Free Midnight Vengeance by Lisa Marie Rice Page A

he liked it a lot that she hadn’t had sex in a while. And he was going to make damned sure she didn’t have sex with anyone else but him for the foreseeable future. But right now there was something else on his mind.
    “Don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbled.
    Lauren watched his eyes and stepped toward him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and her belly rubbed against his dick. He blew out a breath.
    “You won’t hurt me, Jacko.”
    He could feel her breathing against him, breasts and belly lifting against him slightly with every breath she took.
    “Jacko? Are you going to make me beg?”
    On a scale of the top ten things he wanted to do, having sex with Lauren was the top nine, riding his bike coming in last. What the fuck was he doing? She thought he didn’t want her. How crazy was that?
    But...if he moved he’d explode. And he didn’t know what he wanted to do first. Sliding into her immediately was out of the question. She said he wouldn’t hurt her but he would. At least she’d be uncomfortable until he got her more excited. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, not for one second. He wanted her wet and hot, completely open and ready.
    So...how? How to have foreplay without his head and dick exploding first?
    “Lie down.” Lauren’s eyes widened again. His tone was rough, guttural. He cleared his throat to modulate his voice but she was already lying on the bed, quietly watching him.
    Jesus.
Just look at her.
She was relaxed, one hand lying on her belly, breathing easy, waiting. Incredibly beautiful, every line of her just perfect.
    It was like having a bed full of C4 and she was the detonator.
    Jacko placed a hand and a knee on the bed and prepared to blow up.
    * * *
    The mattress dipped to take Jacko’s heavy weight. He moved slowly and cautiously as if he expected her to run away any second now. But she wasn’t going to run away. This next part was probably going to get really interesting.
    If she thought Jacko would roll on top of her like any other man would, she was mistaken. He lay at her side, propped up on one massive arm, looking at her. His entire body was like a heater—warmth emanated from him, penetrating skin, penetrating bone.
    He bent his head and kissed her shoulder while his free hand skimmed down between her breasts, over her stomach, down to between her legs.
    “Open your legs,” he whispered against her skin and her legs slid apart, as if they were there to do his bidding. That big hand disappeared between them. All she could see was his brawny forearm with the barbed wire tats around his thick wrist but she could feel him touching her. Slowly, carefully. Running a callused finger gently around her opening.
    He thought she needed foreplay, needed warming up? Surely he could feel how slick she was, feel moisture coming with each stroke of his finger. And foreplay wasn’t necessary with a naked Jacko in her bed. He was living, breathing foreplay.
    She turned her head to look at him, take him in. He was grim-faced as usual. Well, she was familiar with his face. He wasn’t a handsome man but then his attraction didn’t lie in his face. His attraction was that overwhelming maleness.
    When they’d kissed in her living room she’d felt him, felt those hard muscles, but it had been through layers of clothing. Now she could see what she’d only felt before and it was just...amazing. His dark skin was tough, like leather. Each muscle was clearly delineated, thick ropy raised veins running under the skin. He had so little body fat that in some places she could see the striation of muscle tissue. With all that he had a bodybuilder’s physique he didn’t look blocky or awkward. He looked like a Platonic ideal of man, perfect.
    He was lying on his side, his shoulders so broad that he blocked out her vision. All she could see, stretching from horizon to horizon, was dark-skinned muscle, her world reduced to a cage of man.
    Everything fell away. Her problems remained, but as