Free Frostbitten by Becca Jameson Page B

his queen.
    “You’re so witty,” she stated flatly, shoving him away from her ineffectively.
    Instead he set his hands on her thighs and spread them apart, his gaze on her lap. “I don’t like this sweatshirt.” He fiddled with the edge, stroking the material with his fingers.
    “I don’t see why not. It’s warm and comfy, and it keeps your attention focused on my face.”
    He shook his head. “If that’s what you think, it’s not working. I too have a vivid imagination.” He lifted his gaze toward hers and closed his eyes.
    She sucked in a breath as his palms rode up her thighs, spreading them wider and pushing the material out of his way. When he reached her sex, he spread her open with his thumbs. “I know just what you look like even with this giant cotton contraption in the way.”
    He stroked both thumbs through her slit, making her stomach knot with renewed need.
    “Your pussy is pink and swollen from my touch. You’re so wet I could slide right inside you if I wanted. The sweatshirt can’t hide that from me. I can smell it. And the photos in my head are sharp and clear.”
    He reached higher until he grazed her nub. “Your clit is full and has protruded from its hood ever since I first crested that hill to the west. Your blood flows steadily toward the tiny ball of flesh, keeping you aroused even when you would prefer to deny it.”
    She gripped the arms of the chair, berating her body for being such an open book.
    He flattened his palms and soothed them up her body until he cupped her breasts. The sweatshirt rose with his forearms, leaving her exposed from the waist down. He’d inched between her legs on his knees and held them open with his torso.
    “Your tits are also engorged and firm and tender with your need.” He stroked the very tips of his fingers over her nipples. “I bet you’ve never experienced anything like the points your nipples have become since I arrived.” He pinched them for emphasis, and she bucked against his hands.
    She both hated and loved how he could play her.
    He lifted the shirt higher and pulled it over her head. His eyes remained closed the entire time. He cupped her face now and rubbed his thumbs over her lips until she opened her mouth. “Your lips are pink and full, swollen and tender like your pussy from my kisses.”
    Her gravelly voice came out. “My lips weren’t covered by the sweatshirt,” she mumbled.
    He smiled and lowered his face to kiss her. “I love your scent. Hell, I love everything about you. I hate it when you mask yourself with clothing. If I had my way, you’d remain naked forever.” He opened his eyes to gaze into hers. “If you insist on holding me hostage, I may have to burn your clothes so we can stay warm,” he teased.
    “Funny,” she murmured. Her eyes glazed over as he lowered his hands to her breasts again. She loved the way he fondled them, circling the areolas with just the tip of a finger until she couldn’t stand the suspense.
    “Relax. Concentrate on feeling. You’re too tense. Let it go.”
    Let what go? Hadn’t she let it go several times in the last twenty-four hours?
    He rubbed her belly with his palms and then grasped her thighs again. He inhaled long and slow, his gaze never leaving hers. “So fucking hot, baby. Your scent keeps my cock hard all the time. You can’t hide it with clothing.”
    “I see that.” She glanced down and moaned. The man was hung. Well, she assumed he was. She had no comparison, but she’d seen pictures in books. Mostly of Greek statues. Were those accurate?
    Zephyr laughed again. “Greek statues? I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”
    She flushed, her face burning with embarrassment. “Stop that.” She grasped his biceps with her hands and then let them wander down until she circled his shaft.
    “I can’t help it. And I love your innocence.” He kissed her nose again.
    When he circled her waist and lifted her into his arms, she squealed. She batted at his chest. “Put me