Free Biting Nixie by Mary Hughes Page A

bands. Lifted me. Caught me tight to an immense chest. My legs curled automatically around a lean waist.
    My fight died. Strong fingers, steely arms, concrete wall chest. I recognized these body parts. And the oh-so-lean waist. Panic flamed into instant desire. I tightened my legs, snuggling my crotch up good and close.
    Well, hello. Someone was very glad to see me.
    â€œNixie.” Julian’s voice. But not his usual cultured drawl. No, this voice was tight and strained. The kind of voice you got when all your blood drained from your vocal cords to your baseball-bat-sized cock. Ooh, he really did carry foot-long things in his clothes. I rubbed my hips against Mr. Big Gavel. That drew more blood down. “Nixie,” he said again, even more strained. I found I liked Julian’s voice all stiff and growly.
    â€œStop that. I’m trying to untie your hood.”
    Damn. Aroused, but in control of himself. How disappointing.
    In my dark cave, I blinked. Disappointing? No way. I was not disappointed that Julian Emerson, stodgy old hoag, was not interested in me. Well, feeling his big nightstick flex, maybe he was interested. But not enough to be out of control about it. And that was a good thing, right?
    Except I was burning up. That thick rod pulsing against my crotch, the smell of fighting male, the feel of his hard body under me…I was wet enough to grease a Cadillac.
    So when my hoodie came loose, I took one look at his beautiful, dark-bronze mouth and kissed him good.
    He tasted like war. Like fast rides with a powerful motorcycle between my thighs. Like getting drunk on expensive champagne. I ran my tongue over his lips and drank.
    Julian’s hands, in the process of putting me down, stopped. Came back around me. Crushed me to him.
    His mouth opened against mine. With a raw groan, he kissed me back.
    OMG. Julian hadn’t spent all his time studying law in law school. His tongue slid between my lips, stroking my skin like wet silk. He tasted me as a man savors the last pressing of summer grapes. Suckled my lower lip like it was sweet, heavy, and ripe.
    And as Julian kissed, his hands, those square competent hands, were oh so busy. One slid up and under my shirt. The other stole down the back of my pants.
    That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Tonight I was wearing ruffled spandex over jeans cut to my ass over a French thong. But Julian wove his fingers over and under, smooth as a wet dream. Stroked my buttocks. Found that really sweet spot right at the base of my spine. Brushed the downy hairs until my bottom was wide awake and clamoring for more.
    My brain filled with images. Me lying on my back, six-feet plus of male over me, all lean muscle and hot satin skin. Blue eyes clouded with desire as he did the passion pushups. Julian would be tender and attentive. Conscientious. Sober. Staid. Deadly dull.
    We would have vaginal sex in the missionary position.
    Would he even take off his tie?
    Lust turned off like a light. I pulled away.
    Julian didn’t put me down immediately. He lifted his head, looked at me. Intently, as if he could read why I’d cooled in my eyes. It was weird. His hand was still down the back of my pants. I was still breathing heavily. I could feel my lips, still wet and buzzing. But Ms. Malebox no longer wanted any deliveries.
    I expected Julian to be angry. I expected him to accuse me of being a cock tease or worse. After all, I had started it. And pulsing against my crotch was an erection as big and swollen as a Usinger sausage. It had to be painful.
    But Julian only continued to stare into my eyes. Deeply, as if he could read my thoughts.
    And maybe he could, because slowly he bent his head. He pressed warm lips to my neck. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue came out and tasted me.
    Not a little lick or tickle. No, a full, curling hot swipe. Intimate. Wet. Sinfully erotic. And just a little bit kinky.
    That hot lick was not staid at all. My motor revved