watching her.
And yet it was almost unbearably exciting. She was so aware of everything—of the gathering shadows in her room, of the silence, of the sound and feel of her breathing. Her skin tingled with anticipation as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He watched her intently, face expressionless. If she hadn’t noticed the high color of arousal in his face, if she couldn’t feel the thick column of his penis against her stomach she could almost think he was unaffected by her movements.
Almost.
Her fingers were at the last button before his belt and she stopped, hands hovering over the buckle. She looked up at him and he nodded.
Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled the belt, unzipped his jeans, the back of her fingers brushing against him, hot and hard. His hips jerked and she looked up at him, startled. “Get me out of these clothes fast, please.”
O-kay.
She was feeling a sense of urgency herself, like swimming in a river that was picking up speed, rushing toward rapids. She had to stand on tiptoe for a second to push the shirt off his shoulders. Half a minute later, she kneeled to pull off his jeans and briefs and take off his sneakers.
When she rose, he was naked. The most powerful man she’d ever laid eyes upon. His body was utterly unlike any other naked male body she’d ever seen. Almost as if he were a male of a different species. His body was a reflection of the life he’d led. Broad, hard muscles defined by battle and not a gym.
He was thinner than his body type would indicate, no doubt because of the injuries. Each muscle was hard and tightly defined, like an anatomy drawing in living flesh.
And the scars. Oh, God, the scars. She’d seen them on the beach but out of politeness had kept her eyes trained on his. Now she could look all she liked.
She sucked in her breath, fingers reaching out. The leg was bad enough, but this… . The scars were everywhere, some thin and white, some with thick raised keloid tissue. She touched them delicately, each scar representing untold pain. She traced a thick scar over his left side, right under the brown nipple. Obviously his rib cage had stopped what should have been a killing blow. There were two round, puckered scars even she could recognize as bullet wounds low on his hip. Together with the one on his shoulder it made a little trifecta of pain.
He was alive by a miracle.
He stilled her hand, flattening his over hers. Under her palm, she could feel hard muscle, prickly chest hair, the strong beat of his heart.
Their eyes met. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s over,” he said. “Right now, all I want to think about is this.” He smoothed a big hand over her hip, across her belly, laying his palm lightly on her mound. “Open for me, Paige,” he whispered.
There was no question. Her feet shifted, his hand slid between her legs, cupped her. She huffed out a little breath of excitement. It was as if a sun bloomed there, between her thighs. His fingers stroked her, h Obroked her flesh so sensitive there she broke out in goose bumps.
One finger circled, slid inside, and her knees weakened. She clenched around his finger and the color deepened over his cheekbones. He bent down and kissed her, not touching her anywhere but with his mouth and his hand between her legs and oh, when his tongue touched hers, she clenched tightly again around his finger. He sucked in a breath when he felt it, the breath coming from her lungs.
Another slow swirl of his tongue in her mouth. “We need to take this to the bed before I fall down,” he said against her lips.
She smiled, mouth so close to his she felt his breath. She was vibrating with heat, with excitement, and couldn’t formulate words. “Hmm.”
Max turned, stretched out on the bed, held out a big hand. “You’re going to have to be on top. Sorry. This is going to be a huge incentive to me to gain more flexibility in my leg. I like the missionary position.”
“I’ll just bet you do,”
And yet it was almost unbearably exciting. She was so aware of everything—of the gathering shadows in her room, of the silence, of the sound and feel of her breathing. Her skin tingled with anticipation as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He watched her intently, face expressionless. If she hadn’t noticed the high color of arousal in his face, if she couldn’t feel the thick column of his penis against her stomach she could almost think he was unaffected by her movements.
Almost.
Her fingers were at the last button before his belt and she stopped, hands hovering over the buckle. She looked up at him and he nodded.
Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled the belt, unzipped his jeans, the back of her fingers brushing against him, hot and hard. His hips jerked and she looked up at him, startled. “Get me out of these clothes fast, please.”
O-kay.
She was feeling a sense of urgency herself, like swimming in a river that was picking up speed, rushing toward rapids. She had to stand on tiptoe for a second to push the shirt off his shoulders. Half a minute later, she kneeled to pull off his jeans and briefs and take off his sneakers.
When she rose, he was naked. The most powerful man she’d ever laid eyes upon. His body was utterly unlike any other naked male body she’d ever seen. Almost as if he were a male of a different species. His body was a reflection of the life he’d led. Broad, hard muscles defined by battle and not a gym.
He was thinner than his body type would indicate, no doubt because of the injuries. Each muscle was hard and tightly defined, like an anatomy drawing in living flesh.
And the scars. Oh, God, the scars. She’d seen them on the beach but out of politeness had kept her eyes trained on his. Now she could look all she liked.
She sucked in her breath, fingers reaching out. The leg was bad enough, but this… . The scars were everywhere, some thin and white, some with thick raised keloid tissue. She touched them delicately, each scar representing untold pain. She traced a thick scar over his left side, right under the brown nipple. Obviously his rib cage had stopped what should have been a killing blow. There were two round, puckered scars even she could recognize as bullet wounds low on his hip. Together with the one on his shoulder it made a little trifecta of pain.
He was alive by a miracle.
He stilled her hand, flattening his over hers. Under her palm, she could feel hard muscle, prickly chest hair, the strong beat of his heart.
Their eyes met. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s over,” he said. “Right now, all I want to think about is this.” He smoothed a big hand over her hip, across her belly, laying his palm lightly on her mound. “Open for me, Paige,” he whispered.
There was no question. Her feet shifted, his hand slid between her legs, cupped her. She huffed out a little breath of excitement. It was as if a sun bloomed there, between her thighs. His fingers stroked her, h Obroked her flesh so sensitive there she broke out in goose bumps.
One finger circled, slid inside, and her knees weakened. She clenched around his finger and the color deepened over his cheekbones. He bent down and kissed her, not touching her anywhere but with his mouth and his hand between her legs and oh, when his tongue touched hers, she clenched tightly again around his finger. He sucked in a breath when he felt it, the breath coming from her lungs.
Another slow swirl of his tongue in her mouth. “We need to take this to the bed before I fall down,” he said against her lips.
She smiled, mouth so close to his she felt his breath. She was vibrating with heat, with excitement, and couldn’t formulate words. “Hmm.”
Max turned, stretched out on the bed, held out a big hand. “You’re going to have to be on top. Sorry. This is going to be a huge incentive to me to gain more flexibility in my leg. I like the missionary position.”
“I’ll just bet you do,”
Similar Books
