Page 20 of All Mixed Up

Then fitted his whole, hard palm over my full, damp bush.

“No. hiding.” He cupped harder while all but snarling the order, spiking heat through every inch of my sex. The cosmos, in its twisted sense of humor, made sure every one of my intimate curls felt it too.

I gasped again. Arched into his touch. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t even want to try.

And what did that dark, beautiful bastard do in return?

He smiled.

Not a gloating smirk, either.

He smiled.

At me.

Adoring me. Caressing me with the velvet of his eyes before doing the same thing with his fingers. My gasp became a high, aching cry. Those thrilling digits…circling deeper into me now…slower then faster…softer then harder…testing every nuance of his talent on me.

“Oh!” I yelped. “Oh, my God.”

“Ssshhh.” He bent down, spreading the admonishment across my lips like a prayer. Which made no sense, because this man was Lucifer in flesh form. I flicked a glance down to the side, using the excuse to look for a horned tail, but was actually after a glance of his tight, flawless ass.

So. Flawless.

So screw the prayers.

All I wanted was more of this. More of his steady gaze, watching me without blinking. More of his intoxicating scent, cedar and cloves and man. More of his low, lusty growls as I trembled and sighed beneath him.

Didn’t stop me from watching him in return.

From memorizing him.

The way his dimples appeared, even through his scruff, when I mewled as he hit a sensitive spot in my folds. The way his lips firmed as he swirled and explored, hunting for another. And most beautifully, the way his eyelids dropped, hooding over the furnace of his gaze, as he stroked the outer edges of my deepest entrance.

“Holy shit!”

“Ssshhh!”

He backed the dictate by kissing me again—and doing it hard. And ruthlessly. So perfectly. A keen curled up from my belly and tumbled into his mouth. He replaced it with his moan as he touched me there again, but added the pressure of his thumb atop my clit. As every nerve between my thighs shivered, I twisted a hand into the satin glory of his hair.

And then hung on for dear life.

His dimples flickered again—but an instant were gone, as a new tremor rolled through him too. “Mon reve,” he whispered. “C’est si belle. So…beautiful.”

“No,” I uttered between one breath and the next. “You. You’re the beautiful—”

He robbed me of the rest by kissing me again—but this time, he breached my lips with unwavering authority, and twisted his tongue along mine in a hot, urgent mating dance. I pushed up a little, unable to get enough of his sinful taste. He answered with a primal sound from low in his throat, giving back just as much passion.

Dear God, what he did to me.

And what I was doing to him in return…

An honesty he exposed to me, in all of its longing and lusting fervor, as he slid his hand away from my slit.

I drew breath to moan in protest, but before the air came he was fitting his crotch against me in place of his hand. We rocked together, lunging and retreating, driving ourselves crazy with the friction. Our breaths were like half-crazed horses. Our bodies churned like locomotives. Sweaty, lusting, sex-crazed locomotives. It had to be the world’s crappiest cliché, but I never knew it could be like this. I never knew men actually made love like this.

No. Not love. It’s nowhere near love.

It’s way fucking better.