Seeing is Believing (Cuttersville #3)(47)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Better than smelling bad.”

“When did you get so sassy?” He nibbled at her ear, enjoying the warmth of her skin, the soft sigh she gave at contact.

“I don’t think I am. I’m just matter-of-fact. I don’t know how to flirt.”

Was she kidding him? “Oh, I think you do just fine.” He felt flirted with. Or maybe she was right. Maybe her just-the-facts-sir attitude was actually the real turn-on. Because she wasn’t game playing. If she wanted him, she said it. “I find myself a bit turned around by you, Piper. I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I think you know what to do with me,” she said, taking his hand and lowering it from her waist to her inner thigh. Not quite on her sex, but damn close.

Brady groaned. “You’re right. I do know what to do with you. I’m going to start with kissing you again.”

Her lips were soft, sweet from the apple, open for him. He kissed her with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed, kissed her with something like reverence. They were all right. Piper was special. She did things to him that he didn’t understand, made him want to be a better man. Plunging his tongue inside her, he was determined to give her the same pleasure that she brought to him, wanting to make the most of the limited time they had, absorb her into him in a way, so that when he went home, she would still be with him.

Stroking across the front of her skirt, pressing against her clitoris when he found it, Brady tried to form a game plan, a calculated seduction. But all he could think was that he wanted her and he wanted her now. Everything he’d learned about taking his time and teasing a woman seemed to have evaporated. He was just overcome with the pure greedy need to take, take, take. So he stepped back and forced himself to drag in some fresh air and get a grip on his hormones. He was not going to just drive inside her again like the first time.

Reaching out, he drew her T-shirt off her head, slowly, easily, putting a lid on the frantic nature of his desire. He was in control. He was going to make this worth her time and the ire of her father. When the shirt popped off her head and her hair tumbled back down, he placed it on the side of the truck so it wouldn’t get dirty. Or not too dirty, anyway. Then he took in the sight of her in the moonlight, her br**sts firm and full, spilling out of the top of a white lace bra, her waist tapered, her arms slim and delicate, her neck graceful. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he told her, and he meant it. She was ethereal in her beauty. The portrait of feminine perfection, her hair shiny and healthy, her lips plump and rosy.

It was a compliment that drew a blush to her cheeks and stained the flesh above her br**sts a pale pink. “Thank you.”

“May I?” he asked, taking the waistband of her skirt and readying to shove it to the floor.

“Yes.”

Brady kissed her while he pushed the skirt past her hips, letting it drop with a soft thump. Brushing his hands over her ni**les, straining against her bra, he took his time kissing her, exploring the contours of her body, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, the heaviness of her br**sts, the delicate bone underlining her shoulder. He couldn’t place the scent she wore. It wasn’t a heavy perfume, it wasn’t floral. There was something fresh about the way she smiled. Like the outdoors. Like youth. Like soft, ripe fruit ready to be eaten.

Popping the fastener of her bra, Brady toyed with the top of her panties, hinting at where he would like to go next, even as her br**sts spilled out of the open bra. She made a sound in the back of her throat that had his mouth hot and his boxers stretched to capacity. Her fingers were doing their own traveling, sliding up and down his chest, tracing all the lines of his muscles and squeezing here and there before coming to a rest on his waist. He bent over and pulled her bra off with his teeth, grabbing it right in the middle and drawing it away from her body before letting it fall down onto her skirt. Which left his mouth deliciously close to the br**sts he’d been dying to taste. Flicking his tongue on the underside of one, he moved his feet apart, bracing for some serious playtime. The fingers on his waist tightened reflexively.

Her ni**les were hard, a dusty rose, the perfect size to draw into his mouth and suck. When he did, she gave a low, soft moan that had him throbbing harder, something he wouldn’t have thought possible.

Then he bit her. Just gently, but a definite nip.

“Oh, God,” she said, her head falling back, her hands moving up to his head, to hold him tightly against her.

“Turnabout’s fair play,” he told her.

“I didn’t bite your boob.”

He laughed. Sometimes the things she said just killed him. “That’s not your boob. It’s your nipple.”

“Yes, sir.”

That deference, fake or not, made his blood surge south, hot tendrils of desire flickering along his body, consuming him. It was near impossible to maintain his composure, but somehow he managed it. She seemed to realize the impact her words had on him because when he said, “Can I take your panties off?” she gave the same response.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re killing me,” he breathed, closing his eyes for a second to grasp for the thin strands of his control. “That should sound so wrong, but Jesus, Piper, it’s turning me on like nothing else.”

“It’s turning me on, too. Tell me what to do.”

This couldn’t be happening. It was just too amazingly perfect. He was in the back of a pickup under the stars with a beautiful woman who wanted him to tell her what to do. This more than made up for losing his job. He’d stay unemployed and broke for the next six months rather than give this up right now.

What he really wanted to tell her to do was to go down on her knees and suck his dick, but he wasn’t there yet with Piper. It seemed like the first time for her giving him head should be entirely on her terms, not his. So instead he said, “I’m going to take off your panties, and then I want you to lay down for me.”

She nodded, the pulse point in her throat jumping, her eyes dark with desire, goose bumps rushing across her chest.

Her panties matched her bra, just a simple white lace that glowed in the dark orchard, low cut but covering everything. Brady knew what he was going to find behind that triangle of lace and cotton as he peeled it down inch by agonizing inch. Soft dewy curls, not a bald eagle. While waxing everything had its own appeal, it didn’t suit Piper. It was too . . . maintained. He liked to think of her as freer, untamed, feminine. It made more sense to him than anything else. This was Bush country, after all.