Free Stripped by Edie Harris

cheekbone. Her lashes fluttered closed as he angled her head, nipping playfully at her lower lip. “You taste like you dance.”
    “What does that mean?” She let go of his shirt to loop her arms around his neck, holding him closer. Holding him to her.
    The simple action soothed that unnamed ache. “Hot. You’re so damn hot.” Plump breasts pressed against his chest, her knee hooking over his hip. The heel of her sandal might as well have been a spur digging into his upper thigh, urging him to take her mouth again and seduce away any shyness.  
    The hand on her cheek slid to cup her nape, the cool strands of her high ponytail slipping over the backs of his knuckles, a tantalizing tease of sensation that made him want to wrap her hair around his fist and tug—hard. Much like he was. He finally brought his hips fully against hers, letting her feel him, and feel what kissing her did to his body.  
    Her breathing stuttered as she gripped his shoulders. “Damn it,” she muttered into his mouth. “You feel good.” Her hips hitched up, and he felt the sudden, stunning heat of her pussy along the length of his dick, only his jeans and her panties separating them. She bit down on his lower lip, not gently. “Really good.” She moved on him, arms clinging, leg clutching, nothing but lithe muscle and silky skin…and need.  
    God, she moved like she needed him. Him .  
    His hands dropped, one to her waist, the other to the thigh sliding over his hip. He slanted his mouth over hers, wanting to steal her words and her lips and her breath and her. Just her. All of her. His shoulders flexed as her nails found his spine, sharp pleasure burrowing into the tension-knotted muscles.  
    She thought he felt good? He couldn’t possibly compare to this writhing woman pinned to the alley wall.
    He dipped inside her mouth to taste her again, eyes closed, wallowing in the salty sweetness on the tongue twining with his. His gut clenched as her hand fisted in his hair, the tug on his scalp shivering across his nerve endings. When she moaned against his lips, he felt sanity start slipping away, and burrowed the hand at her waist beneath her thin top, desperate to touch naked Fiona.  
    The hand in his hair yanked him back, tearing her lips from his. “Nothing under my shirt.”
    He froze as his fingertips found the warm flesh stretched across her rib cage. “Why not?” Petting. Her skin practically cried out for petting, and he wanted to pet every damn inch of her. And then lick her ’til she melted like ice on his tongue.  
    “I just don’t want you there,” she snapped, tempering the bite of her tone by nuzzling the side of his neck.  
    All right, then . He withdrew, planting his palm on the brick above her shoulder. “What about your skirt?” The hand on her thigh slid beneath the hem of that fall-away skirt. The further he climbed, the softer her skin, the heat from her body buffeting the backs of his fingers. He nipped at her earlobe. “You gonna let me under here, darlin’?”
    She stiffened when he found the lacy edge of her panties, trembled when one finger traced the crease of her lips through the delicate fabric. “Yeah. Yes.” The air leaving her lungs whooshed loudly against his ear.
    His surprise didn’t keep him from playing along her slit, teasing touches that quickly increased the wetness gathering behind the lace gusset. She had this backward—most women were all about above-the-waist games, not letting a guy into their knickers until they knew he wouldn’t pull a bang-and-dash. But she wanted him exactly where he wanted to be and so would hear zero complaints from him.
    He found the bud of her clitoris with his thumb and circled, applying more pressure with each pass. “You like this, Fi?” he whispered at her ear, breathing in the jasmine of her perfume, the scent making his dick throb painfully. Regretfully, he drew his hips away from hers, needing better access for his fingers. “You like how I