Her head turned, following him, brushing against his lips.
And all thought evaporated.
It could have been the first time he’d kissed a woman for all the finesse he could grasp. There was no finesse. There was no sense of time or place as he kissed her like a man dying for touch, for sensual pleasure.
And he couldn’t understand how such pleasure could exist in such a simple touch as two lips melded together.
His tongue swept over hers, then tangled with it in an exotic dance. His hands slid down her back, gripped her hips, then slid to her thighs and lifted them.
Ah hell yes. He wasn’t about to break the kiss again to groan in pure undiluted fervor.
He wouldnt do it.
He wouldn’t remember the past, the present, or the nightmares he often walked the night to forget.
Tugged at the strands of hair he held, his entire body tightened at the throttled little moan that fell from her lips. He ground his h*ps against hers. He swore he could feel the heat and dampness of her sweet little pu**y through their clothes.
Against his chest her br**sts pressed like firm, hot weights, her ni**les hard enough he could feel them through his shirt.
He wanted to do more than to feel them through cloth. He wanted his hands on them, his fingers playing with them. He wanted to take them into his mouth and taste the sweetness of them.
Pushing his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, he stroked up her stomach until he was cupping one of the full globes with desperate fingers as she arched against him.
He’d never believed pleasure like this could exist in just a kiss. Hell, not for a man. A woman maybe; they were softer, sweeter. They thrived on the romance and the soft words and gentle touches. A man was just f**king hungry.
And he was damned hungry, but he was also experiencing the pleasure. The pleasure of touching her, the pleasure of her touch.
But even in that hunger he felt something more. A something that had his self-preservation instincts screaming out in alarm. A something he knew could very well end up destroying them both.
* * *
Skye wasn’t expecting the sensations that assailed her.
She hadn’t expected it when she had realized there was a confrontation going on between him and someone else.
She’d had no idea it was his grandfather.
She’d had no idea it would end here.
Skye tightened her hold on the man leading her through an abyss of sensation and didn’t know whether to cry out in fear or scream in pleasure.
She was crying in pleasure.
Shards of pure, unadulterated excitement sang through her body as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger gripping her nipple and applying just the right amount of pressure. As she gasped, arching to him, a shudder raced through her body and seemed to explode between her thighs. The detonation was an explosion of hunger. Her senses were flooded with a need that didn’t make sense, as her sex grew impossibly wetter, preparing, begging for possession.
A startled moan of protest escaped her throat as his lips suddenly pulled back for her. A tingling rush of heated sensation attacked her scalp as he pulled her head back and blazed a path of erotic pleasure down her neck.
Highly sensitive, soaking in his touch and begging for more, her skin heated, and another moan escaped her throat as his teeth rasped against her flesh.
“Logan.” She needed more. More of the pleasure and the heat that came from each touch, each stroke of his lips against her flesh, each exciting touch.
She felt like a virgin again, experiencing her first sexual touch. No, she couldn’t say that. Because even then it hadn’t been this exciting or this sexually dark.
She could feel him holding back, holding on to his control, and the knowledge of it sent a rush of bravado racing through her.
She didn’t want his control.
She wanted him out of control. She wanted all that dark, intent hunger she could feel threatening to escape.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he growled, his voice rasping, as dangerously sexual as the knowledge of the hunger he was holding back.
“Bet me.” Oh, she knew what she was doing, and she knew now exactly what she wanted.
This was why she couldn’t stay away from him. Why she had taken one look at him and all she could think about was his touch, his kiss.
Not just the reason she was here, or the sister she needed vengeance for. God no, she needed him for her as well.
A stinging little nip of his teeth against her neck was her reward for her challenge.
But if that was her reward, what was the slow lowering of the straps of her grown until they cleared her br**sts?
Skye held her breath, waiting, watching, as his gaze dropped to her br**sts, despite the fact that it had to be too dark for him to actually see much.
His thumb raked over a nipple again, drawing a quick, muted moan from her lips.
“How pretty.” He cupped the mound, lifting it further. “I’ve been dying to taste those hard little ni**les. Every time I’ve seen you I’ve watched your ni**les harden, press against your clothing as though begging for my lips.”
Oh yeah, that was exactly what they were doing.
She could beg him verbally if that was what he wanted.
She would probably end up doing it anyway.
His head lowered.
The warmth of his breath was the first warning of what was to come. When his tongue raked over the excited little tip, though, nothing could have prepared her for the sharp burst of radiant heat that exploded against it.
His tongue licked, rubbed against her nipple as though to soothe it, but it only grew tighter, harder.
Needier.
“You taste like candy, Skye.” His voice was a dark rasp of hunger. “I have a helluva sweet tooth.”
The almost-playful quality in the sexually roughened male tone had a flood of weakness racing through her. A lassitude edged with hunger and need.
His hard, corded body tightened beneath her touch as her hand slid from his shoulders to his neck, then buried itself in the overly long strands of dark blond hair.
The thick strands were just slightly coarse against her fingers, caressing her palms as she filled her hands with them and tried to bring him closer. She just wanted to bring him closer. To make him assuage the need his playful tongue was building as he bent his head to the hard peak of first one nipple, then the other.
His tongue was a velvet rasp of exquisite pleasure as it rubbed over the sensitive tip. His tongue hardening to probe at the bundle of nerve endings as she arched to get closer, to feel more.