“I can hear you thinking, sweet Mae. You worry too much. Go. Wash your face and what other womanly things you do.”
The sexist comment had her head snapping up with a glare, but he only smiled, as if he’d done it on purpose.
He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth, then tilted his head in a wordless gesture toward the bathroom. Maeve sighed and went.
When she’d brushed every tooth long enough to endanger the enamel, then washed and moisturized her face, she donned her bedtime uniform of sweats, tank, and hoodie and ventured out into the bedroom. Dragan lay on his back, looking utterly relaxed as always, the sheet pulled up to his waist, chest bare and arms crossed behind his head. His gaze followed as she came around the bed—the only bed, since her suitcase was still sitting on the other one.
When she finally looked up, he scanned her overdressed form, top to bottom, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Are you cold?” It was a simple question, but a single raised eyebrow said more than his words.
Feeling silly, and way younger than her years, she unzipped the hoodie and tossed it on the other bed. For Christ’s sake, she was about to climb into bed with the guy. The same guy who, the night before, had all but stripped her bare and used his fingers to—She blushed just thinking about it, then gritted her teeth, and with a sharp internal scolding, shoved her sweatpants down her legs and stepped out of them too, leaving her wearing nothing but tiny panties and her tank top, which barely managed to contain her breasts.
He held up the sheet in invitation. She put one knee on the bed, which gave her a glimpse of what the sheet had been hiding—nothing but smooth, masculine skin over a flat belly and. . . . She sucked in a discreet breath. He wore sweat pants, but they were shoved down so far that they barely covered the bulge of his very erect . . .
Well, okay, then.
She slid into bed, drawn as always to the heat and scent of him. It was as if he gave off a specific pheromone aimed at attracting her. Although he didn’t have to work hard. She was already thoroughly seduced, even though they hadn’t actually had sex. She intended to change that, however. Not because she’d suddenly grown bold, but because the admiring looks he’d attracted while they shopped had engendered awareness on an entirely different level that he was a beautiful specimen of maleness. She’d known that from the moment she first saw him, but not like this. Not like a woman who’d experienced him sexually, a woman who’d orgasmed on his fingers while lying nearly naked next to him. He was a man that any woman would be thrilled to have in her bed. And he was hers. At least for now.
“There you go,” he murmured, his voice a soft purr against her skin when she slid beneath the sheet and cuddled up to him.
What the hell was she fighting for? She wanted him. He apparently wanted her. And since the next few days were almost certainly going to be the most dangerous of her life, she sure as hell wasn’t going to die without making love to him just once. At least once, she corrected herself.
Sighing when he pulled her against his side, she rested her head on his shoulder and slid her arm over the bare skin on his chest, spreading her fingers out to better appreciate the firm planes. She scraped her nails experimentally over the tight nipples that were so different from her own. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body tightening beneath her hand, as if he liked it. Emboldened, she smoothed her fingers down over his belly, followed the thin line of dark hair to his abdomen, and paused to appreciate the hard ridges of muscle. She moved to explore even lower, but he suddenly grabbed her hand with a soft oath.
“By the gods, Mae. I’m not that strong.” Pulling her over and onto his chest, he glanced down and twisted a single finger under the strap of her tank top. “Take this off.”
Her hands were shaking just a little bit when she sat up, straddling him as she grabbed the bottom of the tank and lifted it off over her head.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, staring at her breasts in open admiration. “Come here.” He pulled her back down, so that her naked breasts were crushed against his chest. A gasp of pleasure escaped when her nipples scraped his bare skin. The sensation was unbelievably wonderful. The heat, the muscle, the sheer masculinity of him was a hard caress over her softness, and she found herself rubbing against him like a cat.
A hum of pleasure fell from her lips. “You feel so good,” she murmured. “I had no idea.”
“I’m yours to explore,” he offered, sliding his hands down to slip beneath the lace of her panties. “But I’m not made of stone anymore.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “You’ve been . . . alone, for so many years, and I’m—”
“Take your time, sweet. I’m in no hurry.”
She lifted her head to study his face, judging his expression, but he only smiled, as if they really did have all the time in the world. Taking him at his word, she leaned up to kiss him, intending to do no more than brush his lips, but desire flared to a blazing flame between them, burning hotter and hotter as their kiss deepened into something desperate and irresistible.
Slipping her over and under him, he cupped her breasts in both hands, never breaking their kiss as his fingers pinched and scraped over nipples that were already drowning in sensation, making them ache for something more, something she didn’t understand.
Until his kisses slid down over her neck to her collarbone, his teeth closing tightly enough over the delicate arch that it should have hurt, but didn’t. She was still absorbing the erotic pain of his bite when his lips sealed over her breast, sucking the soft mound into his mouth as his tongue danced a delicious circle over and around her nipple.
Her eyes closed, unable to process the overload of fresh eroticism. But then his teeth closed over one taut peak, and she had to bite back a scream of pleasure. She’d never have guessed . . . would never have thought a man’s bite—Dragan’s bite—could feel that good.
She heard someone moan and realized she’d lost the ability to hold back her response. She didn’t care, didn’t have the brain cells left to care, because his talented mouth had moved to her neglected breast, while his fingers continued to play with the nipple he’d teased into a plump mound, wonderfully tender and slick from his attention. Running her fingers through his long hair, she scraped her nails over his scalp, and lifted one leg to wrap around his hip. She barely recognized herself in this wanton, greedy woman. But, oh God, it felt good. He felt good.
His hand slid down to stroke her thigh, then back up to cruise over the lace of her panties. “Do you like these?” he growled, his voice dark and hungry . . . for her? Her chest tightened and for a moment she thought she’d cry, because the emotion was so strong. But then he ripped her panties with a single jerk of his hand, exposing her to his gaze, and she wanted more. Wanted him to soothe the ache between her legs with the hard length of the cock pressed against her thigh. Wanted to feed the desire burning her up from the inside. She wanted Dragan in a way she’d never wanted anyone, never even thought about anyone before.