Free Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline) by Sparrow Beckett Page A

him down so she could kiss his mouth. His smile was dirty and electric, and he kissed her back with light, teasing brushes of his lips. When she tried to deepen the kiss, one of his big hands tangled in her hair, close to her scalp. She grunted at the mild pain, and there was a flash of sadism in his eyes.
    Hot damn, the man was sexy.
    He took her mouth, his tongue finding hers, urging her to participate while he stayed firmly in control. The press of his erection between them was heady, and she arched against it, hoping he’d lose some of the strict control he had over himself.
    She could sense his barely contained lust, and it stripped her gears, considering he was all hot and cut and hardcore badass, while she was a suburban grad-school retail worker. Sure, she stole cars too, but deep down she knew there was a vast chasm between them. Messing with Fox was dangerous business, no matter how nice he seemed. The first time they’d met, she’d seen the dark side of him—hell, he’d punched her out and abducted her. Why wasn’t she being more careful around him?
    Why? Because aside from his obvious tasty attributes, she also got the impression he’d give his left nut to shove her facedown and fuck her like a rutting Neanderthal.
    And she really, really wanted him to.
    His kisses grew more heated. Fox unzipped her dress and impatiently shoved it to the floor, his intensity stealing her breath. She was glad she’d worn a sexy bra and underwear instead of something comfortable, and his eyes said she’d chosen well. His fingertips grazed her pussy through the thin fabric of her thong, and she whimpered, pressing against him.
    At this rate, they were going to end up having wall sex, but she was surprisingly okay with getting off without going through the threatened interrogation.
    With shaking hands, she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, catching her breath as his chest came into view. He smiled crookedly at her and undid the buttons at his wrists to get rid of it. Oh god, he was glorious. His huge raven tattoos, one on each pectoral, were so lifelike they could have burst from his skin and flown away. Both of his upper arms had very realistic gargoyles. There was more, too, but she was too distracted to stop and examine them. All of his tattoos were symmetrical black and gray, pleasing to the eye and obviously planned out in advance.
    She’d wondered what he’d look like bare-chested, and even her sexiest fantasies hadn’t prepared her for a work of art made up of sculpted muscle. Like a little virgin, she lost track of what she was doing, too lost in perusing pecs and abs and lats, and exactly the right amount of body hair. And was that another tattoo along his ribs?
    He fumbled at the clasp of her bra, then stopped and drew in a lungful of air before he finally managed to get it undone.
    “First time?” She snickered.
    “Bitch.” He swatted her ass, and the burn left her wanting more.
    Slowly, he drew her bra down her arms, like he was teasing himself with the impending reveal. The way he looked at her, like she was to die for, made her cheeks hot.
    When her bra was all the way off, he groaned and cupped one of her breasts in his palm, running a thumb over her hard nipple.
    “Very, very nice,” he said, his words a manly purr. It was hard to ignore the way his appreciation made her belly flutter.
    She ran her hands over the sleek muscles of his chest, and down to his stomach, taking a shaky breath when she traced the lines of muscle that dipped down into his dress pants.
    And oh, crap . . . there was the head of his hard cock, visible at the waistband. Of course—the dickhead would have a big dick. She brushed the pad of her finger over the tip, and he tensed, then stepped back.
    “Whoa. Stop.”
    “Stop?” She frowned at him, hoping she’d misheard through the sound of her blood rushing past her ears. The last thing she wanted to do was stop. What she wanted to do was unzip his pants