by Shayla Black
“Brea, I’m trying to do the right thing. When you look at me with those pleading eyes… And, fuck, your plump, pink mouth is so close, all I can think of are the indecent things I’m dying to do to it.”
Probably the same things she’d secretly wanted him to do.
Her ache tightened. “What is this connection between us? I don’t understand.”
“Fuck if I know. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
She hadn’t imagined a yearning this strong was possible. It was bigger than her, and every time she tried to ignore it, the desire only grew.
Must be why folks call it temptation…
Brea searched his face, fighting her own impulse to touch him. And the fire in his black stare told her he knew it.
If she dared to repeat her desire, he’d be all over her. She wasn’t sure she would have the will to resist him when he pushed her for everything she’d never given a man, then demanded more. But if she chose the coward’s way out, she’d be lying, letting them both down, and leaving herself to forever wonder what if.
Which was really the bigger sin?
The truth was, Cutter didn’t need her right now. His wounds weren’t mortal. Even if he had a concussion, he would wake up tomorrow to live another day, secure in the knowledge that he was surrounded by community, family, and friends who loved him.
Who did Pierce have?
Tonight, he had her.
“I want you to kiss me,” she whispered. “Now.”
He tensed. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Even though it’s wrong?”
According to Cutter, it was. Her father and God would concur, too. Pierce would probably break her heart in the end. Right now, none of that mattered more than giving him her honesty.
“Yes.”
“Even though this could get out of control?”
“Yes.”
“Brea. Baby…” Desire darkened his expression. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Pierce’s breaths came fast and harsh as he thrust his big hand in her hair, fisted the strands, and lowered his head.
She’d been kissed a few times, mostly by polite boys who hadn’t taken things too far because they’d been afraid to incur the wrath of Reverend Bell or Cutter Bryant. Once, she’d made out on a bus ride home with a football player after a game in Baton Rouge. He’d kissed her with a lot of gusto and very little finesse before he’d tried to feel his way under her shirt. When she’d shoved away his wandering hands, he’d called her a prude and told his teammates she was a waste of time. Afterward, she’d felt angry, ashamed, and determined not to suck face with a boy again.
But the instant Pierce covered her mouth with his, she realized she’d never truly been kissed.
He pried her lips apart, surged inside, and touched her somewhere deeper than she’d ever felt. Sparks flared and zinged. Her skin stretched tight. Heat burst into a bonfire in her belly, awakening more of this dizzying need.
Brea threw her arms around Pierce, pressing her throbbing nipples against his chest in search of relief. He was hot and impossibly hard. Rubbing against him only increased her torment.
Their shirts were in the way. She needed his bare skin against hers. Ached for it. Craved it.
With an impatient fist, she tugged his camo T-shirt up his torso. The velvety skin and rigid muscle across his abdomen and ribs tempted her. She dug her fingers into his back, pulling him closer, feeling him deeper. It still wasn’t enough.
At her touch, he groaned, twined their tongues together again, and reached behind his head. He interrupted their kiss just long enough to yank his shirt off and toss it to the floor.
She got a glimpse of his bare torso—big and hair-roughened, littered with tattoos and the scars of war, panting with desire—before he covered her mouth again and took her lips.
He seized her soul.
With shaking fingers, she braced herself on his steely shoulders and crashed into him, returning every jagged breath and stroke of his tongue as she curled her leg around his. As if he shared her desperation, he grabbed her thigh in his big hand and dragged it over his hip before backing her against the kitchen table and nudging her needy feminine flesh with his erection.
Pleasure spiked. Pierce swallowed her cries.
Under him, she wriggled, her blazing need burning through her misgivings and modesty. It demanded she get even closer, feel more of him—now.
Brea grabbed his steely biceps and writhed shamelessly. He ground his erection against the spot that made her wild for him. Pierce tore his mouth from their kiss, tossed his head back, and groaned out a curse.
Then he met her gaze. Instantly she knew if he’d been wearing gloves before, they were off now.
Good. She wanted to taste him, to feel him, to give herself to him.
She wanted to be his, even if it was for a night. Even if it was a sin. Even if she burned in hell for this desire. It couldn’t be any worse than twisting in agony without him.
His hands took a rough plunge down her body, skirting dangerously close to the sides of her breasts before he filled his palms with her backside and lifted her off her feet. Her flip-flops fell to the floor as he set her on his kitchen table, spread her legs, and made himself at home in between. “Want your shirt off?”
“Yes.”
Pierce gripped the hem of her floral tank and yanked it over her head. His stare fell on the skin he’d exposed. Beneath the lace-trimmed cups of her white bra, her nipples tightened and stabbed the modest cups. She shivered.
His rapacious black gaze skated down her bare belly, to the denim shorts clinging to her hips, to her bare feet with their painted pink toes. Then he settled his big palms around her hips and dragged her flush against him again. The sensations jolted her system. The longing between her legs torqued up, becoming pure torment.
“Pierce…”
“Jesus, pretty girl. You’re perfect.” He swept one hand across her abdomen, searing wherever he touched, before he dug his steely length right against her ache again. “Oh, fuck, yeah… You with me?”
Brea didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
“I want to suck those pretty nipples. What do you say to that?”
His demand sounded immoral. Wicked. Sublime. “Please.”
“Tell me to take off your bra, pretty girl.”
Her head was spinning. Her heart was chugging. She felt ready to burst into flames. “Take off my bra. Hurry.”
Pinning her in place with his hungry gaze, Pierce lifted one hand to the strap bisecting her back and unfastened all three hooks in the blink of an eye.
Brea swallowed. This was happening. This was real. Pierce Walker was about to lay eyes on her naked breasts.
He let go. Her bra fell away.
His black eyes fastened on her, firmly affixing to her nipples. They drew up even tighter under his scrutiny, the tips so engorged they throbbed. “Fucking gorgeous.”
His words made Brea blush. But she wanted more than his praise; she wanted relief from this endless ache.
She wound her arms around his neck and arched, flattening herself against his muscled torso. The jolt of his skin directly on hers was electric. She gasped at the new, foreign sensations.
“You feel so damn good,” he groaned.
“You feel better.”
But the skin-to-skin contact wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She wriggled again, needing something more.
Pierce eased away, gaze fastened on her breasts again, as his fingers crept up her torso. “Tell me to touch them.”
“Please.” She prayed that would end her torment. “Touch them now.”
She hadn’t even finished speaking before he had her breasts in his scorching palms. He cradled them, testing their weight, squeezing. Then he swept the sensitive crests with his thumbs.
Tingles spread throughout her body. She hissed in pleasure and arched closer to Pierce, shoving herself
deeper into his grip—and under his spell—silently begging for more.
“Like that?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Want more?”
“Please.” His touch made her need more insistent.
She feared only one thing would end it.
With a devilish smile, he flicked his thumbs across her nipples, bending the peaks—and her—to his will. Heat flared from the tops of her breasts to the tips of her toes, then zipped between her legs, twisting into a greedy, destructive inferno.
“I want your nipples on my tongue. Tell me to suck them.”
His suggestion made her flare even hotter. And if he took her breasts in his mouth, he’d only destroy her that much faster.
Brea couldn’t bring herself to care anymore.
“Yes.” She clawed at him. “Please.”
He skimmed his knuckles along the side of one of her mounds, back and forth, moving ever closer to her aching peak. “Please what?”
She knew why he kept prompting her with these questions, but she wished he’d stop. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to consider every step down this road paved with lust and sin. But he was determined that she not only allow him to join her but invite him down the path of ruination with her.
“Please suck my nipples, then take off my shorts and lead me upstairs. Do whatever will make this ache go away. I need it. I need you. I consent.”
Shock pinged through One-Mile. He’d fantasized. He’d hoped. But he hadn’t truly believed Brea Bell would agree to let him spend the night inside her. “You’re sure?”
“You can end this agony, right?”
“You bet I can, pretty girl.” But given the chemistry between them, he had a sneaking suspicion the ache would only come back stronger, over and over again.
In fact, he was betting on it.
“Then yes,” she groaned as she tried to wriggle off the table. “Hurry.”
He would because he was dying to be inside her, but no fucking way would he let her go until they were both thoroughly satisfied. And maybe not even then.
One-Mile crowded her back onto the flat surface, then scooped her pert little ass in his hands again, crushing her against every hot inch of his body. Then he laid her out and swooped in for another unrestrained kiss. Just like the first time he tasted her, the instant her honey-sweet flavor hit his tongue, she ramped up his hunger.
He dove deep into her mouth, driven by the need to take all she gave. Brea melted, arms around his neck, drawing him closer as she writhed artlessly beneath him. He rocked against her, grinding where he ached to penetrate her.
His desire for her became a searing, infinite need. One-Mile ate at her mouth, hell-bent on imprinting himself on Brea Bell forever. He tried to slow his roll, not overwhelm her. Hell, he tried to let her breathe.
Not happening. Her every touch and little whimper only jacked him up more.
He jerked back, chest heaving as he sucked in air. Beneath him, Brea looked stunned and blinking, her rosy, swollen lips gaping in surprise. He had put that look on her face, and it made One-Mile harder than he’d ever been. He gripped her thighs and tried like hell to think. Because if he didn’t find some goddamn self-control, he’d strip her where she lay and fuck her until she screamed.
“Do you need to tell anyone you’ll be unavailable for a while?” The last fucking thing he wanted was to be interrupted, especially by annoying-as-fuck Bryant.
“No,” she breathed. “My dad is playing cards tonight with friends. I doubt the hospital will release Cutter before morning. But I’ll turn it off just in case.”
The hitch and shiver in her voice torqued up his arousal.
“Do that.”
“You have to let me up.”
Reluctantly, he did, never taking his rapt gaze off of her as she pulled the device from her purse. She checked it…then silenced it.
Finally, she was his…at least for the night.
And the fact that she would rather spend it getting orgasms from him instead of holding her convalescing boyfriend’s hand said that, while parts of her heart might still be with Cutter, the rest of her wanted only him.
One-Mile could work with that. He had every intention of blowing Brea’s doors off in bed. Given her good-girl mentality, he’d bet Cutter had been her first—and only—lover. He hated that she’d given her innocence to the prick, but he would happily provide her a point of comparison. And since Brea was the sort of woman whose body followed her heart, if he did this right, she would soon be waving adios to the bastard for good.
When she swayed toward him again, he dragged her against his body and lifted her. “Wrap your arms and legs around me.”
She didn’t hesitate to sling her thighs around his hips and grip his shoulders, then squirm to get closer. He groaned. Goddamn it, despite how tiny she was, they were going to fit together perfectly when they fucked.
He grappled for the patience to at least get her clothes off before he ruthlessly impaled her.
With his hands full of her ass, he charged for the stairs. When she skimmed her lips across his bare shoulder and started kissing her way up his neck, his gait turned to a run.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warned.
“I already know you’re going to burn me.”
Her whisper shuddered down his spine. No doubt she’d leave him some blisters of her own. If she didn’t realize that, she was either delusional or totally unaware of her own appeal.
Climbing the stairs took for-fucking-ever. When he finally reached the landing, he was out of breath—not from exertion but from his weeping cock rubbing the molten heat between her legs. When she sank her teeth into his shoulder, then lapped at the spot with her little tongue, he was damn near ready to crawl out of his skin.
“Brea…”
“Hmm… You have this hint of salt. I want to know if the rest of you tastes like that.”
At the image of her mouth all over him, One-Mile picked up his pace toward his bedroom, melting with lust. It was taking so fucking long to get down the hallway. If he didn’t get there quickly, he’d shove her against the nearest wall and get inside her just to give them both some goddamn relief.
“You can put your mouth anywhere you want on me, pretty girl. Just wait until we get to the fucking bed.”
She lifted her wide gaze his way, wearing a hint of a smile. “You sound impatient.”
“You think?”
When he grumbled, her smile widened. “So I get to you?”
“After one look, I wanted you. But after one kiss, I knew I’d do anything to have you.”
The smile slid off her face. “Why?”
“We’re about to find out.” He bent and laid her flat across his rumpled sheets. “Let’s take our chemistry for a spin.”
One-Mile didn’t give her a second to rethink or regroup. He covered her body with his and dove into her mouth, praying the balm of her kiss could soothe the rough edges of his agony. Beneath him, she parted her legs as if him sliding between them was the most natural thing in the world. It fucking felt that way when he notched his cock against her pussy again, which he hoped like hell was wet enough to take him. She cried out under him, her nails already digging into his skin like a kneading kitten’s.
Brea tore her lips from his with a gasp. “Pierce…”
“You asked me to suck your nipples.”
“Yes.”
Craving a taste of her, One-Mile cradled one of her breasts in his palm and dragged his tongue over its tight crest.
Yeah, he’d held bigger tits, but none as sweet as hers. This was a pair he could be happy with for the rest of his life—symmetrical, bouncy and round, slightly heavier at the bottom, but still delicate, like her. Her rosy-brown nipples tempted the fuck out of him. They were small and taut, and he wanted to suck the sugary little buttons until she melted for him.
After his first lick, both her peaks swelled to stab the air—pretty, pouting, begging. He turned his mouth to the
other and pinched the first, gratified when she arched toward him, as if she was surrendering these luscious little tips to him entirely.
Greedily, he wrapped his lips around the closest one, sucking it deep. He reveled in the toss of her head as she dug her nails into his back again.
“Oh… My…” she panted. “Yes.”
One-Mile wasn’t up for conversation, but he loved hearing her stream-of-pleasure babble. So he drew her deeper into his mouth, swirled his tongue around the captive crest, then released her slowly, teeth nipping gently along the way.
“Please…” She curled her fingers into his short hair and pulled him closer. “More.”
He didn’t argue, just switched breasts. This nipple looked as earnest and engorged as the first. With his thumb and fingers, he plucked at the peak he’d just popped from his mouth. Then he engulfed the other, pulling it ruthlessly between his lips, tonguing it, then gently biting, pecking, gripping.
He kept at her, first one breast, followed by the other, until he reduced Brea to incoherent animal sounds and she twisted in agony beneath him.
“How’s that ache now?” he murmured as he dragged his lips up her neck to nip at her lobe.
“Do something. I need…” She bit her lip and stared with helpless eyes. “I need you.”
One-Mile was only too happy to oblige. Sure, he’d love to take a leisurely tour of her body, get his hands wherever she had curves, and let his mouth linger anywhere she might taste good. That would have to wait until round two. Right now, he didn’t think either of them could stand another second of him not being inside her.
Jesus, his cock ached. Brea was like a fever; he was fucking sweating with need for her. He had to take her. Possess her. Own her.
As he shucked his constraining pants and kicked them aside, Brea propped herself up on her elbows and stared, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. How should he interpret that fucking expression? She gaped as if she’d never seen a man’s cock, but she must have. She’d been with Cutter for years, and he was no monk.
“Pretty girl?” He knelt on the bed and leaned over her.
She jerked her stare to his face, blinked, then dragged him down for a drugging kiss. “I’m here. Yes. Hurry.”