Free Forged in Ash by Trish McCallan Page B

with his whole damn life lost in complications.
    He opened his mouth with the intention of saying no, of shutting the offer down hard, before it took him places he couldn’t afford to go. Except, that wasn’t what came out of his mouth.
    “I don’t have any condoms.”
    Where the hell had that come from? It was hardly a denial.
    “I’m on the pill.”
    The words just hung there, throbbing in the space between them. His gaze locked on her face, on the fullness and faint trembling of her lips. Her eyes held his squarely; her gaze was bright with hunger, but pink was flooding her cheeks. And not the pink of arousal. She wasn’t nearly as blasé about this as she wanted him to believe.
    He hesitated while every atom in his body screamed yes and every cell in his brain screamed no.
    The hesitation went on long enough to crack her confidence. Red flooded her face. Humiliation crested in her eyes. She pulled back, jerking her gaze and hands away at the same time.
    He wasn’t even aware of moving.
    One second he was flat on his back, the next he’d jackknifed up, reached for her, and dragged her down to the sofa, where she lay atop him, draping him from hips to shoulders.
    He took her mouth in an urgent, raw kiss. Her lips were soft against his, sweet—but without the citrus tang he’d expected. They tasted like…roses…which was the oddest thing, because he’d never tasted a rose before. Until her.
    As his hands dove into the knot of hair pinned to the back of her head, pins went flying. A thick braid slipped down. He caught the end, stripped the band away, and combed his fingers through the bound pale tresses until a waterfall of gold spilled down, cocooningthem within a veil of shimmering gold. A swath slipped over his shoulders in a silky slither, and goose bumps raced over his skull and down the back of his neck.
    His heart stopped for one long minute and then leapt into double time.
    The feel of her silky, cool hair sliding over his hot, sensitive skin was unbelievably erotic. Even more so than it had been in the dream.
    But then, he had the unmistakable feeling that was going to be the theme song of this particular moment…
    He opened his mouth, urging her lips apart, stopping long enough to trace that sexy dip in the middle of her bottom lip with his tongue—the slight indentation that had been driving him crazy for the past few minutes. She quivered against him and parted her lips, and her tongue darted out, brushing his own. The light erotic slide of tongue against tongue sent a pulse of electricity down his spine and into his balls.
    With gentle pressure he bit her bottom lip and drew it into his mouth, suckling it. She jolted against him, and the cool curtain of hair caressed his shoulders again, inciting another shower of sparks.
    If her hair felt like liquid sex, and so damn good against his skin, what would her skin feel like against his? Driven to find out, he slid his hands down to the middle of her torso, where he grabbed a fistful of fabric and dragged it up. She pushed herself up so he could strip the shirt over her head and then folded herself over him again, her brown eyes glowing and intense, her hair a tousled shimmer of gold falling along either side of his head.
    He groaned as her lips found the side of his neck and latched on, suckling. Christ, each tug of her mouth against his skin sent pulses of fire straight to his cock. Each brush of her sleek, damp skin against his chest tightened his balls.
    His hands felt huge and awkward as he slid them up the length of her spine, searching for her bra. He unhooked it, barely paying attention as it slipped down her arms and she lifted herself enough to shake it loose. Aching to feel the cool, sleekness of her against his palms, he trailed his hands up her spine, and around to her chest, cupping her breasts. They fit his palms perfectly—not too big, not too small, simply perfect.
    She gasped as he gently squeezed the soft mounds, and shivered when he