Free No Surrender by Sara Arden Page A

live these moments like any other—living them to make a memory to let her surrender to the moment.
    Or to what she knew was inevitable.
    The low growl of gratification in the back of his throat anchored her in the moment. She knelt down, the fine spray of water at her back and over her shoulders.
    He pushed his hand through her damp hair and she took him into her mouth, relishing not only the feel of him, the sounds of his pleasure, but the power she had over him. Not because she could deny him bliss, but because she could give it to him.
    It occurred to her, not for the first time, that he was indeed a beautiful specimen of manhood. She loved his oblique muscles the most—those hard lines often referred to as an Adonis apron, smooth lines of muscle that seemed to point straight toward his cock.
    His legs were strong and powerful, thickly muscled, just like everything else on him. In his youth, he’d been a kind of young god, but now he was earthier, harder.
    God, so much harder.
    Everywhere.
    Everything she touched was like living marble. This was a man built for fighting, for killing—for saving. His shoulders were just broad enough to handle the hero’s mantle.
    She looked up and met his eyes. Kentucky loved that about the way they joined. It wasn’t some fey, wispy sort of lovemaking. Some pretty, lacy ideal. It was intense, primal...and he wasn’t afraid to look into her eyes.
    Kentucky pressed her nails lightly into his glutes, pulled him forward. She sheathed him with her mouth, his flesh silky and hot against her tongue.
    “Sweet Christ, Kentucky...”
    She continued the campaign, bobbing down his length, tasting him, swirling her tongue over the thick topography of his flesh.
    “I’m already close,” he warned.
    She replaced her mouth with her hand, stroking him slowly, making it last. “Come for me, Sean. I want to taste you.”
    He’d braced himself with one hand on the shower-curtain rod, the other on the safety handle in the shower. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip. Every muscle in his body seemed to be flexed as he fought the sensation, fought the tidal wave.
    She wondered how far she could push him, how high?
    Kentucky slowed her strokes but then brought him to her lips, where she teased the crown of his manhood with her tongue, licking and laving, changing her technique and increasing pressure depending on that delicious growl that kept reverberating from him.
    “You’re killing me.”
    “That is why they call it the little death.” She took him deep again.
    His body spasmed and he arched toward her, hips thrusting, and she felt only satisfaction when he found his completion.
    “Shit.” He turned the water off.
    She looked up to see that he held the shower curtain, rod and all, in his hand. He’d pulled it down with the strain of his orgasm.
    Kentucky grinned. “I’m so the boss of you.”
    “I will fix this before I leave.”
    She laughed. “I’m kind of proud of it.”
    He lifted her up as if she were no bigger than a doll. “But now turnabout is only fair play. I think you’re in for some quid pro quo.”
    She squirmed, delighted at the idea. “Well, if you insist.”
    “I do insist.” He wrapped a towel around her. “Bed?”
    “Definitely.”
    Sean carried her into the bedroom and perched her on the edge of the bed. “Spread for me. Show me.”
    She spread her legs wide and he knelt between them, pushing her back on the mess of blankets on the bed.
    Kentucky leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, fisting the duvet as she waited for the onslaught of sensation.
    God, but he was amazing.
    He kissed her there first. His lips soft and warm, a gentle press before he slipped his tongue inside her and traced the seam back up to her clit.
    “You taste so good.”
    “So do you,” she replied, anticipating the next onslaught.
    His fingers pushed inside her while his tongue worked at the swollen bud and waves of sensation echoed through her body.
    He played her as