his mouth closed on hers.
After days and days of sexual fantasies, the touch of his mouth was like petrol on a fire, and she blazed with need. Harper had heard other women talking about hearing the Hallelujah Chorus when the right guy kissed you. Choirs of angels and all that jazz. But that wasn’t what she was hearing. There was music all right, but it was no glorious benediction. It was rock-and-freaking-roll.
It was the bourbon-gravelly tones of Nickleback singing about pants around her feet and dirt on her knees.
She was vaguely aware of him walking her backward toward the wall, her legs moving automatically at the insistent push of his powerful thighs, and she had just enough sense in her rapidly devolving thought processes to protest.
“No, no,” she muttered, tearing her mouth from his. “The paint’s wet.”
The harsh suck of his breath was loud in her ears for the moment or two his glazed eyes raked her face before he growled in frustration and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the nearest bathroom. Harper was only vaguely aware of their surroundings, of being spun and planted firmly against a strip of wall between the doorway and a washbasin, of the disinfectant foam pump not far from her head, of the two open toilet doors over Dex’s shoulder.
She was much more aware of the heaving of his chest, the rich glitter in his eyes as his gaze raked down her body, and the exciting perfume of hot, hard man. The familiar chemical smells of paint and turps were drowned out by the enthralling waft of more natural chemicals.
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he murmured, his gaze fixing on her zipper again.
Harper’s head spun at the admission. It was an intoxicating statement, and she bunched the hand she didn’t know was resting on his bicep into the fabric of his jersey. Her breath rasped as his hand stroked down the open collar of her overalls into her cleavage to toy with the tab of the zip. His fingertips brushed against the rise of her breasts as he played with it. Her nipples tightened into painfully hard points in response.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he said. “This tab is driving me crazy.”
Harper knew exactly how he felt. Thoughts of Dex had occupied a stupid amount of her time. Thoughts of him soothing the painful ache of her nipples with his tongue were all she could think about now.
The give of the first tooth was louder than the husky saw of their breathing and the jitterbug of her pulse through her ears. Harper’s gaze fell on the cheekbones of his bowed head as he tugged some more, tracking the progress, watching his handiwork—watching the zipper cede to his insistent downward tug, and the slow reveal of her underwear.
Somewhere in the sludge that was now her brain, she was thankful she’d chosen to wear a matching set today.
Her overalls slowly parted to reveal all of her, and Harper moaned as he anchored the zipper at its southernmost point, his fingers brushing softly against her crotch.
“Oh yes,” Dex whispered, his voice reverential, his head still bowed. “God yes. ”
He slid his hands inside her overalls. Her breath hitched. Nerve endings beneath her skin twitched at his touch. “I knew you’d look like this,” he said, his hands sliding north, gliding over the cups of her bra and squeezing.
She gasped this time, her back arching involuntarily, her shoulder blades still anchored to the wall as her hips, the same height as his, ground against him. He ground back, the hard ridge of his cock hitting her in just the right spot.
“ Fuck ,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.
“ Mmhgnh ,” she muttered unintelligibly, grinding again, finding some relief for the pressure building to fever pitch between her legs.
Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as he yanked her bra cups aside, his greedy hands each claiming a breast. They ground on each other like horny teenagers, and Harper moaned as he dropped soft kisses down her
After days and days of sexual fantasies, the touch of his mouth was like petrol on a fire, and she blazed with need. Harper had heard other women talking about hearing the Hallelujah Chorus when the right guy kissed you. Choirs of angels and all that jazz. But that wasn’t what she was hearing. There was music all right, but it was no glorious benediction. It was rock-and-freaking-roll.
It was the bourbon-gravelly tones of Nickleback singing about pants around her feet and dirt on her knees.
She was vaguely aware of him walking her backward toward the wall, her legs moving automatically at the insistent push of his powerful thighs, and she had just enough sense in her rapidly devolving thought processes to protest.
“No, no,” she muttered, tearing her mouth from his. “The paint’s wet.”
The harsh suck of his breath was loud in her ears for the moment or two his glazed eyes raked her face before he growled in frustration and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the nearest bathroom. Harper was only vaguely aware of their surroundings, of being spun and planted firmly against a strip of wall between the doorway and a washbasin, of the disinfectant foam pump not far from her head, of the two open toilet doors over Dex’s shoulder.
She was much more aware of the heaving of his chest, the rich glitter in his eyes as his gaze raked down her body, and the exciting perfume of hot, hard man. The familiar chemical smells of paint and turps were drowned out by the enthralling waft of more natural chemicals.
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he murmured, his gaze fixing on her zipper again.
Harper’s head spun at the admission. It was an intoxicating statement, and she bunched the hand she didn’t know was resting on his bicep into the fabric of his jersey. Her breath rasped as his hand stroked down the open collar of her overalls into her cleavage to toy with the tab of the zip. His fingertips brushed against the rise of her breasts as he played with it. Her nipples tightened into painfully hard points in response.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he said. “This tab is driving me crazy.”
Harper knew exactly how he felt. Thoughts of Dex had occupied a stupid amount of her time. Thoughts of him soothing the painful ache of her nipples with his tongue were all she could think about now.
The give of the first tooth was louder than the husky saw of their breathing and the jitterbug of her pulse through her ears. Harper’s gaze fell on the cheekbones of his bowed head as he tugged some more, tracking the progress, watching his handiwork—watching the zipper cede to his insistent downward tug, and the slow reveal of her underwear.
Somewhere in the sludge that was now her brain, she was thankful she’d chosen to wear a matching set today.
Her overalls slowly parted to reveal all of her, and Harper moaned as he anchored the zipper at its southernmost point, his fingers brushing softly against her crotch.
“Oh yes,” Dex whispered, his voice reverential, his head still bowed. “God yes. ”
He slid his hands inside her overalls. Her breath hitched. Nerve endings beneath her skin twitched at his touch. “I knew you’d look like this,” he said, his hands sliding north, gliding over the cups of her bra and squeezing.
She gasped this time, her back arching involuntarily, her shoulder blades still anchored to the wall as her hips, the same height as his, ground against him. He ground back, the hard ridge of his cock hitting her in just the right spot.
“ Fuck ,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.
“ Mmhgnh ,” she muttered unintelligibly, grinding again, finding some relief for the pressure building to fever pitch between her legs.
Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as he yanked her bra cups aside, his greedy hands each claiming a breast. They ground on each other like horny teenagers, and Harper moaned as he dropped soft kisses down her
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