Holding his Hostage - Amy Gamet Page 0,36

you remember.

This was what she wanted, she could see so clearly now. Gone were her fears of being hurt by him again. She was already hurting, and she would go on hurting. She might as well enjoy him while she could.

His good arm came around her waist, holding her there, and his prosthetic did the same on the other side. She was hyperaware he couldn’t feel anything with that limb, and she desperately wanted him to feel every inch of her body with every inch of her own. “Can I take this off?”

He leaned back, breaking their kiss. “Why?”

“It isn’t you. I want to feel you.”

He set her aside. “It’s part of me now.”

“No, I just meant…” Her voice trailed off. She could see she’d made a horrible mistake, only intensifying his emotional moment. “I’m sorry.” She closed the distance between them and touched his chest lightly with her palm. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

She swallowed against her discomfiture. “I want to kiss you.” His expression told her he was angry, torn between taking her offer and walking away. She licked her lips. She had to try again. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about kissing you? Being back in your arms, just one more time?”

“Arm. Singular.”

“I don’t care about that. You’re still you. That’s what I really wanted.”

His eyes darkened, his gaze slipping down her face to her lips, hovering there. “I dreamed of you, too.” His hand slipped into the hair at the nape of her neck, lifting her face to his. “But my dreams didn’t stop at kissing.”

Adrenaline surged into her bloodstream, a pulse beating between her legs. Memories of him swarmed like bees, from the first time he penetrated her, taking her virginity, to the desperation of teenage lust, searching for release.

His hand moved from her neck to her collarbone, trailing sensation as he traced the outline of her breast and moved lower. His big hand slid around her midriff and farther to cup her derriere.

Her eyelids grew heavy as he held her against his hardening erection, and she fitted her torso more completely against his, her arms coming to circle his neck as she kissed his jaw, his stubble abrading her lips.

Then he was kissing her, deep, demanding kisses that flooded all rational thought. There was only feeling, only emotion, only the desperate need to be as close to him as possible.

His hands slipped under her shirt, lifting it over her head in one smooth motion. His hand moved to her lace-covered breast, taking its fullness in his palm and kneading it before circling her nipple with his thumb.

Her back arched in response, thrusting her rib cage closer to him, and he pulled the cup of her bra down to expose her fully. She felt the warmth of his breath before he took her in his mouth, licking and suckling her deep.

She bucked wildly against him, desperate for these feelings only he could bring, and her nails dug into the flesh of his lower back. “Sloan,” she said on a moan, needing him to know what he was doing to her, needing to connect with him even more than he was doing now.

His head came up and he kissed her, lifting her with his powerful arm and all but dragging her to the bed. He followed her down, the planes of his body accentuated by shadow, and she reached out to touch every inch of his flesh.

The scent of his body was heady and familiar as her hands raked over his chest. She bent to kiss his nipple, the taste of his salty skin further fanning her desire. She moved up to his neck, kissing him there as her hands reached down to unbutton his jeans.

“Jesus, Jo,” he ground out under his breath, helping her get his pants off and shucking them down his legs.

He wore black briefs, his cock tenting the fabric, and her hands moved over it, outlining his sensitive shaft and cupping his balls before stroking them tenderly.

His breath caught, its rhythm faster now, and she longed to push him closer to the edge. Sliding her body down the bed, she kissed him through the fabric where her hands had been, loving how he cursed and twisted beneath her.

She hadn’t given oral sex in years, hadn’t wanted to, but now she was as desperate to taste him as she was to receive his attention. Slipping her hand beneath the material, she fisted her fingers around his firm shaft and breathed heavily on the