Page 25 of Bare
“Your bravery shames me.”
He couldn’t be serious.
“You were in the Marines and the FBI,” Rosemary said. “I think everyone you know is brave.”
He leaned toward her until their faces were inches apart. His warm breath danced over her lips, and the sweet scent of beer filled her nostrils.
“You. Are. Brave.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
This fierce, strong, loyal, hot-as-the-sun man thoughtshewas brave. His lips were so close. All she had to do was lean forward a little, and they would touch her own. If she’d been brave enough to battle cancer, then closing the gap between them should be no big deal. But his hand was still on her cheek, the tip of his pointer finger resting on her earlobe. Leaning forward might shift his hand into her hair. She couldn’t lose herself in a kiss if she was worried about her wig.
“If I kiss you, will you promise not to touch my hair?”
He didn’t pull back, but she felt him startle. She’d had far too few nights like this one. She didn’t want to ruin this moment.
Firm fingers trailed down her jawline, grazed the side of her neck, then gently gripped her shoulder.
“Is this better?” he asked, his voice husky.
His fingers on her knee and shoulder were hot pokers on her skin. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tingled, and hercore clenched with desire. The temperature in the already warm room seemed to jump even higher. The itchy sensation prickled her scalp, but this time, the itch was like distant music—her body’s arousal muting the sensation.
She swayed forward, erasing the space between them.
The instant their lips touched, electricity arced through her. His tongue slid into her mouth. He tasted of mint and the spicy sweetness of lager. He kept their mouths together as he caught her legs in his hand and slid her down the leather couch until they were both prone. The arm of the couch supported her head, while his lean, muscled body pressed tightly against her. He was all hard heat, like lying on a hot sidewalk in the summer.
He nibbled her lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth. Then he returned to exploring her mouth with his tongue. His kisses were a drug, stripping her of the ability to think of anything other than the force of his tongue and the steel of his body.
She curved toward him, stroking his back and shoulder muscles. Then she trailed lower. His ass was nearly as muscular as the rest of him. As she squeezed, she pulled him into her, his erection creating a delicious pressure against her stomach, making her ache to be even closer.
His teeth nipped her chin and neck. He alternated languorous licks with gentle bites. Softness mixed with intensity.
Her thigh muscles tightened.
Hot, firm fingers slid under her shirt, up over her ribs, and closed over her breast. He squeezed her nipple through her bra. The rough lace edge rubbing across such delicate skin, combined with the pressure of his fingers, was exquisite. He released her nipple and then tugged again, this time adding a flick of his finger. Liquid rushed to her core. A moan escaped her lips. Her breasts felt weighty and needy. The muscles in her thighs grew tighter.
Her body was on fire. He was barely touching her, and she felt like she could come from one stroke of his hand. God, how she wanted that stroke. Needed it. With each brush of his lips, each scrape of his teeth, each press of his erection, each tug on her nipple, tension built.
She was one of those little race cars where you kept pulling the wheels backward until they were wound so tight, the car practically jumped when you let go. She wanted to let go, needed to let go. She needed Aleksei to wind and wind and wind until she raced off into oblivion.
She gripped his wrist. He stilled and lifted his head from her neck.
No, no, no.She didn’t want him to stop. Not now. She shifted so she lay flat on her back. With her free hand, she grabbed his head and pulled it back down, but lower this time, so his face was at her breast. He exhaled, and his breath on her skin made her back arch. Her nails were digging into his wrist, but she didn’t release her grip. Instead, she pushed his hand down her body.
“You want me to touch you?”
“Yes.” The word was almost a moan.
His voice was deeper, his accent thicker. “That’s good, because I want to touch you. I want to feel you hot and slick under my fingers. I want to feel you come on my hand.”
His words were like a lightning strike. Muscles she thought couldn’t get any tighter contracted further. Her body arched. The universe had shrunk to the space between her thighs.
“Please.”
Her plea seemed to strike him like a match. His teeth sank into her breast. Deft fingers had her jeans unbuttoned and halfway down her thighs before it occurred to her to help him with her clothes. The idea was a flash, replaced by the divine sensation of her thong pressing against her clit. He’d slid thethin fabric between her folds and was tugging it slowly back and forth. But the pressure was too light, too teasing.
“Please.”
She didn’t care that she was begging. She was consumed by the need to feel his hand on her bare flesh.
