Penalty Play - Lynda Aicher Page 0,27

would do anything for her. Especially if it meant she’d do more of that. Whatever that turned out to be.

His ass had barely hit the mattress before she had his face in her hands, her mouth on his. Fuck yes. She took what she wanted, lips hitting his with strokes and demands he opened to. His groan vibrated from his chest as her tongue swept in to find his. Mint and spice tumbled down his throat, and he chased her tongue, wanting more.

He tugged her hips down, urged her onto his lap so he could feel her, stroke his palms up her back and keep her there. The music thrummed with this heart, both heavy and light.

The kiss pulled him deeper, hot swirls of desire that spiraled down his spine to twist in his groin and whimper for more.

More.

This was more than he’d ever had, and they’d only begun.

She cut away to lift from his lap before he could catch her. His eyes sprang open, breath labored, arms empty. The loss was a fist to his gut.

Her eyes were heated when he focused on them. Her smile sexy as hell.

She held his gaze as she gripped the hem of her sweatshirt and lifted it over her head. His focus went directly to her chest. Rounded curves under a white tank, nipples teasing the material with two small bumps. The gentle line of her cleavage triggered his imagination. He itched to reach for her breasts, fondle and play until she cried out in pleasure.

He was already following through before she stopped him. He jerked his head up, questioning even as she pushed his hands back.

“I’m not done.” The sultry note in her voice countered the upbeat alto belting from the speakers.

This really was her show. All right. He leaned back, legs spread around her thighs, and let her lead. His erection pressed a solid line against his jeans, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the pleasure building deep within him.

“Stop thinking,” she said, fingers grazing past his temple. “Stop fretting.” Those fingers traced his lips, lingered over the curve in his upper lip. “I’ve got this.”

“I believe you.” He had no doubt about that.

She slipped off her tank, revealing a basic white bra. No lace or bows, colors or push-up padding involved. Nothing but her beneath the cotton material.

He swallowed when she reached behind her, the bra sagging before she lowered her arms and slipped it off. Her creamy mounds swayed with the movement, and he fisted the duvet to keep his hands in place. He feasted with his eyes, took in the coral nipples puckered and waiting, the fuller undersides that lifted them up.

His tongue snaked out, the urge to taste them a demanding need.

He lifted his gaze past the red scar midway up her chest to where the ridge of her collarbone met at her throat, on to the graceful line of her neck to her round chin and red lips. Her eyes were dark with the same desire that burned in him.

A part of him wanted to dive in and take everything before it was gone, while the other part was so damn happy she was going slowly. It gave him time to lock in every moment so he could remember them when she left.

She urged him to sit up, cupped his head in her hands, chest lifting in offering. Or was it an order? It didn’t matter to him. He gladly went where she guided, straight to the very place he was just ogling.

Her nipple was hard yet soft beneath his tongue, the saltiness perfect. He dared to cup the weight in his palm, lifted it to draw the tip deeper. Her low moan was the permission he waited for. He dove into his task, sucking until she cried out, needling with his teeth then licking it with long strokes and light swirls. He easily moved to the other one when she directed him there, giving it the same attention.

His pulse raced and blended with the rush of blood in his head, or was that the music? It wound around them, formed an intimate cocoon as she pushed then urged him onto the bed.

He slid back, mesmerized by the heady power that flowed from her. She crawled over him, hand smoothing up his thigh, skimming past the bulge of his erection, tracking the waistband of his jeans then around his navel.

“This is all mine.”

The statement didn’t require an answer or confirmation from him. They both knew

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