Wicked (Wild, Wicked and Wanton #2) - Jaci Burton Page 0,1

made even more powerful by the afternoon heat. What was it about this man that both infuriated her and turned her on so much?

“I’m going to report you to your superiors,” she complained.

“You do that.”

He started at her wrists and ran his hands up her bare arms, over her shoulder, then made his way down. He didn’t need to touch her there, dammit. Her skin broke out in goose bumps when his fingertips brushed the outer swells of her breasts.

“Careful there,” she warned.

“Oh, I’m being very careful.”

He reached around and palmed her breasts. Her sheer silk bra couldn’t hide her traitorous rising nipples, her breasts swelling eagerly into his hands.

“That is not patting me down!”

“Just checking to see if you have anything hidden in your bra.”

“I do. My breasts. Now leave them alone!”

His warm breath blew against the nape of her neck, not at all cooling the sweat there. “They don’t act as if they want me to leave them alone.” To prove his point, he scraped his thumbs over her distended nipples. She bit back the groan that wanted to escape her throat. God, that man had talented hands. And she hadn’t been touched in . . . far too long. Her clit was throbbing, her pussy wet, and her panties clung to her skin.

She wanted sex.

But she didn’t want Rand. She didn’t!

“Are you quite finished?” she asked, gritting her teeth.

“Not quite.”

Somehow she’d make him pay for doing this to her, for forcing her to ignore her body’s needs. Any other man, and she’d have her legs wrapped around him and her pussy on his dick by now.

But she would never, ever fuck Rand McKay.

Not if he was the last man on earth and she was desperately horny. She’d rather fuck a cactus.

He finally relinquished his hold on her breasts, and she exhaled, but then his hot, huge hands skimmed her rib cage, sliding up and under the tank top to touch her bare skin. She flinched.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing.” She’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her. She’d simply pretend irritation and nothing else. And then she’d get him fired.

His knee insinuated itself farther between her legs as his hands found her hips. When he jerked her toward him, she’d had enough.

“Rand,” she warned.

But her warning fell on deaf ears. He lifted her skirt and sat her on his jeans-clad thigh, the scrape of denim against her swollen clit enough to make her gasp.

“You’re wet,” he whispered against her ear.

“It’s hot outside. I’m sweating,” she lied.

“Bullshit. I can smell you. That sweet scent is pussy, baby, not sweat.”

Asshole. And his cock was hard, rubbing against her ass as he clenched her hip. She breathed in and out through her nose, trying to avoid panting. She was so aroused every fiber of her being was screaming at her to turn around and beg him to fuck her. Right there on the side of the road.

And that’s just what he wanted her to do.

Never!

His hand inched along her upper leg, his fingertips traveling precariously close to her pussy. He began to rub her inner thigh now, mere inches away from her clit. If she shifted just a little, she could place the throbbing bud right in his hand. Oh, and he’d take her there. She knew he could. A few strokes, and she’d fly right over the edge. She was so damn close already. Hot, achy, her pussy quaking with need.

She hated Rand McKay right now, hated that he had this much control over her.

“Let me go, Rand. This has gone way beyond a simple body search.”

“Oh, I’m searching your body all right, Blair. I’m looking for a key.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. “What key?”

“They key to unlocking the fire within you, Blair. Just say the word, and I’ll do it. You know I can. I’m the only one who can.”

His fingers massaged the spot where her panties met her thigh, the side of his hand a fraction of an inch from her clit. Her swollen pussy lips trembled at his touch.

“You need me to take you there, baby,” he said, rocking his hard cock against her. “Give up that famous Newcastle control to me, and I’ll make you come like you’ve never come before. Let me have it, Blair.”

She froze as if a sudden icy rain had begun to fall in the dead afternoon of August. Rigid, she began to push at his hand. “Let me go, Rand.”

And he knew it, too. In an instant

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