When he pulls away again, it’s so he can kiss my chin before diving down my neck. I knot my fingers in his thick, dark hair. He moves from the base of my throat, sweeping down to where my cleavage bubbles over my corset.
Holy, holy hell.
Rough lips tease the top of my breast, then open in a searching bloom of his tongue.
He lingers there, open mouth pressed against me, painting me with heat. I feel him draw something on my skin with his tongue.
A heart?
Dear God.
“Oh, you Wardhole,” I whimper, ready to be destroyed by a man I used to hate.
He picks me up like I’m weightless.
I’m completely in his lap now, fastened to him by his arms and roaming kisses.
His mouth attacks mine with a low, threatening growl. His hand cups my ankle, then slides further up, probing under the silk gauze of my skirt. Calloused fingertips graze my calf, ending me a hundred times over.
Our kiss only ends with my rough giggle when his finger skims behind my thigh.
He grins like the sex-god I know he is, continuing to draw circles on the back of my knee.
I laugh harder, kicking my leg. “Stop.”
“You’re ticklish.”
I kick my leg again, trying to rid myself of feathery fingers that tease too well.
“Am not!” I’ve gone from a girlish giggle to a full belly laugh.
Are belly laughs sexy?
His lips touch my forehead in answer. “Any other sensitive spots I should know about, Paige?”
“Find them on your own.”
Still laughing, I try wriggling away from him.
Open invitation.
Bad, bad move.
His grip tightens as his hot breath falls in waves against my neck. His finger moves from the bend of my knee, climbing up my thigh.
“Careful. We’re still in a moving car and that sounded like a challenge. What else am I going to find out about my Not Fiancée?”
I’m boneless, melting against his chest.
His soft touch moves to my inner thigh and continues climbing with wicked intent. My legs tremble, and he’s still only barely touching my thigh.
Instant doom.
His fingers keep moving until he finds the crease between my leg and pelvis. He traces that line, marauding across my panties, eyes like two storming suns cast in emerald-cobalt.
“W-Ward,” I stammer, scared I’m about to spontaneously combust.
And I just might because now he’s on a mission.
His hand moves to the elastic of my panties and his finger slides over it. He traces the curve of my body until he finds my opening.
Then his fingers curl. A fierce knuckle drags back and forth, owning my pussy until napalm pools in the scathing spot where our skin touches.
I throw my arms around him and try not to scream.
Ward’s finger shifts up like the smirk on his lips. He finds my pearl, rubbing in laps determined to cause my obliteration.
No freaking words.
My hold on him tightens and a howl of pleasure sticks in my throat. My nails claw at the back of his neck as my legs quiver.
“Oh—oh God! There,” I whisper.
The hot glint in his eye deepens as that shadow of