Summer Love_ A Steamy Small Town Romance Anthology - Piper Rayne Page 0,258

breast brushes against his bicep, causing my nipples to tighten on contact.

But I like games. I like Truth or Dare. I like Spin the Bottle. I like pushing my own boundaries and teasing men until they’re begging for me to put us both out of our misery. And even though I’m pretty sure I’m the prey in this scenario, I like that he’s willing to let me believe I’m the lion for just a minute. Giving up his control when it’s obvious he thrives off it.

“What were you saying again?” I breathe, my words kissing the shell of his ear before I drag the tip of my tongue against him. Then I bite it playfully.

He tilts his chin to give me better access, the light five-o’clock shadow tickling my lips as I suck just beneath his ear until a husky groan escapes him.

“Sam.” His hand cups my waist, slipping between his suit jacket that’s still swallowing me whole and my black tank top. He squeezes softly. Desperately. As if my innocent teasing is already driving him mad, and it only spurs me on.

“What’s your name?” I whisper before sucking on a fresh patch of skin. The slight scruff scrapes against my tongue but only makes me crave him more.

“Hawthorne.”

With a glare, I lift my leg and swing it over his waist before tangling my fingers in his soft, salt and pepper hair. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He smirks. “You're gonna have to work harder than that, Princess.”

I tug roughly on the roots of his hair, forcing his head back a few inches before pressing my mouth to his in hopes of wiping away his arrogance when I’m afraid it only ignites it. The kiss is hard. And messy. And filled with so much lust that I’m afraid I might drown in it as he forces his tongue into my mouth.

Yes, please.

With a soft moan, I suck his tongue hard, my hips slowly rolling into a figure eight as I fight for friction. Or pressure. Or anything that’ll soothe the ache in my sex that’s desperate to be filled. But I only want one thing.

Him.

“Hawthorne,” I breathe out, his name a plea on my lips.

He pushes his suit jacket off my shoulders, desperate to bring me closer the same way I’m dying to be closer to him. It lands in a crumpled heap around my waist before his fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, silently asking for permission.

With a nod, I tilt my head to the side and go in for another kiss, convinced I’m making up how good he tastes. How good he feels. And that my attraction to him will vanish as soon as I get off in his lap. Slowly, his hands inch beneath my shirt, squeezing my lower waist once more before traveling to my breast. He cups my flesh roughly.

Yes, please.

A slight whimper escapes me, and I drop my head back, looking toward the sky, savoring the moment and the feel of his hands on my body like a damn addict. He rolls me onto my back, being careful not to jostle me too much. As if I’m precious. Cherished.

So this is what it’s like to be worshipped.

My hips roll against him as I fight with his stupid button-up shirt, desperate to feel his heated skin against mine. His husky laughter vibrates against my ear before he unbuttons it slowly. Inch by inch. And even though it’s dark as hell out here, the moonlight still causes shadows along his toned chest and abs, making my mouth water. My hands itch to reach out and touch him, so I do. Because I can. Because in this moment, he’s all mine, and I’m not going to waste a single second of it.

“Not bad for an old man,” I tease, rubbing my hands along his heated skin, my heart racing faster with each passing moment as his abs bunch and flex against my fingertips.

“More experience to worship you with,” he returns before he shoves my shirt and bra up the rest of the way to reveal my stomach and chest, his mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin. From my collar bone to the flesh just above the button on my shorts. Not a single piece is left untouched. Unworshipped. Again, my hips buck up to meet his mouth as I weave my fingers through his thick hair.

“Please,” I whisper.

Worship me. Make me feel alive, even if it’s just for one night.

With a swift tug, he yanks