Free Cougar's Courage (Duals and Donovans: The Different) by Teresa Noelle Roberts Page B

stroking her throbbing sex. Pushing, pushing. The lamps flared alarmingly, their flames rainbow-striped.
    Jack interrupted what he was doing just long enough to glare at the lamps and growl, sternly, “No.” They returned to normal.
    Then he slipped his hand inside the elastic waist of her thermals. His fingers burned on her belly as they worked their way down.
    Jack raised his eyebrows and smiled appreciatively as he stroked the soft, sleek curls on her mound. Then he discovered her clit and went to work.
    Her body tensed. She saw a meteor shower on a snowy night as the roof of the cabin opened, heard distant laughter that she swore emanated from somewhere in that impossible sky.
    She came hard, bucking and shuddering, tears welling in her eyes from the painful intensity of the pleasure. She’d had plenty of good sex in her life, but this was ridiculous in its speed and intensity.
    The craziest thing was that it didn’t take the edge off her desire, but pushed it higher.
    Cara had never been so glad she’d indulged in the ridiculously adorable leopard-print thermals, or so glad to get out of them as he helped her wiggle free. They’d need to be washed anyway; they smelled like twofer Tuesday at a whorehouse.
    She grabbed the ragged edges of his shirt and yanked. The remaining fabric yielded with a satisfying ripping sound, and a few buttons popped onto the floor.
    His body was as beautiful as she’d dreamed, and she couldn’t seem to stop touching it. Lean, strong, not bulked up like a guy who spent time working out in a gym, but all muscle. His skin looked smooth and felt like sueded silk under her hands. Living silk, warm and supple and so delicious.
    His jeans wouldn’t rip away. She had to unzip. He had to wriggle. Conscious thought was definitely involved. But most of the thought was simply, Naked. Need naked .
    She said the only words she’d managed to get out since the first kiss. “My God, your cock is gorgeous.” Not the kind of thing she usually thought, let alone blurted out, but his was so big and thick and delicious that she couldn’t help herself.
    Jack threw his head back and laughed. “Thanks, but I know the truth. Even the best cock’s funny looking.” Then his voice dropped into smoky intensity. “It’s what you do with them that makes them beautiful.”
    “Show me, then. Now.” She heard the words from across the universe, on some level knowing they were right, as if she was being guided. Though if she was being guided right now, it was by the spirit of Marilyn Monroe or Mata Hari or some dead porn star who’d really liked her work.
    Remembering the dream, she imagined they’d wind up in the bed, under the layers of blankets and furs.
    Instead, Jack leaned her against the table.
    The next part was like the dream, though. He slammed into her from behind with no hesitation, no elegance, nothing but pure sex. Hard, hot hands gripped her hips, and the table’s unfinished surface, worn smooth by years of use, sent energy through her hands, the energy of well-loved, much-used wood. Her hands looked odd on the table. That classy-looking ring wasn’t her usual style. There was a story there, a reason she was wearing it, but she couldn’t remember it.
    Then Jack did something clever with his hips, and she forgot the question. Forgot her own name and his. Forgot everything except pleasure.
    Under the forces of the fucking, she slammed into the table edge hard enough that she’d have bruises, but right now that added something, as did her nipples brushing the cool, slightly rough surface. Her pussy hadn’t recovered completely from the first orgasm, and it clenched and clamped on the hard cock ripping into her. It was violence disguised as sex or sex disguised as violence. It was just what she needed after slinking things that weren’t really wolves, and blood on the snow and the shape of a man where an animal had been.
    She couldn’t say when she started coming. She only knew she didn’t