Page 60 of Puppy Kisses

“That was the single most erotic experience of my life,” she said. “I swear to God, if you so much as flicked my nipple right now, I’d come screaming on the spot.”

A devilish urge to test that theory took him by force, but Dawn had planned her ambush too well. He could barely even twitch his arm, let alone pull it out from under her.

“I had no idea you had a thing for stale tobacco and men who sweat whiskey,” he said, since words were the only tool she’d left him. “I’ll start my transformation immediately.”

The punishment for his insouciance was another one of those long, crushing, soul-searing kisses. She managed to slip a little tongue in this time, too—a slow, careful opening of her mouth against his. She was inviting him in, tantalizing him. Every part of her was hot and wet and somehow linked with the coiling, curling urgency that thrummed in his veins. He had no idea where she ended and he began.

Nor did he care. By the time the kiss was over, he knew down to his toes that if she so much as flicked his nipple,he’dcome screaming on the spot.

“No man has ever done anything like that for me before,” she said. Her breath came short and panting, but she had yet to relinquish her hold on him in the slightest. “Stepping up. Steppingdown.”

Maybe it was because all the blood was leaving his brain, but that bit didn’t quite make sense. “Wait. Did I step up or down?”

“You did both, you idiot.”

“I did?”

“Yes, Adam. You did. You stepped up to protect me—and then stepped down to let me finish the job.”

Although there wasn’t much he could do to facilitate whatever sort of interlude was about to happen inside a hot, stuffy car on the side of a very public highway, Dawn was more than happy to pick up the slack. She thrust a hand between them, not stopping until she reached the fly of Adam’s jeans.

In her distraction, he got his own hands free. They gravitated naturally toward her hips, which were pressing against his with an urgency that neither one of them could deny. As usual, she was wearing a skirt that was far too short to make ranch work or puppy training reasonable. Her underwear was even less so. There was a bit of lace, a strap or two holding it on, and that was it. The rest was all glorious curves and smooth, hot skin.

He slid his fingers around until he was cupping her ass in two hands. It would have only taken a few small adjustments for Adam to remove his jeans and be inside her, but he held back. For one, he didn’t have any protection on him. For another, the car seemed an awfully public place for this. Sheriff Jenkins would have a field day.

“You did say these windows are tinted, right?” he asked as Dawn’s hand slid up and down the front of his fly. She had a knack for knowing just how to press her fingers to reduce him to nothing more than a pile of nerve endings. “Very dark?”

“Dark enough for me, anyway,” she said with a laugh. “I meant what I said, by the way. Thank you for rescuing me.”

A growl escaped Adam’s lips, but he wasn’t sure if it was the memory of Murphy Jones that elicited it, or if it was just that Dawn did that thing with her fingers again. Considering how good she felt in his hands, he assumed it had more to do with the latter.

“Thankyoufor rescuing Gigi,” he said. “You’re a good person, Dawn Vasquez. Probably the best one I know.”

“I’m not,” she said. “But thank you all the same.”

Her thanks was more than enough to set the seal on their exchange, but she followed it up by adjusting her body so that there was nothing but delicious friction between them. Every part of him yearned to free himself and do this the right way—hard and fast, careful and slow, over and over—but he hadn’t been kidding about that protection thing.

“Wait,” he said with a low groan. It took all his willpower to resist the sweet, intoxicating pull of her, but he managed it. He feared her skin would tell the tale of his restraint, the press of his fingers probably leaving a mark, but she didn’t murmur a word of complaint. “Unless you’ve got condoms in your glove box, we’re going to need to put this on hold.”

She didn’t, as common sense demanded, pull her body back from his. If anything, she tilted her hips even more, her breasts pressing up into his face and burying him with their pillowy softness.

“I’m good if you are,” she said. “I recently started the pill.”

Although nothing would have delighted him more than to take this woman right here and now, his own common sense refused to budge. It was the Adam Dearborn way—duty and safety first, pleasure second. Not very glamorous, sure, but much less likely to result in the spread of HPV.

“We still can’t,” he said. “What about—?”

“I’m good if you are,” she repeated. “I got tested about six months ago and received the A-OK.”

The A-OK sounded wonderful. The A-OK sounded like everything he wanted in this world.

“There’s nothing standing in the way of us doing whatever we want, whenever we want to,” she said. “Personally, I think we should do it soon. I don’t know how much more suspense I can take.”

He didn’t either, but he still managed to croak out, “But what about your other partners since then?”

Her movements stopped, her thighs straddling his. For what had to be the first time in the entirety of their relationship, she seemed unsure of herself—hesitant. He might have regretted his practicality in asking such a question except that it was the exact sort of thing that made Dawn such a delight. She didn’t hold back from being who she was, didn’t shy away from the fact that her generous sexuality was as much a part of her as her generous heart.

Which was why her next words came as such a blow.