Page 73 of Locked and Loaded

It wasn't like before. The first time, she'd been playing him. The second time, she'd been trying to steal his key. This time she was just a woman who had nothing left and needed something to hold on to.

He kissed her back. His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and she made a small sound against his mouth that he felt all the way down his spine. Her hands came up to his bare chest, her palms flat against his skin, and she was still shaking.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur her name against her lips. She shook her head.

"Don't stop. I…"

She didn't finish. She didn't have to. He understood.

His mouth found hers again, slower this time. Less desperate. She leaned into him, and he rolled back onto the bed, bringing her astride him, careful of his arm, careful of her, careful of everything except the one thing neither of them could be careful about anymore.

Above him, her hands moved across his chest, tracing the scars. The one along his ribs. The old bullet wound on his shoulder. She wasn't cataloging anymore. She was claiming. And he let her.

When she pulled back to look at him, her eyes dark, her breathing uneven. "This is a terrible idea," she said.

"Probably."

"I'm a mess."

"I know."

"You're injured."

"It's a scratch."

“Dragan.” Her lips quirked, almost a smile. Then she kissed him again, and he stopped thinking about anything except the weight of her against him and the taste of salt on her lips and the way she said his name like it was the only word she had left.

The denim she wore was rough on his palm as he swept his hand down her thigh. The white shirt she’d left untucked rode up her torso a bit, and her skin was warm and silky under his fingertips as he skimmed his hand upward. Her stomach muscles flinched as his hand moved to rest on her tummy. The ache in his arm was forgotten as he began to ache in an entirely different place.

And while he explored her body, she examined his with as much curiosity as he had displayed. Her lips clung to his as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Softly she stroked his various scars, balanced on her knees as she straddled his hips. She lowered her hips just enough to make contact, through layers of denim between her slick folds and his engorged cock. He groaned. Had he ever wanted a woman this much? Probably not, but this wasn’t just any woman. This was Lennox. Smart, strong, resilient Lennox.

She pushed her hips toward his thighs, then dragged her body up along his, rubbing her breasts over his abs, along his chest, until she reached his lips again, then sprawled over his torso.

“Is this alright?” she asked, briefly glancing from his face to the wound on his arm. She started to rise off him.

“More than okay,” he replied. To prove his point, he cupped her butt and pressed at the same time he lifted his hips. Even with the heavy fabric of his jeans, he detected her wet heat, reveled in it. He slipped his hands under the waistband of her jeans, then over her soft flesh until his fingers reached the cleft between her butt cheeks. There was barely enough space to maneuver the fingers of his left hand lower until he found her dripping seam. “God, Lennox. So wet. So ready.”

“Yes, Dragan. So ready,” she murmured as she sat upright, still astride him, and loosened the button and zipper on her jeans. She pushed the material lower on her hips, then reached for his jeans.

He moved his right hand to help her efforts, the gash on his arm a mere twitch of discomfort. He left his other hand in her pants, and slipped a finger inside her sheath. She groaned, then settled her hips closer, as if she wanted more, deeper.

Her hips rocked wildly as she unzipped him, rubbing erotically over his body as she struggled to yank his pants open and down, while trying to pull his finger in deeper.

Once his erection popped free of his jeans, she shoved the rest of the fabric to his thighs and took his penis in one hand, pumping, squeezing, fingering the tip to spread the precum down his shaft.

“Hurry, Dragan, god, please hurry.”

She lifted her other hand to her blouse and started undoing the buttons from the top. He worked the buttons from the bottom until the shirt gaped open. Lennox laid her chest on his, and the heat between their bodies was hotter than a summer lightning storm.

“Top or bottom?” he asked.

“We’re fine right here,” she replied as she kissed and nipped along his jaw. She rubbed against him with catlike grace, and each brush of her breasts, still clad in her bra, was a delicious rasp against him.

“Tell me now if you want to stop.” Please don’t tell me to stop. He’d die if she didn’t want this. He slipped a finger back inside her, then a second, pleased to hear her moan.

“I’ll kill you if you stop now.” She bit down hard on his collarbone.

He scissored his fingers inside her sheath and moved his other hand between their bodies, positioning his cock at her entrance.