Talk of the Town - By Beth Andrews Page 0,67

part, any finesse on his. His kiss was hard and angry, his hunger fueling her own until she writhed against him. Desperate for his heat, seeking his skin, she reached between them, tugged his shirt up. He leaned back, yanked it over his head and threw it aside, the muscles of his chest and arms contracting with his movements.

He was beautiful, his body a work of art, a testament to the grueling hours spent training and on the ice. It was as if he was a Greek god, carved of stone. Perfect. Inhuman.

But when she placed her hands on his waist, his skin was soft. Warm. Not stone, she thought, but flesh and blood. She traced her fingertips over the ridges of his stomach and his muscles quivered. She slid her hands up, combed her fingers through the crisp hair covering his chest before laying her palms flat against him. His heart beat strong and steadily. Not inhuman. Spreading her fingers, the edge of her pinkie rubbed over the raised edge of a scar.

No, he wasn’t perfect. He was just a man. Just Neil.

Her eyes on his, she lowered her hand and cupped him through his jeans. Flesh and blood.

With a low growl, he shoved her back, trapping her between the side of the house and his body. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her beaded nipples scraping against his skin. His arousal, hard and unyielding, pressed against her center.

He rolled his hips. Once. Twice. She gasped. Grabbed his waist to steady him. To stop him. Then she slid her hands into his back pockets, her fingers curling into his ass. And she rubbed against him. Electric shocks coursed through her, heating her blood, clouding her mind. Moaning into his mouth, she did it again. And again.

He tore his mouth from hers and stepped back. Before she could protest, though, he was shoving down her pants. The night air washed over her for a moment and then Neil’s hand was on her. She lifted her hips, rocked against him and he quickened his pace. He worked her faster. Harder. Her breathing grew ragged. Pleasure built, sweeping through her body like a firestorm, heating her skin. Neil’s other hand went to her breast. He rolled her nipple between his fingers.

Spark after spark blasted through her, rising higher and higher until her climax exploded through her. She shut her eyes and let the flames consume her.

* * *

NEIL’S BODY ACHED, his chest burned. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Maddie. She was so beautiful as she came, her lips parted, her head thrown back. Her body trembled under his fingers, her scent filled the air, made him dizzy. The image of her was imprinted on his mind, the feel of her embedded in his skin.

Days, weeks from now, this would be just another memory he wouldn’t be able to escape, one that would come to torture him in his sleep. Remind him of all he’d lost, of all he’d given up. But now, right now, it was real. In this moment she wasn’t a memory, wasn’t a dream, she was warm and soft and wet for him.

In this moment, she was his once again.

He wrapped her braid around his fist, held her head for his kiss, his other hand on the roundness of her hip. He swept his tongue into her mouth and she jerked against him. Kissed him back just as deeply, as voraciously, as if she needed this, needed him, as much as he needed her. She wiggled her hands between them, found the button on his jeans. He shifted, giving her more room to work the button free, drag the zipper down.

Maddie laid her palms flat against his hips, slid them under the heavy cloth of his jeans, the waist of his boxers, pushing his clothes down until his erection sprang free. It jutted out, brushing the silken skin of her lower stomach. He pressed his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. They both watched as she trailed a finger up his length. He hissed out a breath. Moisture beaded at the tip, clung there until she rubbed the pad of her thumb over it, spreading wetness across the head.

His fingers tightened on her, digging into her skull, her hip bones. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, the back of his neck. Then both her hands were on him, soft, seeking. Stroking. Driving him to madness.

He dug his wallet out of his back

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