Free Rooted (The Pagano Family Book 3) by Susan Fanetti Page A

released the jasper stone and pewter disc and pushed that hand around her neck, into her hair. Then he pulled her against his chest, his other arm circling her waist. His bare skin against hers, almost as bare, set fire to his nerves and to his self-control. No longer could he stand still and let her study his body with her hands. He brought his mouth to hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth immediately and with force. He felt raw and exposed, and he needed to take something from her to salve what she’d made ache.
     
    Last night, when he’d kissed her, he’d been gentle, hesitant, doing something he hadn’t done for years, and with someone he had not yet known. He’d been unsure of himself and of her. Tonight, it didn’t even occur to him to wonder. But she responded favorably to his force, moaning into his mouth, snaking her hands up over his shoulders and into his hair, claiming fistfuls, holding him to her even as her hands pulled, the tension at the roots of his hair prickling his scalp.
     
    They were standing near a wall; he turned and pushed her up against it, leaning hard into her, shoving his leg between her thighs. Needing more of her body, he tore his mouth from hers, and a wrenching, wild sound fled his throat. Fighting her hold in his hair, he trailed his mouth down the side of her neck, over her shoulder, pulling her bra strap out of his way.
     
    He sucked and nipped as if her body were his dessert, and as he did so, she flexed on him, drawing herself back and forth along his thigh. From her wild moans and frantic breath, and from the wet heat seeping through the denim on his leg, he knew she was getting herself off on him. That was unbelievable—to have a woman so hot for him that she couldn’t wait for his touch? Christ. That alone might undo him.
     
    He grabbed her hips and stilled them, chuckling at her frustrated growl. Then he kissed his way down her body, over her tantalizing breasts, suckling each nipple in turn, through the black lace of her bra, making her twitch and moan. He continued downward until he was kneeling before her. She had resisted at first, pulling his hair, trying to keep him in position with his leg hard on her, but when she saw what he intended, her grip changed. When he looked up, he met dark, dark, eyes, two deep pools of need.
     
    As they stared at each other, a Bruce Springsteen song—‘Rosalita’—suddenly began to play in the room. For a sliver of a second, Theo thought he was having a stroke or an aneurysm or something.
     
    Then Carmen tensed and let go of his hair. “Fuck. That’s Rosie calling.” At the same time, his own phone buzzed in the pocket of the jeans he still had on, alerting a text.
     
    He stepped back, and Carmen went to her jeans, where they lay in a puddle on the floor. As Theo tried to force his head back into gear, his phone buzzed again, and he shoved his hand into his jeans. He grazed his aching-hard cock through the pocket and bit back a groan. Talk about shitty timing.
     
    The text was from Eli. Sry. Need R’s address. Sorta got her drunk. Sorta really.
     
    A few feet from him, Carmen was saying into her phone, “Sissy, I can’t understand you. Put one of the boys on…Don’t cry, Rosie. It’s okay…Hi, Jordan. It’s 71 Rue de la Lavande…Yeah, he’s here…It’s okay.”
     
    She ended the call and turned to him with a rueful smirk. Her skin was flushed, and her breath was still rough.
     
    “Is she okay?”
     
    “Yeah. Just wicked drunk. She gets stupid and weepy when she is. I’ve had to rescue her a few times since she discovered party libations. Guess I’m in for a night of holding her hair and promising her that I’ll always love her no matter what.” She pulled her bra strap back over her shoulder and resettled her breasts in their cups. The sight made him ache. Then she met his eyes again. “Rain check?”
     
    While she was on the phone, he’d texted Eli that Jordan had the address. Now, he put his phone