His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(75)
Author: Shayla Black

He tasted like a heady swirl of man, beer, and desire. The stubble of his way-past-five-o’clock shadow scraped gently as he grabbed her wrists and shoved them over her head. As soon as he transferred his grip to one hand, he took deeper possession of her mouth, his tongue surrounding hers, laving, seducing. He gripped her hip, his fingers holding her tight.

Under him, Bailey arched restlessly. His onslaught was everything she remembered—unrelenting and insistent—but more. Hungrier. Somewhere between another swooping kiss and a long groan, she tasted his hot persuasion. Less than twenty-fours had passed since he’d last seized her mouth, but his touch vowed it had been a lifetime to him.

Her head spun. Her heart soared. Her only anchor in this dizzying desire was Joaquin. She couldn’t throw her arms around him, so she wrapped her legs around his hips and ground against his thick erection. He prodded her sex, sending an electric impulse skittering between her legs.

The appreciation in his moan inflamed her more. He knew precisely how to enthrall her, and he used his knowledge without hesitation. Bailey floated in a thick morass of need she’d only believed possible in books or movies. It scattered logic. It set her body aflame.

She whimpered and opened her mouth wider. Joaquin claimed the space instantly. Her whole world narrowed to him alone as she caressed his tongue with her own, still pushing her hard nipples into his chest and gyrating on his cock between her legs.

He tore his lips from hers, breathing heavily. Searching her stare, he cupped her nape again, and aligned her under his mouth for his next conquering kiss.

“Tell me to take off your shirt,” he murmured first.

She craved the touch of his fingers on her bare skin. “Touch me.”

“I want to so fucking bad, I’m about to crawl out of my skin. But you’re going to have to tell me that you want me to rip that little shirt off your body and expose those pretty nipples before I lay a finger on you. Full consent or nothing.”

Bailey couldn’t catch her breath. Her blood heated, raced, churned. As he dragged his lips up her neck and skimmed across her jaw to hover just above her mouth, she knew she’d say almost anything to feel him inside her.

“Take my shirt off,” she gasped. “I want you to see me.”

Joaquin didn’t hesitate. He didn’t bother with buttons or dragging the garment over her head. He released her wrists, fisted the silky soft fabric just above her breasts, and yanked. It gave easily, rending under his strength.

Cool air splashed her skin. The hot flame of his stare negated the chill. Her nipples beaded under her bra. The way he looked at her, like he’d die if he didn’t take her, made Bailey reach for him.

The second she wrapped her hand around his shoulder, she wished he’d lose his shirt. Everything under the cotton felt steely, unyielding. She was no stranger to men with good physiques. Dancers were always well developed. The strength and discipline necessary to execute lifts made for cut chests, bulging shoulders, and tight abs. But Joaquin excited her more. He hadn’t developed his muscles by wearing spandex and lifting women who weighed less than a hundred pounds. He’d earned his on the streets, in battle, trying to make the world a safer place.

“Take this off.” She tugged at his sleeve.

He raised a black brow at her but didn’t move.

“Please . . .” She wheedled, kissing her way up his chin, brushing the corner of his lips.

“If we’re both undressing, you understand it’s very likely I’m going to fuck you.”

“I haven’t said yes,” she reminded him with a sly smile.

Joaquin propped his elbow on the mattress beside her head, his face hovering over hers. “I wouldn’t stop until I found a way to make you scream your consent. You think about that, then let me know if you want me to start stripping down.”

The girl inside her knew she ought to heed his words. Some devil inside her prodded her.

“Making me scream sounds pretty ambitious. It may not be something you’re able to do.”

He froze. “If you have any intention of putting a stop to this, don’t tease me. Because I’ll be so fucking happy to prove you wrong.”

His words only whipped her into a darker frenzy. Bailey had little doubt he could do exactly as he threatened. And the idea made her sizzle. “Please take off your shirt.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re in so much trouble, baby girl. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this—and make sure you do, too. I won’t rest until I’ve wrung every ounce of pleasure from your body.”

“Promise?”

At her taunt, he gave her a low laugh, then raised himself up enough to straddle her. He didn’t make a production of removing his shirt, just reached behind his head, gathered it in his fist, yanked, and flung it across the room.