Free Rough Rider by Victoria Vane Page B

stomach tightened as inch by devastating inch he lowered his head toward hers until his mouth hovered only a hair’s breadth from hers.
    Her heartbeat accelerated, her lips parted.
    His warm breath caressed her face, teasing her with its scent while the yearned for kiss hung between them—a sweet promise suspended in time.
    Please. She sent a silent supplication to the heavens.
    A heartbeat later, her prayer was answered as his lips brushed over hers—soft, warm, sweet. The stuff of her girlhood fantasies. She wanted to melt into him, to throw her whole being into her response, but he stiffened and drew back, as if ready to abort what they’d started.
    Her breathing stilled. Her eyes opened. Her heart squeezed with the fear of rejection, but rejection wasn’t what she saw reflected back at her in pools of crystal blue. His gaze was searching hers as if silently seeking confirmation that she wanted what he wanted.
    Now or never, Janice. Time to cowgirl up.
    She took a breath, and then the dive. Stepping into him, she snaked her arms around his neck, until they stood chest to chest, thigh to thigh, separated by only thin layers of cotton. His erection surged between them, pressing hot and hard against her lower belly. Threading her trembling fingers through the hair at his nape, she pulled his head back down to hers for another kiss.
    Like the flip of a switch, everything shifted. Transformed.
    His hands tightened on her face as he claimed her mouth again, but this kiss wasn’t soft and tender. It was hungry. Fierce. His mouth melded with hers with an urgency that made her chest tighten. He licked across the seam of her mouth and she parted her lips on a soft moan, welcoming his exploration, and the slick, swirling strokes of his tongue.
    His hands dropped to her shoulders and his mouth to her neck. Sucking, licking, gently biting. Her mind emptied of everything but Dirk. It was him. Only him. His mouth. His hands. His soft words murmured against her skin. The deliciously abrasive bristle of his whisker stubble. His fingers pushing her camisole strap aside. His mouth replacing it, moving over her shoulder in a hot wet trail across her collar bone.
    The sensations of his mouth, his hands, and hot tongue robbed her of breath. Her nipples were swollen, almost painfully erect. Her breasts ached for his touch. She clutched his hair with a soft sound—a plea for relief that he didn’t ignore. Yes. Sweet Jesus. Yes .
    His mouth came down, kissing, gently biting, and then suckling her breasts. He teased, strummed, and plucked her nipples, inducing a sudden surge of wetness between her thighs and transferring the ache to a different place.
    She slid her hands down his neck, over his broad shoulders, to the wide, smooth plane of his back. He brought his hands lower too. Her body rippled under his fingers tracing gently down her spine until they rested on the small of her back. His callused thumbs located the hollowed dimples. Circling, stroking. Every touch, kiss, breath, and heartbeat wrested a response, ramping her need to a fever pitch. She’d never felt like this before, on fire and burning up with want. She whimpered and ground herself against him. The friction of his erection created a blinding rush of pleasure. He ran a hand up her thigh, reaching inside the leg of her shorts to stroke his fingers through her damp curls. He kissed her again. Slow and deep. He also probed further. Deeper.
    She clutched him tighter, her body quivering.
    â€œYou nervous, Red?”
    â€œWell, yeah,” she confessed.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he soothed. “I won’t be rough and I’ll take care of you first.”
    Before she realized what he meant by that, he’d dropped to his knees. Caressing the length of her legs, his mouth trailed up the wake of gooseflesh created by his hands. He nuzzled her through her shorts. She gasped at the mind-reeling jolt of pleasure.
    His gaze shot up to