A whisper of French, that alluring little accent that only emerged in the most extreme situations, vibrated across his senses.
It may have vibrated across his senses but it seemed to wrap around his c**k and squeeze. His balls tightened, the tormenting ache increasing. His self control was disintegrating and he knew it, felt it unraveling.
She did this to him. She made him crazy like this and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop it. It traveled through his bloodstream like poison, like a potent drug, stripping away the control he prided himself on and leaving him grasping at the threads of decency as he tried to force himself away from her.
“You don’t want to keep pushing this,” he warned her.
“Well, hell, you must be enjoying it, Commander, you’re still standing here.” Her br**sts were heaving, the ni**les so hard beneath the silken material he swore they were going to pop right through the threads.
The urge to lick his lips was almost overpowering. The need for her was almost as strong.
“I could f**k you,” he growled then. “It’s what you want, it’s what we both want, but have you considered what would happen the morning after?”
“Will there be a morning after?” she questioned him roughly. “Aren’t you the one who said you could f**k me, but then you would have to kill me? Double O Seven has nothing on you, does he, stud?”
Stud? She had not just called him “stud”?
Damn her, the woman didn’t have the good sense to know when to keep her smart mouth shut or her tender heart safe.
Before he could stop himself, his hands were on her. His fingers curled around her upper arms as he jerked her to him, watching as her eyes widened, her hair seeming to flow around her as the pure silk of her flesh met the callused roughness of his hands.
And then he froze. Because her skin was so f**king soft. Beneath his palms it felt as heated, warm, and soft as a cloud itself. Sensation sizzled at the touch, heated and mesmerized his senses.
Spreading his fingers apart, he touched her with his palms only and watched as he let the inner part of his hand cup the curve of her shoulder.
Hell, he wanted her. He wanted to f**k her until he was mindless with it, until nothing or no one mattered but Tehya. Until the past and the nightmares were obliterated.
She would be the death of him.
That was but a distant thought as he let himself relish the feel of her flesh against his palms. He swore he could feel the sizzle of heat just below the flesh, drawing him, surging through his pores and washing through his system.
“Bad idea.” Swallowing tightly, he stared back at her, so focused on the strength of the need surging through him that all thoughts of pulling back evaporated.
The emerald green of her eyes darkened, glittering with need, as he watched her lips tremble.
“Six years,” she whispered. “I waited…”
He didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t hear it. The words she was about to whisper would be words she would regret the moment she realized that it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been twenty years.
To hold back the words he covered her lips with his, because he couldn’t let himself hear them.
And everything in the f**king world exploded.
Son of a bitch.
He would have frozen if every lust cell in his body hadn’t risen in revolt. Because by freezing, he would be stopping. Hell no.
He wasn’t about to stop. He had her now, he couldn’t stop.
He tasted her.
His tongue slipped over her lips, licked at them, and before he could retrieve his basic common sense, he gave in to this one hunger.
It wouldn’t go any further. He wouldn’t allow it.
But this one pleasure was incredible.
Tehya was terrified to breathe, to whimper in hunger, or to moan in pleasure. She was terrified he would stop if she did. She was entranced by the kiss she hadn’t really expected, enthralled by a hunger that suddenly exploded through her system. His tongue stroked against hers, exciting that feminine, sensual part of her that went deeper than she had ever imagined.
But oh God.
She could feel herself trembling, shaking against him. Her hand lifted, fingers outspread, not really touching him. She wanted to touch him. Desperately. Feel him. Her hands were shaking with her need to touch.
He was warm, so warm. The feel of his lips moving against hers, over them, his tongue stroking against hers, sent pleasure racing through her as she lifted, strained to get closer without gripping his arms and pulling herself straight into his embrace.
His fingers curved around her shoulders, held her to him. Her fingers curled, and before she knew it she was gripping the material of his shirt, feeling the rolled sleeves beneath them.
Okay, maybe he wouldn’t feel her hands shaking through the material of his clothing. Maybe he wouldn’t sense the incredible need that there seemed to be no escape from. A need that had tormented her since the day she first met him in Aruba.
“God. Tey.” His hands slid down her arms, gripped her h*ps and jerked her closer, pulling her against the hard, heated length of his cock.
Behind denim, thick and hard, the hot flesh of his erection was a wedge of temptation, a promise of satisfaction, and it was pressing into her lower stomach erotically. She could feel that promise within her grasp. His hands gripped and kneaded her ass, lifting her, the silk of her gown pressing between her legs as she felt his thigh pressing between hers, the rough denim rubbing the silk against the swollen, sensitive flesh of her sex.
She had never deemed herself a romantic person, but she saw starbursts. She felt herself melting, her knees weakening and her breathing becoming harsh and labored.
His teeth nipped at her lips as she gasped, fighting to draw in oxygen. His lips tore away from hers, the rasp of the day’s growth of his beard scraping against her jaw in a caress that had her arching closer to the incredible sensation. Finally. He was finally touching her, kissing her. Finally she was in his arms where she ached to be.
It was exquisite. It was better than she had ever imagined it could be and her imagination was damned good. Years of fantasies were finally becoming reality.
“Jordan.” The gasp of his name was a sigh of pleasure as she felt his hand move from her rear to her thigh, his fingers edging beneath the silk of her gown, the callused tips of his fingers stroking up the outside of her thigh. The rasping sensation of his flesh against hers drove her pleasure higher, hotter.
“Is this what you want, Tey?” His arm wrapped around her waist, lifted her, and before she could do more than breathe out roughly she was pressed against the wall as he gripped her thigh, pulling it to his h*ps as he brought her closer to the incredible warmth of his body.