ear. “It’s crass, but I’ve gotta ask, honey. Birth control? I have one condom, but…”
But? A hot flush filled her center. Just thinking about making love to him once set her on fire. Reckless, needy, combustible fire. More than once…oh, holy mother of…
“Honey?” he asked again, and that soft, deep velvet in his voice added fuel to her fire.
“I have a whole pack of condoms in the bedside table.”
Once more, that fallen angel smile emerged. Talking be damned. She needed more, wanted more.
Right. Now.
Lucy dove into another kiss, intending to never come up for air. From that second on, as if someone had given them permission, they caught fire. She drew back long enough to pull her top over her head. It flew across the living room. Before he could move, she reached for her short leather skirt and eased the zipper down in back. With hands that shook, she slipped the skirt over her hips and down her legs. It dropped at her feet. She kicked the skirt aside. And basked in his admiration.
Chapter Four
Jesus, H.—
Vic swallowed hard. Heat slammed him at a hundred miles per hour as he took in the pure beauty before him. Lucy wasn’t perfect, at least not in a model sense, but his heart and his body didn’t give a rat’s ass. He loved what he saw.
His pants had gotten too fuckin’ tight, but he couldn’t move, paralyzed by the sight of her. His hands flexed as he wanted to rush forward to grab her up, kiss her like crazy, thrust his tongue into every sweet corner of her mouth
Slow down, Cochise. Savor her. Now is not the time to explode like a fuckin’ high school boy.
His attention slid down her body, taking in her details, imagination rioting as he visualized what he’d do to each part of her. Her shoulders were small, her arms long and slim, her breasts cupped and lifted by a bra of black lace with some silvery threads running through it. With each of her breaths, those mounds lifted. But he wanted to be the one lifting them, smoothing his fingers over soft flesh, drawing each of them upward to sip at her nipples.
The rest of her skin, down over her smooth, flat belly, was a pale that belonged to Irish heritage, a delicate white that seemed so fragile he feared to touch it. Matching G-string panties barely covered her thatch, and he licked his lips as he took inventory. Her hips were rounded, but not broad, her legs were long. In his mind’s eye he imagined dropping to his knees in front of her, sliding those panties down. He’d press his face to her, draw in a breath of her perfume, lick through her wet softness. All the while she’d moan, she’d tremble as he took his time and tasted her secrets.
His hands clenched again, his body so tight with anticipation he didn’t know if he could do slow. Hell, at this rate he was shaking inside as if he’d never had a woman before.
Or just this woman before. The woman he’d wanted in his dreams for as long as he could remember.
Before he could move, she walked toward him. He felt like a statue, trapped by her beauty, unable to act despite wanting her so damned much.
She reached for the hem of his sweater and eased it past his stomach, up his chest, until he was forced to lift his arms. He took control away and drew it over his head. It fell on the couch next to him. She gazed at him like a child in wonder, her eyes big, her body inching closer. His breath came faster, harder as she reached out and palmed his chest. Her lips parted, and he caught sight of her tongue. He almost groaned. God, he remembered that tongue, how it felt against his.
“Oh, my.” Her voice went breathy, soft.
She smoothed her warm hands over his chest, her small fingers tangling for a second in chest hair. Down, down, she brushed over his stomach so close to his belt buckle. She glanced down. She had to see his erection. He closed his eyes, gloried in sensation. When she unbuttoned his belt buckle, he opened his eyes. Lucy had dropped to her knees and worked on his
Learning to Kill: Stories