Free In For the Kill by Shannon McKenna Page B

was almost two years ago, but she remembered every detail. Only Sam had ever given her a clue what sexual pleasure could be. It would have been kinder if she’d never known at all, but now she did, so whatever. No going back.
    She wanted more. At least a taste, which was all she could ever have, with the demons that stalked her. Considering the price she knew she was going to pay for this, it had better rock her world.
    â€œI’m sorry I’m so . . .” Her voice trailed off. So what? So stiff, so tense, so shrinking? So clueless?
    â€œDon’t be.” He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them. His lips felt so hot, so soft. “You’re perfect. My personal ultimate wet dream.” He pressed her hands against his chest, over his heart. Her fingertips brushed the thickened skin of his scar. She could feel the quick, heavy throb of his heart, the crisp rasp of chest hair. A sheen of sweat. His nipples were taut against her palms. She wanted to nuzzle them, lick them. His hot, salty male scent filled her nose.
    She cleared her throat, groping for words. Her English flitted away like a hummingbird in times of stress. “What . . . ah . . . do we do now?”
    What a stupid question. They had sex. Duh. What else would they do, in this context? Play a game of fucking chess?
    But he didn’t laugh at her. He kissed her hands again. “We touch.” His voice was a low, caressing stroke of deep harmonics across her shivering nerves. “I touch you. You touch me. We kiss, for as long as you want. We take our time. Let things happen like they want to happen. We let it unfold. You don’t have to be nervous.”
    â€œI’m not,” she lied.
    â€œCome here.” He sat on the bed and drew her onto his lap, arranging his cock so it pressed stiffly upright against her hip. So hard, and hot, burning against her. His legs felt strong, ropy and corded.
    He cupped her breast. “This works great. I can lean over . . . and do this.” He pressed his mouth to her breast, and the hot, hungry swirl of his tongue brought on a huge wave of emotion, sensation. He was drawing pleasure and sweetness from some magic well she never knew she had inside her, and it ran so deep. Below the bedrock.
    She clutched his shoulders. Buried her nose in his thick, tousled hair, twisted her fingers into it, inhaling the scent of his scalp. Her fingers shook with strain as he licked and loved her breasts, bringing the tips of her tight nipples to throbbing points of bright awareness.
    The sensation was sweet to the point of pain. A keening ache of longing. She was smothering him, clutching at his head, but the sound that rumbled through his chest felt like a growl of pleasure.
    â€œSo soft,” he muttered, fluttering his tongue across her nipple, then drawing it in deep once again. She arched and squirmed in his lap.
    â€œAm I smothering you?” she asked.
    â€œFuck, no. Cling to me. Grab any part. Squeeze it until I explode.”
    She hid her face against his hair. “You sounded like you couldn’t get any air.”
    â€œWho gives a shit about air? I’m so turned on by your perfect tits, I can’t breathe anyhow.”
    She smiled against his hair. They were very normal breasts, but if he wanted to exalt them, she wasn’t going to complain. They certainly felt exalted, under his magic treatment.
    â€œYou’re the one with the perfect body.” She ran her fingertips over the taut muscles covering his back. “These lats. They’re absurd.”
    He looked aggrieved. “I thought girls liked lots of cut muscle. I might have known you’d be the exception, and take me for a steroid-popping dickhead. Of all things for a guy to feel self-conscious about.”
    She gave him a stern look. “I am not one of your hordes of girls,” she said. “And I’ll always give you a hard time. I can’t help myself.”
    â€œYou know, Sveti,