Tanner seemed more relaxed, less intense, amusement glittering in his gaze as he stalked to her, his eyes darkening with desire and hunger as his hands suddenly gripped her waist and he picked her up.
She bounced on the bed, gasping as Tanner’s fingers went to the snap of her jeans.
Her eyes widened.
“Tanner.” Her fingers curled around his wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Too many clothes,” he growled.
She tried to bat at his hands as the zipper released and his twin leaned against the door and grinned rakishly. “Are you sure about this? Cabal’s still here.” He stopped, his head swinging to the side. A warning snarl curled his lips.
“I have no intention of touching,” Cabal murmured wickedly. “I’ll content myself right here.”
Tanner growled again. God, she loved that growl. The way his incisors flashed, that wild light that lit his amber eyes. It was almost an orgasm by itself.
“As long as he just watches,” he panted, literally tearing his shirt from his shoulders before his hands went to the belt of his jeans, ripping it free.
“Oh God, this is insane,” she wheezed, and she should have been outraged. But she wasn’t. She was getting wetter.
A tight smile curved his lips.
“You like that,” he purred. Oh my God, he actually purred.
He kicked his jeans free of his body, revealing the thick, heavily veined, luscious length of his cock.
Her thighs parted as she licked her lips.
“Kiss me too,” she moaned. “I need you to kiss me.”
His lashes swept over his eyes as his tongue licked over his lower lip.
He leaned closer. “Can you feel him watching you?”
It was turning him on. It was really turning her on.
“It turns you on,” she accused, her eyes trained on his lips. She needed that kiss now.
“I’m a helluva pervert,” he admitted, pushing her legs back as he jerked her to the edge of the bed.
Her breath caught as he bent forward, licking at her lips as the head of his c**k pressed against the saturated, swollen folds of her sex.
“I can be a pervert too.” Her thighs strained against the hold his hands had on them.
He paused, a slow, rakish grin curving his lips.
“Good girl,” he purred, the rumbling sound raking up her spine with invisible claws of erotic pleasure. “Show me, pretty thing. Show me the wicked in you.”
His lips slanted across hers then, his tongue sliding past her lips, the taste of him exploding in her mouth. And he tasted so good. Wicked, erotic, a banquet of lust, irresistible and combustible.
She sucked his tongue into her mouth, her own twining with it, milking as she discovered the tiny, swollen glands at the side of his tongue and the rich, tempting taste that gathered there.
Moaning, certain she had found ambrosia, Scheme licked, sucked and drew more of it into her mouth. She needed that taste. She needed it to breathe, to live.
Her hands threaded into his hair as she held him to her, writhing beneath him as she tried to impale herself on the thick width of the c**k still poised at the entrance to her desperate, needy vagina.
She ached. She ached until the need was a pain. She was certain she would go insane from the need to be f**ked. But he didn’t fill her, except with his tongue. His tongue pumped into her mouth; his lips moved over hers; his kiss sent a fireball of sensation racing through her.
“Damn you,” she cried out weakly as he pulled back, staring down at her with narrowed, glittering eyes. “I need more.”