Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,59

made us fit together even better. I was more rubbing than fighting against him. When I stilled, so did he.

"Don't" I whispered.

His gaze on my breasts, which strained against the tank top I'd worn to offset the heat he lifted his eyes to mine as he lowered the knife to the neck of the shirt.

With one deft movement he split the material. The cotton fell away, hanging uselessly from my shoulders as damp ah* trickled across my chest. My nipples puckered inside my plain white bra.

"Don't what?" he murmured, pressing the cool silver blade to my heated skin.

"Stop."

"Is it don't?" He lifted the knife, careful not to nick me, and caught the tip in the wisp of material holding the two A cups together. "Or is it stop?"

He was very good with the weapon. He'd no doubt had secret commando training, though I doubted he'd ever used a knife in quite this way. Then again, maybe he had. Maybe he did this all the time, with all the girls.

I gave a mental wince at the thought of other women, which was foolish. This was about sex, not love, and that was how we both wanted it.

I stared into his face, and I saw nothing but a man who desired me as much as I desired him. My suspicions proved groundless, my accusations now seemed foolish.

"Don't stop," I said.

He flicked the knife and my bra snapped open. If I'd had any breasts to speak of, they'd have whapped him in the chest As it was, they slid along his bare skin, the sensation better than an ice-cream cone in the middle of July. Both relief and desire, sweetness and sin.

I wrapped my fingers in his hair tight enough to make him grunt as I tugged his mouth to mine.

And the knife clattered to the floor.
Chapter 26
I expected the usual slam bam without even a "thank you, ma'am," sex that bordered on rough, a rocketing orgasm. Instead he slowed things down, and I was lost

"Come." He took my hand; he pulled me across the floor.

I followed obediently, drunk on the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin. I figured we were headed for the couch and that was fine with me, yet when I hesitated halfway across the room, he turned, shaking his head.

"Not tonight. Tonight we do this right."

We hadn't been doing it right? Could have fooled me.

His bed was made, which gave me a start He didn't seem the kind of guy who bothered. Then again, from the military corners and the tight white sheets, maybe he couldn't help himself.

Just like I couldn't help myself. Certainly I'd proved he wasn't an evil soulless beast or the walking undead. But even if he had been, could I have resisted him? I wasn't sure.

He climbed onto the bed, never letting go of my hand. Did he think I'd run if he released me? I wouldn't get far.

Even as a man, he could catch me. Especially since I'd let him.

The ripple of muscle across his abdomen was accented by the line of his pants. Not a centimeter of excess flesh lapped over the waistband. Reaching out, I traced my thumb along a ridge, and his skin fluttered beneath my touch.

I wanted to taste him, feel life against my lips, push aside the button, the zipper, and lay claim to what was beneath. I wanted to make amends for doubting him, if not for the knife.

What guy wouldn't appreciate a blow job apology?

His slacks were worn soft from years of use. The single button popped free with very little encouragement

He watched me through slitted, lazy eyes, though the hardened length of his body revealed a coiled tension, the tangle of his hair hinted at a certain wildness.

The rumble of his zipper as I tugged it down seemed to fill the room, electrify the air. He continued to watch me without a word or a movement, except to lift his hips just enough so I could slide the pants down. No underwear lay beneath, only skin.

I wanted to learn every line and every curve. Since he didn't appear to be going anywhere, I indulged myself.

A light dusting of hair covered his legs, just enough to make them manly, not enough to nudge them toward beast. I trailed my fingernails through the curls, up the inside of his thighs, and he quivered. How far could I go before he lost control?

My hands roved higher, thumbs skating over the curve where his leg became his