Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(68)
Author: Christine Feehan

She allowed herself a second brief spurt of amusement. “You can wrestle the alligators, Nicolas, it sounds too muddy for my liking. I really don’t like mud in my hair.”

“You’re such a girlie girl.”

Dahlia did laugh then, a genuine laugh. The sound carried out over the bayou, taking with it some of the terrible pressure in her body. “Are you trying to challenge me? Goad me into some kind of he-man competition? That is such a juvenile male thing. Women, real women do not have to prove anything to men. We already know we’re the superior gender.” She stepped away from him and moved across the roof with her easy, sure steps.

As always, Nicolas marveled at her balance. She turned her head and smiled, a particularly mischievous smile that turned his entire body rock hard and his insides to mush.

He would never get used to the effect she had on him, but it was growing on him. He could live with it. In fact, as long as he didn’t have to admit it, he liked it.

She somersaulted off the edge of the roof and landed like a cat on her feet, already running through the lush vegetation. She was small and light, barely skimming the ground as she ran, fitting onto a narrow path that would be difficult for his much larger and heavier frame.

“That’s taking unfair advantage!” he called after her, leaping from the slope of the roof to the ground.

He followed her through the swamp, pacing himself, careful not to catch up, but close enough to keep her in sight. He loved the effortless way she ran. The smooth fluid motion and the lightness of her feet. Within minutes he was watching the sway of her bottom, the way the material of her jeans stretched tight across her bu**ocks, cuddled and framed her flesh. He’d never forget that first glimpse of her na**d butt, just the briefest sight, but it had been enough to bring on a million fantasies.

Nicolas ran behind her and thought about the curve of her hip. Her smooth, flawless skin beneath the jeans. He closed his hands into tight fists, imagining sinking his fingers into her, kneading her bottom, pulling her tightly against him. It was becoming much more difficult to run as with each step his body seemed to harden into one long ache, but his mind refused to give up the erotic images. Every fallen log he ran by he visualized draping her over and driving into her over and over again. The sunlight would gleam over her skin, and he’d watch the way they joined so perfectly together.

He groaned aloud as his erection grew heavier, pushing tightly against the material of his jeans and rubbing uncomfortably. He felt the merest brush over his skin, as if a butterfly had slipped into his jeans and landed on his penis. The wings seemed to flutter over the sensitive head, skimmed the long root, and then warm breath engulfed him, warm, moist heat and a tongue lapping.

He staggered, halting instantly, grabbing the nearest tree for support. Laughter floated back to him. Dahlia turned, standing in the sunlight, rays scattering all around her, lighting her face, her smile, her tongue, as she wet her lips and threw her head back in a sultry invitation. Her black eyes laughed at him. Challenged him.

“Come here.” He couldn’t go to her. He couldn’t walk.

“I don’t think so,” she answered and turned and ran, leaving him swearing and aching and more in need than ever.

He took a step. Her tongue dipped and stroked. He felt it. It was impossible to walk with his body nearly bursting through his jeans. The zipper hissed down and relief was instantaneous. He wrapped his fist around his painful erection and stood waiting for her next move. He felt her teeth nibbling. His body jumped under his hand. Two could play at mind games. And he was fairly certain he was an expert at fantasies.

He pictured her spread out in front of him, her body open to him, little moans escaping from her throat. His mouth was already busy at her breast, hot and strong and moist, laving her nipple and taking tiny bites until she shifted helplessly and her moans increased.

“That’s not fair!” She stood a few feet from him, her hair tumbling down in a silken cascade. She was breathing heavily and both hands cupped her aching br**sts.

“Open your shirt.”

“I’m not opening my shirt. It will only encourage your little breast fetish.”

His eyes were on her hands. She moved her palms over her ni**les, trying to relieve the ache. He looked up at her face. She was intent on following the stroke of his hand, wrapped around his erection. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lower lip. His body took on a life of its own, nearly jumping out of his hand. “Come here, Dahlia,” he said again. “I need you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nicolas was pure temptation, a devil standing there with his sinful smile and his dark, mesmerizing eyes. How could she possibly resist him? His reaction to their little game was enormous. And enticing. She took a step toward him, drawn in spite of herself.

“Unbutton your shirt. I want to look at you.”

His voice was so husky, so raw with hunger, a shiver went down her spine. He wasn’t in a playful mood anymore, and it showed in the lines of passion etched so clearly into his face.

Dahlia slipped each button free and allowed the shirt to gape open so the sun could caress her br**sts. She cupped the weight of them in her hand, feeling achy and tight and swollen. But her gaze remained on his enormous erection and the drop of moisture glistening in anticipation of her compliance. She took another step toward him.

“Take off your jeans.”

She swallowed a sudden spiraling fear, but slowly did as he ordered. She pushed the jeans from her h*ps and down her legs, stepping out of them. She wore nothing underneath. She watched his breath quicken. Saw his hand tighten, glide smoothly up and down once, twice, in an effort to get relief. Dahlia reached down with one hand and snagged her jeans as she walked to him. “What exactly do you want?”

She walked close enough that her hair slid over the sensitive head of his erection as she dropped the jeans at his feet.

“Take off your shirt. I want to see you.”

Without a word she allowed the shirt to slip to the ground. Her hands covered his, slid lower to cup and squeeze his tight sac gently. She allowed her palms to slide over his h*ps and thighs as she knelt on the jeans in front of him.

Nicolas felt his breath slam out of his lungs, leaving him burning for air. Her mouth slid over him, hot and moist and as tight as a fist. Her tongue danced along his ultrasensitive rim, sending shivers of excitement down his spine and flames burning through his bloodstream. She had taken his fantasy right out of his head, all his thoughts as he’d run behind her, and now she was putting them into action. Her mouth was a miracle of heat. He flung out a hand to find an anchor but could only bury his fingers deep in her hair, urging her on while his h*ps began to follow the rhythm she set.