who stood before him.
Her big eyes on him, she was leaning against the door, her palms pressed to the glass. He thought about giving her yet another chance to back out. He thought about all the promises that should be standing between them. Between this.
But then he ran his forefinger along the slope of her bare shoulder and she shuddered, her lashes drifting low. Yeah, she was wet.
Screw second thoughts, his or hers. He couldn’t wait to have her. It would suck the wildness out of him, purge him of the old betrayals and the new pain. He’d lose himself in her, thus lifting the heavy weight that being home had put on his soul.
His slow finger reversed, then moved around to the nape of her neck and the halter tie of her dress. He toyed with it a minute, giving himself a chance to appreciate how the soaked cotton material was plastered to her braless breasts. The tips were beaded to hard points and he imagined taking the cold nipples in his mouth. Warming them with his tongue.
She made an impatient sound, a husky little moan that came from the back of her throat.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he murmured. “Easy.”
“Vance, you should... We should... I think—”
“No thinking, Layla,” he said, still playing with the bow. He’d be damned if she thought ahead this time. Plotted things out. No, not going to happen that way with him. “Close your eyes, baby. Just feel.” Then, bending his head, he sucked her nipple into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over the fabric.
She made another sweet sound of urgency, and he tightened on that nub of flesh, then pulled on the tie. He lifted his mouth long enough to allow the fabric to fall and then he latched onto her again, her bare flesh now, more strong sucks that had her fingers clutching at his hair, holding him to her.
Her skin was cold and he rubbed his face against the fullness of her lush breast, then moved to the other, breathing on the chilled surface to warm her up. He was on fire already, that burn that she could spark in him roaring. He found the zipper at the back of her dress, and still caressing her with his whiskered cheeks, drew it down.
The dress dropped to her feet and he straightened.
Sweet Lord. Layla, with her long wavy hair, her big eyes. Slim limbs, heaving breasts, teeny tiny white panties that gleamed like an oyster shell in the moonlight.
His cock jerked against the terry of the towel. He rubbed his fingers there, calming it down, and she watched him touch himself, those eyes of hers wide again. Intrigued. Another shot of fire ran through him and he saw her lick her lips, her fingers curling into her palms as if to stop herself from reaching out.
She glanced up at him. “Vance?”
“You can touch me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Is that what you want?”
With a nod, she moved her right hand. It seemed to take an aeon, but then her small fingers circled him, her palm cupping his shaft. He groaned, his head falling back as she moved it up and down. The damn arm injuries had prevented him from easing himself like this, and he’d needed it, so often, since meeting this brown-eyed girl.
He heard himself start to pant, the thrumming urgency turning to emergency as she continued to rub. His hips moved, bucking into her touch, and it was so good. So, so good...
Groaning again, Vance snatched at her wrist and held it away from him. Another second and he’d be making love to a towel instead of to the woman who drove him mad.
“Bedroom,” he said, his voice guttural, and he spun her around by the shoulders. They made it inside and he flicked on a low light to guide their way to the hall and his downstairs bedroom. He kept one set of fingers on her shoulder, but then his gaze fell to her panty-covered ass. It wasn’t a thong she was wearing, but French-cut panties that revealed the under-curves of her sweet bottom’s rounded lobes.
Vance almost tripped on his tongue at the sight, and he inserted the fingers of his free hand under the elastic on the right side, holding it between thumb and fingers, allowing his knuckles to stroke the full softness with each of her steps. She glanced over her shoulder at him, wide-eyed again, and he hoped the baring of his teeth looked friendly. But oh,