Free Cajun Hot by Nikita Black Page B

over his strong jaw. His fingers slipped under the hem of her miniskirt and stroked the back of her thigh. They hadn't given back her panties, she suddenly realized. His hand crept higher over her bare skin.
    "Your wish is my command.” His fingers trolled upward, teasing at the edge of heaven.
    She sucked down a gasp when his fingers flirted with her damp curls. “You owe me big-time, Chat, and I plan to collect before I leave tomorrow."
    Withdrawing his hand, he gathered her hair in his fist and pulled her head back. His gaze raked over her, his expression inscrutable. “Who says you're leavin'?"
    A streak of apprehension lanced through her before she could tamp it down. “I do. And you did, too. Just this morning. This farce has changed nothing, Jacque. I've told you that."
    He didn't comment, just kissed her and said, “I'm starved. Let's get somethin’ to eat."
    She didn't have a chance to ponder the tingle of foreboding that spilled down her spine. He thrust an enormous plate into her hands, filled it to overflowing, then steered her to a table.
    "Sit in my lap and I'll feed you,” he offered with a suggestive gleam in his eye.
    So she ate from her lover's—no, her husband's—fingers. Savoring mouthfuls of spicy foods, potent drink, and hot kisses in an orgy of sinful indulgence. Between bites, his hands were always on her. Touching her, tantalizing her.
    Prodding a succulent bit of crawfish meat into her mouth with one hand, he slipped the other hand between her thighs, urging them apart beneath the table. His fingers caressed her, spreading the slick folds of her womanhood, probing her moist satin passage, stroking the pearl of her throbbing need. She swallowed a moan along with the crayfish.
    "Open your legs,” he ordered softly, his voice rough like the tear of raw silk.
    Shamelessly, she did as he bid, heedless of onlookers, wanting only to feel his skilled touch on her fevered flesh, bringing the completion she'd craved so badly all day. His low growl reverberated against her back as he pulled her tighter to him and fed her another morsel.
    "Shall I make you come?” he heatedly whispered.
    "Yes,” she implored, moving against his teasing hand.
    "You'll scream,” he chivalrously cautioned.
    "I won't,” she vowed, and swallowed the shot of moonshine he poured into her waiting mouth. It burned all the way down as it worked its way through her, bursting into flame at his fingertips. She turned and licked the sensuous curve of his lip, in supplication. “Please."
    His thumb slowly circled her, and her inner muscles clenched in readiness, primed to erupt, drenched in wet, glorious sensation. He stopped, the pad of his thumb resting exactly on top of the scorching point of her need.
    "Who do you belong to?” he quietly asked.
    Ribbons of aching desire nearly strangled the breath from her lungs. She swallowed heavily, weighing the consequences of her answer. Her whole universe throbbed beneath his thumb.
    She parted her legs further, hoping for a reprieve, for him to consent to deliver the one last stroke needed to plunge her over the edge of bliss.
    "You,” she finally whispered, discarding any pride of self-determination in favor of her enormous need for him at this moment.
    The music pulsed around them; the blood pulsed wildly through her veins. His huge erection pulsed against her backside. Her nipples pulsed to the beat of her jack-hammering heart.
    His thumb moved, infinitesimally, the tiny movement bringing her to the very, breath-catching, pulsating brink of orgasm.
    "Liar.” He breathed the word into her ear, and pulled his hand away, cruelly denying what her body so desperately cried for.
    She groaned in agony. “Bastard,” she hissed and, in her pique, lowered her own hands to finish it herself.
    He grabbed her wrists, preventing her. Lacing his fingers through hers, he forced them to her lips. The scent of her own need assailed her nostrils, along with the smell of food and spice lingering