Free Loves Me, Loves Me Knot by Heidi Betts Page B

that, they’d come to this.
    No matter how he cut it, this
was
the good stuff, but it wasn’t happily married good stuff. It wasn’t
She’s mine and no other man will ever put his hands on her unless he wants to lose them
good stuff.
    Even as long as he’d had to get over that, it still pissed him off, but he was willing to suspend his annoyance. Just for tonight. Just for a while.
    After that, all bets were off.
    “Put your hand between your legs,” he ordered, feeling his temperature continue to rise at the sight of her fondling her breasts.
    She continued to wear the cat-that-ate-the-canary smile that turned his insides all hot and molten.
    “Like this?”
    With deliberate slowness, she let the fingers of one hand fall away from her nipple and trail down her front, over her midriff, around her navel, and into the springy black curls at the apex of her thighs. When she got there, she stopped, simply letting her hand rest there, not moving.
    “Now what, Gage? What do you want me to do now?”
    “You know what,” he ground from between tightly clenched teeth.
    She shook her head, sending the short wisps of her dark hair dancing. “I don’t. You have to tell me.”
    His heart beat against his ribcage like a battering ram, and the muscles in his shoulders and forearms bunched with the effort not to bust the bedframe to get loose.
    “Touch yourself, dammit. Slide your fingers between your folds and touch your clit.”
    She did as he said, and when she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing back her head, he just about came. He was hard as a spike, hard enough to pound through concrete, he was sure.
    “Mmm, that feels good,” she told him as though she were commenting on the taste of a particularly ripe strawberry. And then she raised her head again to look at him. “Now what?”
    “Goddammit, Jenna, you know what,” he ground out.
    One corner of her mouth twitched with cocky, confident amusement. “I do,” she admitted, “but I’d rather hear you say it. Tell me what to do now that I’m touching my clit. Tell me what to do to make you come.”
    Jesus. She didn’t have to do much more than just sit there on his cock, wearing that angel-fallen-from-Heaven grin, and talking about things that would make a saint kick in a stained-glass window.
    Panting, writhing beneath her, he said, “Move your fingers. Stroke your clit and make yourself hot.”
    “You make me hot,” she murmured, but she did as he asked. While one hand continued to toy with her breasts, she used two fingers from the other to slide around between her folds.
    She was wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her fingertips and melting around him from where she clasped him tight inside her body. And she used that moisture to ease her motions, to slick the tiny bud that caused her breath to catch and a pale pink flush to climb over her chest and throat.
    “Faster,” he commanded. “And move your hips. Ride me like you promised.”
    He bent his knees as far as he could, given the restraints threatening to pull his joints from their sockets. It didn’t do much, but it gave him a small amount of leverage to cushion her soft buttocks and aid the upward thrust of his hips.
    Blood thrummed through his veins, white-hot and on the verge of overflowing while he took in the sway of her breasts, the bounce of her slim frame, and the increased speed of her hand pressed between their two bodies as she fingered herself.
    “God, yes,” he rasped, not caring that he was completely at her mercy and fading fast. “Can you feel it?” he asked, knowing she could, reading the signs clearly on her face and in the way she ground down on him, harder and faster with each passing second. “Can you feel me inside you, ready to burst?”
    And, God, was he. His balls were tight, his cock swelling with approaching orgasm.
    “Gage,” Jenna panted. Her eyes were open now, wide, bright, and focused directly on him. “Yes. Please. Come with me, Gage. Come with