flushed and intent. Disconcerting when he was being so flagrant and watching her while he did it, but he was making her feel so good.

“Bed?” she whispered. It seemed a long way away.

He bent his knees and picked her up with firm hands under her butt. She closed her legs around his waist, arms clasping behind his neck, nose to nose, breaths mingling and sex rubbing as he walked them across the short distance.

“What are you doing to me?” she asked when he stopped beside the bed and let her lower her feet to the floor.

“Do you want to know what I want to do to you?” he asked in a throaty grumble that raised all the hairs on her body with anticipation.