Free Cease and Desist (The IMA Book 4) by Nenia Campbell Page B

leaning in to whisper, “If you don't relax, we can't fuck.” I rubbed against her cheek, pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “And that would be a damn shame, don't you think?”
    She shuddered violently.
    “Do you want me inside of you?”
    “Oh God, yes,” she choked. “I want it.”
    I want it . Those words would give me fuel for nights to come. “Do you trust me, then?”
    Christina's voice faltered a little and I wasn't sure if it was because of arousal or doubt. Her eyes squeezed shut and she rasped, “Yes.”
    And then there was no more time for second thoughts. I sealed my mouth against hers, tangling my fingers in her thick, unkempt locks of hair and I pulled her forward until she was bowing off the desk.
    Her hands went to my chest. To push me away, I thought, until I felt her fingers undoing the buttons of my shirt in quick, trembling movements that made me think of something with wings. Her soft hands on my skin almost undid me. I felt a drop of pre-cum drip down the head of my cock like a bead of ice, and shuddered as it rolled down the shaft.
    “Hurry,” I growled.
    She pushed my shirt down to my elbows. I struggled out of it, uncaring of where it fell. I was more interested in the lines where her jaw met her throat, the sudden swell where her collarbone yielded to her breasts.
    I trailed kisses down her jaw, all the way to the neck of her nightshirt. She was wearing far too many clothes and it was driving me out of my fucking mind. I took the collar in my teeth and tugged, hard, hard enough to startle her into saying, “Michael!”
    I released her shirt, closing my teeth around the sensitive skin where throat and shoulder met. Her fingers curled into the belt loops of my pants, grazing my ass. They needed to come off.
    I tugged at the hem of her shirt. It needed to come off, too. “Take this off,” I said hoarsely.
    Now she squirmed. “What —” Her mouth was swollen from kissing me, and I found that pleased me more than it should. So did her breathlessness, and the flush in her face. “What if I don't want to?”
    I twisted my hands. The seams of her nightshirt split with a pop as the material reached its breaking point. She stared at the patches of skin revealed where the rip had arced down her shoulder. “What are you doing? I like this shirt.”
    “Better take it off then, darlin — or I will. Piece by piece.”
    She tugged on her arm, which I was still gripping. I shook my head slowly. “I don't think so.”
    “Let me go.” She sounded plaintive, and a little afraid, and still so breathless. I knew the ritual well by this point, but that didn't mean it wasn't trying.
    “Is that really what you want me to do?” I tugged her shirt down, baring the tops of her breasts with a few more popped stitches. I started to duck my head, letting her feel the warm puffs of air coming from my mouth, and heard her draw in a ragged breath of her own in anticipation. “You want me to let you go?”
    She closed her eyes and did not answer.
    “Christina.”
    Her shoulders shook.
    “Don't play games where no doesn't mean no. Not unless you've got another word that does.”
    Christina opened her eyes slowly, face looming before mine, close enough to kiss. I saw her throat contract as she swallowed. She smiled bravely, in a way that came damn near to breaking my heart.
    “Please don't let go.”
    “What do you want me to do to you?” I asked raggedly. My insides constricted, tight enough I could barely draw breath, could hardly think.
    “So much,” she whispered. “Everything.”
    Sweet Jesus . My mouth went dry as she gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, baring herself to me. Quickly—to get it over with? To hide out of shame? I rolled her back against the mattress, so she was spread out beneath me.
    “You're beautiful.”
    She flushed.
    I caught her wrists when she tried to shimmy away, kissing the pulse point cradled between her sparrow-thin bones. Then I lowered