Free Heels and Heroes by Tiffany Allee Page A

thighs. And when he slipped between her legs and touched her in her most sensitive place, her body arched toward him, almost out of her control.
    “Always in those sexy little outfits. With your snappy comebacks and—”
    “Justin, I—” Words escaped her as his mouth was back on her skin, moving quickly down her body. Then his insistent tongue joined his hand between her thighs, stroking her to new heights. Within seconds, an explosion rocked her body. If he hadn’t held her down, she would have flown off the bed, out of his room, into the sky. But he held her, whispering sweet words in her ear that she couldn’t understand.
    His mouth was back on hers when she came back to herself. But she still couldn’t think right, couldn’t get enough air. And he moved against her in such a way she needed him even more desperately than she had before.
    She reached between them, and gripped his arousal. He moaned against her neck, and she stroked him until he pulled her hand away.
    “Vixen,” he muttered, and she let out a breathy laugh.
    Then he was gone. She heard the snick of a condom wrapper, and his weight settled over her again before she could tell him to hurry. Propping himself on his elbows, he held her gaze, his dark eyes so intense with emotion her mouth went dry. Slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her, he pushed himself into her heat.
    Sweat touched his brow from the effort of moving slowly. But she didn’t want slow. She needed him to take her with the same intensity she saw in his eyes.
    She gripped his butt hard and writhed against him, her body aching and trembling with need. Groaning against her mouth, he moved. Thrusting and sliding in a delicious rhythm that she could barely keep up with. She flew again. This time, with Justice at her side.

 
     
    Chapter Seven
     
     
    The smell of bacon woke her, and she sat up in the bed, confused until the night’s memories came rushing back to her. Justice, defending her against her brother’s matter-of-fact insults. Justice, loving her with his hands, his mouth, his body. And Justice, who now seemed to be making her breakfast. She lay back down for a moment, reveling in the pleasantly warm afterglow that remained after an almost-sleepless, but entirely wonderful, night.
    After a few minutes of fighting the urge to slip back into sleep, Brenda forced herself out of bed. She grabbed a T-shirt from a clean pile that had yet to be put away from the top of his dresser and pulled it over her head. None of her clothing seemed to have made the trip with her, so she padded down to her room and grabbed underwear and a pair of cotton shorts she normally slept in.
    The woman who greeted her in the bathroom mirror looked like she’d spent the night being ravaged and doing a bit of ravaging herself. Brenda grinned stupidly and tried to get her hair into some semblance of order. When she was as good as she was going to get without a shower, she walked out to the kitchen.
    “Morning, beautiful,” Justice’s face lit with a masculine smile, and he pulled her into his arms for a kiss that made her heart race. “I hope you like bacon,” he said, giving her a wicked grin as he returned to the stove.
    “I love bacon,” she replied, and the smell of it filled her nose as it sizzled on the stove, making her mouth water. She hoped cooking was a domestic skill he actually excelled at. It would be the only one she had seen evidence of since her arrival at his home.
    He sent her from the kitchen and a few minutes later appeared in the dining room with two plates full of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. Her arteries and waistline protested, but she dug into the food vigorously.
    “Wow, you can cook,” she said, after swallowing a perfectly fried potato.
    “Don’t sound so surprised.” He grinned at her, almost halfway through with his plate. “Just because I don’t like to clean up—and can’t bake—doesn’t mean I don’t like to eat well.”
    “So, what’s on