Nauti Nights (Page 33)

“I don’t want to leave it now.” She couldn’t hold the words in.

A distant part of her brain cursed her foolishness, cursed her weak heart and the part of her soul that had never released the memory of his kiss, his touch.

She watched as Dawg’s eyes dilated, darkened, then he was stealing her kiss. He ravished her lips, ate at them, and grew greedy on the taste of her. His tongue licked, his head slanted, and the kiss deepened as fireworks exploded through her body. Brilliant heat. Flames licked over her flesh and seared her nerve endings.

When he drew back, all the way back, they were both breathing hard and fast and fighting for control.

“Not yet.” His voice was a graveled sound of need. “Too fucking soon. You have a few hours before you can take it yet.”

“There are other ways.” She leaned forward, touching her lips with his again, and saw the surprise in his eyes. She whispered wickedly, “Come on, Dawg. Show me how nasty you can get.”

Show her how nasty he could get? Oh, she had no idea the fantasies he had of getting nasty with her.

“What about lunch?” He glanced down at the food she had laid out.

“Fried chicken tastes better cold,” she reminded him, and Dawg watched in eager anticipation at the slow little lick her tongue made at her lips. “We can always eat later.”

Repacking the food was a simple matter of snapping the lids back on the containers and resetting them in the basket. The basket itself was set to the side. Dawg found himself moving, forcing her down to her back as he came over her.

“I won’t be nice,” he warned her. “You might want to reconsider that little dare you just made.”

Letting loose his fantasies could have disastrous results. Because he had a lot of fantasies.

“It could get worse than a spanking and a butt plug that vibrates and ripples?” She stared up at him in amused disbelief, even as her hands pulled his shirt free of his jeans.

She was wild, wanton. Dawg could see it in her eyes now, and he wondered if he hadn’t somehow sensed that wildness inside her years before.

He held back, feeling her slender fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt, releasing them one by one as she stared up at him with a challenge in her eyes.

He wondered how far she would go. How wild she would let herself get before she pulled back.

And maybe a part of him had to know. He had no desire to share her, but that didn’t mean his sexuality had dimmed in any way. He liked his sex lengthy, hard, and nasty. Crista couldn’t have a clue exactly how hard and nasty he could get with her. But he could show her. He could show her, and try like hell not to scare her off while he was doing so.

Because scaring her was definitely something he didn’t want to do. But he wanted her. All of her, in ways that had his cock pounding in agony at the thought of it.

“I could definitely make it compete with the butt plug,” he assured her with a smile as her fingers smoothed the shirt back from his shoulders.

Dawg shrugged the material away, feeling the summer breeze as it whispered through the trees and caressed his naked flesh. It was nowhere as sensual as the feel of Crista’s fingers working at his belt, drawing the leather free of the buckle before pulling at the metal button that held the band secure.

“You steal a girl’s breath with your wicked ways, Mr. Mackay,” she drawled teasingly, that hint of Southern belle deliberately thickened as his zipper rasped lower.

Dawg felt helpless above her. He stared into her chocolate eyes, certain he should be doing something himself. Kissing her soft lips, drawing her clothes from her body, but it was all he could do instead to maintain the strength in his arms to hold himself above her.

His jeans were loose now; her silken hands gripped the waistband and began drawing it from his body.

“That’s only going to go so far,” he warned her with a grimace. “We still have to get rid of the boots, sweetheart.”

She smiled, a reckless, heated smile that had his balls drawing tight in anticipation.

“Lie down,” she ordered softly, her palms pressing into his abdomen. “Lie down, Dawg, and we’ll see if we can’t get rid of them.”

He lay down.

Giving a woman control had never been his strong suit, but he gave it to Crista. Because watching her, feeling her touch, was like being warmed in the winter. It wrapped around him and eased him into the sensuality rather than allowing him to throw his partner into it.

She cast him a heated look from beneath her lashes as she moved to his feet and removed his boots, then his socks. Then, like the wanton he dreamed of, she gripped the waistband of his jeans and began to drag them and his briefs down his legs.

It was agonizing, watching her undress him, seeing the pleasure in her eyes and knowing how hot it made her. As she tossed his jeans to the bottom of the red checked cloth he was lying on, his brow arched.

“You’re still dressed, Crista.”

She looked around as though gauging the privacy of where they were. As he started to speak, her hands gripped the hem of the little shirt she wore, and she drew it over her head.

She wore nothing but a thin lace bra beneath it. One that framed her perky breasts and almost revealed her tight, hard nipples.

Watching him with slumberous, sexy eyes, she rose slowly to her feet and dropped the cotton capris as she pushed her sandals off her feet.

“Leave the panties on.” His voice was harsh as her fingers hooked into the little elastic band of the thong she wore.

Her lips tilted again. Knowing, sexual.

“What about the bra?”

“Lord have mercy.” He sighed. “Take it off.”

She released the clip between her breasts slowly and let the cups fall away from the hard-tipped mounds before shrugging it from her shoulders.

And there was no mercy to be found. There was sunlight spilling through the trees overhead and washing her creamy flesh in golden rays of heat.

When she came to him, Dawg couldn’t help but suck in his breath at the complete sensuality of her flowing movements. She wasn’t embarrassed. She wasn’t playing coy. She was hungry, and she was going to feed on the sexual, sensual intensity blazing between them.

Her lips came to his. Her hands gripped his wrists, holding them at his head as her breasts brushed over his chest. Her nipples were like fiery brands, her lips as they sipped at his, nipped, laved them with lust, were extensions of the hunger raging between them.

Dawg’s cock was so hard, so fully engorged it was painful. Each brush of her nipples against his chest had him flexing, his body raging to take control of the sex play and to bury his dick as deep inside her as he could get.

“You’re riding the line, fancy-face,” he growled as her lips pulled back, the curtain of her hair embracing them in an intimate world all their own.

Crista felt Dawg’s wrists flex beneath her hand and glimpsed the powerful muscles of his biceps as they rippled.

“I’m not riding anything yet, Dawg,” she reminded him teasingly, her head lowering so her tongue could lick at the powerful cords of his neck.

Her hands smoothed along his arms as she braced herself on her knees on each side of a powerful thigh. His cock pressed against her hip, his hard chest stroked her nipples with each breath. And beneath the lace of her panties her pussy was creaming furiously.

“Keep it up, and you’re going to be riding more than you should be handling for another few hours,” he warned her tightly, his hips flexing beneath her, pushing his cock more firmly against her hip.

The heavy male thigh she straddled shifted as well, bringing a gasp to her lips and a surge of sensation to the swollen clit it pressed against.

“Other ways,” she whimpered. There were ways she was dying to try. Long-dreamed-of acts she needed to experience with him.

“Other ways.” His voice was filled with challenge. “Better get started on those ‘other ways,’

fancy-face. I’m a dying man here.”

He was sexy as hell, too. Stretched out on the overlarge picnic blanket, his eerie green eyes gleamed back at her from behind lowered lashes.

Crista lowered her head again, her lips and tongue finding a flat, hard, male nipple and working it in her mouth. A muted groan came from his chest. His arms moved as though to reach for her.

“Stay for me.” She pressed his arms back to the checked cloth. “Just a little longer, Dawg. Let me have this.”

She needed it. Needed him. Needed to taste and explore and fill her senses with him.

“Crista, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” He was breathing rough and heavy, but his arms stayed in place as her lips moved to the opposite nipple and tormented the pebble-hard flesh.

Giving it a final lick, she moved lower. Her hands stroked his heavy thighs, inside and out. Her lips kissed, her tongue licked a sensual, meandering path down his chest and firm abdomen.

Hard muscles flexed beneath her lips. His thighs bunched; the thickly crested head of his cock gleamed with moisture as her fingers finally gripped the stiff shaft.

Crista knelt between his thighs and stared up at his body, tracking the damp flesh and finally meeting his narrowed gaze.

“I get to have dessert first,” she said with a slow smile.

Her head lowered, her tongue licked over the straining crest, curling over it as a low, hungry growl rumbled in his throat.

“Sweet Crista,” he groaned. “That sweet little tongue is like fire.”

Dawg’s hands knotted in the cloth beneath him. He was dying. Stretched out on a rack of sensation that had sweat building along his body and his balls tight with anticipation.

He watched as she smiled again. A drowsy, sexy little smile a second before her lips opened and she took the pounding head of his dick into her tight mouth, sucking it slow and easy. Her fingers caressed and stroked, tortured and tempted, until his hips were thrusting into her grip, fucking her lips as the heat built around them.

“Come here.” He reached for her. He’d be damned if he would take the torment alone. “Turn around here, darlin’.”

Her lips never left his cock. But her body turned and sweet, lace covered flesh came closer to his hungry lips. For the first time in his sexual life, Dawg found himself without patience, without careful deliberation.

One hand gripped her leg, lifting it over his head before both hands gripped her hips. Fingers gripped the lace and drew it slowly from the newly waxed flesh between her thighs. Dawg stared up at the bare folds, luscious pink and gleaming with her juices. Sweet, soft little droplets hugged her flesh and had him licking his lips in anticipation.

“Oh yeah.” He sighed, pulling her closer. “Come here, baby, let me show you how good it can be now.”

It was one of the sexiest things she had ever envisioned.

Crista caught her breath as Dawg licked over the saturated folds between her thighs. The protective curls that had once covered her there were gone, and the sensations were enough to make a woman insane.

There was nothing now to insulate her from the rasp of his tongue or the soft licks he bestowed upon her. His caresses only made her hotter, only made the need rising inside her bloom to desperation.

To greed.

He licked and sucked with gentle movements, never abrading the sensitive folds but soothing them, whispering over them, consuming them as her mouth sucked greedily at the head of his cock. She was determined to make him just as desperate for satisfaction as she was becoming.

She swore the breeze whipping around them was spiked with fire now. Dawg held her hips easily, controlling her frantic need for movement against his mouth. His tongue burrowed through her slit, licked and moved to curl around her clit.

He stroked, sucked, and lashed at the fiery little nubbin with hungry licks and greedy suckling lips until the inferno inside her began to blaze out of control.

Strong fingers separated her rear cheeks and caressed the narrow cleft there.

Breathing was impulse; the cries that tore from her throat as she sucked Dawg’s cock were involuntary. All she knew was the heat racing through her veins, the flames licking over her flesh, and the ache building with each lick of his tongue between her thighs.