Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,40
her to open her mouth under his willingly and willfully.
“Feeling cloudy yet?” he asked between slow, coaxing kisses.
“Dylan, we need—”
“Not yet, then,” he said, smiling against her lips, and took the next kiss even more slowly, inviting her along. His grip on the side of the truck tightened against the urge to put his hands on her, to pull her against him. But . . . one step at a time.
“Honey,” he murmured. “Open up, sugar. Let me in.”
He felt another longer, lower moan vibrate deep in her throat, followed by the sigh as her lips parted under his. He hadn’t believed his body could be any harder, ache more deeply, or want to take anything as badly as he wanted to take her, but at the first tentative touch of her tongue to his, he thought his knees might buckle from the sheer force of want that shot straight through him.
He danced along with her, a teasing, feather-light duel, then finally, slowly, took her fully into his mouth, reveling in the deep groan it earned him. When he withdrew, she stunned him by sliding in and taking his mouth. His groan became a low growl, partly of want, partly of frustration. He was surprised he didn’t leave permanent dents in the side of his truck, he was gripping the metal so tightly.
She had a fragile, raw air about her that had worked its way under his skin from the first time he’d laid eyes on her. But in every other way, she’d had no problem challenging him, facing him head on. She didn’t crumple, she didn’t back down. Not from him. But she’d allowed her own . . . issues to all but cripple her.
Kissing her, he discovered, brought out the exact same confounding, compelling combination. She trembled at the idea of his seducing her, but when presented with the challenge, she rose to it, giving as good as she got. And yet . . . her hands remained at her sides. Even though she wanted this—him—with the same apparent desperation he wanted her, she allowed her gift-curse-whatever to ultimately control the situation.
If he wasn’t as unwilling to have her dive into his head as she was unwilling to go there, he’d push that boundary, just to see what it would take to keep her from spinning away into whatever other place she went.
He left her mouth, trailing kisses along her jaw, thinking he could wean himself away from the want and swamping lust, the underlying concern and care . . . none of which he wanted to be feeling. Then she tipped her head back, allowing him access to the soft sweetness of the side of her neck and the pulse he found there and traced . . . with his tongue. His grip on the truck relaxed, along with his resolve. His hands slid along the rim of the truck bed, closer to her. He found the soft lobe of her ear . . . with his teeth. “Sugar, you’ve got about five seconds to tell me to keep my hands—”
Lolly erupted from the bed of the truck with a loud volley of barks, which had the same effect as a cold bucket of water on Dylan. He jerked his head up to see what had caused the commotion, even as Honey’s eyes flew open and she, too, swiveled around to look.
Instinctively, he kept his arms braced on either side of her, so she essentially turned into the circle of his arms, with the back of her body brushing up against the front of his.
So much for the douse of cold water.
He flexed his renewed grip on the rim of the truck. Intrusion or not, what he wanted to do was wrap her up against him, push her hair to the side, and find out if the nape of her neck tasted as sweet as the rest.
He turned to look at the dog. “Lolly, hush girl. It’s okay.”
The sun had fully set at some point, but he’d been completely unaware of it. Security lights by the rear exits of the shops on either side of the alley put out only a small, focused glow. Clouds had come in and obscured any moonlight, so where they stood had become quite dark.
Dylan squinted into the dusk as he heard footsteps approaching. “Something I can do for you?”
Lolly let out a low whine and came to sit closer to Honey and Dylan. Honey moved forward just enough to reach out