Free All Over You by Sarah Mayberry Page A

and denim and hair that she’d created. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the brush of his fingers on the sensitive skin of her neck, even the hush of his breath on her cheek.
    It was too much. She’d craved him too long.
    She whimpered.
    A completely, utterly revealing whimper that spoke of desire and want and need.
    At the same time, she felt her earring come free as he unsnagged it.
    She wanted to die. Right then. Even if it hurt, a lot. Because nothing could be worse than whimpering with need in front of a man like Mac Harrison. Four long years of self-esteem building went out the window. Why had she just exposed herself like that?
    After a long moment, she dared a glance up at him, convinced she’d see pity or surprise or indifference on his face.
    Instead, she saw desire.
    It was the last thing she’d expected, the absolute last. A roaring sound filled her head as she realized that she had her ultimate fantasy man standing in front of her, and — miracle of miracles — he wanted her.
    What happened next was totally beyond her control. It was almost like watching some other woman reach out and wrap a hand around the back of Mac’s head and pull it down toward her — except it was her mouth that was parting in anticipation, her eyes that were closing.
    There was nothing gentle or tentative about their first kiss. Mouth met mouth, tongues clashed, hands grabbed at body parts as they strained toward one another. Grace flattened her length against his and gave a mew of pleasure when she felt his erection pressing against her belly. He grabbed her hips and ground himself into her softness, all the while devouring her mouth with his own.
    His mouth left hers and he trailed kisses across to her ear. She met the shockingly hot, wet invasion of his tongue in her ear with a moan, running her hands down his back and, finally, after all her nights of wondering and imagining, onto his butt.
    “Perfect,” she whispered, hauling him as close as she could and rubbing herself against his hardness.
    He responded by sliding a hand up onto her breasts. She felt his gust of satisfaction as his palm took the full weight of her, his thumb finding her nipple unerringly.
    Her knees trembled as his other hand slid down her hip and thigh, searching for the hem of her skirt.
    A sudden urgency gripped her. As soon as he touched her
there,
she was going up in flames and nothing was going to stop her taking what she wanted. And they were still standing outside her apartment in the entrance porch she shared with the place next door.
    Fuelled by need, she pushed on his chest, unwilling to break contact, but urging him toward her open doorway nonetheless. He wasn’t a stupid man. Together, they stumbled backward, his hands still torturing her breasts, hers sliding around his hips now and seeking out the ridge of his erection.
    He felt big. And hard. And very much exactly what she needed to stop the throbbing ache between her thighs.
    A crash sounded as they bumped into her hall table and a pile of books hit the floor. She murmured her lack of concern and pushed him into her living room. Fumbling with his fly, she swore as she got the teeth caught in the fabric of his boxers.
    “Damn thing,” she muttered, trying to concentrate on the pleasurable pain of his hands on her breasts and his mouth on her neck while simultaneously freeing his erection from the prison of his jeans.
    She felt him smile against her neck.
    “Here,” he said, ducking his head so he could get a look at the scene of the crime. She lifted her head at the same time and cracked him in the jaw.
    “Yow!”
    His head jerked up and back, she winced.
    “Sorry, sorry,” she said, reaching up a soothing hand.
    “Doesn’t matter,” he said, kissing her hand away. She heard the beautiful sound of his fly hissing open, and forgot everything else as she zeroed in on his erection.
    Sliding her hand into the warmth of his jeans, she first stroked his length, then