Bonds of Justice (Psy-Changeling 8) - Page 83

Coming over her as she lay back in unspoken invitation, he lowered himself just enough that their thighs brushed, the hardness of his erection pushing at her abdomen in blatant masculine demand. Sucking in a breath, she slid her hands up the beauty of his chest and over those magnificent shoulders. “Yes.” It was an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

But he understood. Relaxing his muscles, he allowed his body to touch her all over. The full-body contact was an erotic lightning strike, an electrical storm. Moaning at the pleasure-pain of it, she tangled her fingers in his hair and took his mouth in a kiss of her own. He shuddered against her, his hand clenching on her hip. When he moved that hand to push at her thigh, she spread her legs in silent invitation.

He touched her slickness, and it made her tremble. But he didn’t stroke her with lazy patience as he had once before. This time, his touch was deliciously, demandingly rough, as he used his knowledge of her body to make her twist beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his shoulder muscles bunching against her palms as he played with her. “Scream for me, Sophie.”

She managed to tighten her thighs, trapping his hand in between. “I,” she gasped out, “am not a screamer.”

A wicked, unexpected smile, that lean dimple flashing in his cheek. “Well now, a man’s got to take that as a challenge.”

She adored him. Tugging down his head, she pressed a line of kisses along the dimple, even as he began to tease her with small movements of his finger against her clitoris. Her breath caught. “Max, you’re rushing me.”

The sensual complaint made him chuckle. “Fair’s fair.” But he withdrew his hand, leaning down to kiss her slow and lazy though his body thrummed with tension above her. His hair was a cool stroke across her skin as he moved lower, nuzzling at her br**sts before taking a tight little nipple into his mouth.

It was an agony of sensation, and it was magnificent. “Oh!”

Grazing her with his teeth, he released the nipple. “That,” he said, circling the wet nub with his tongue, “was close to a scream.”

“Gasp,” she breathed out. “It was a gasp. Now please do that again.”

“What?” Another wicked smile.


Chuckling, he dipped his head to tease her neglected nipple, curving his hand possessively over the roundness of her other breast.

Shivering, she found she’d spread her thighs again, that she was cradling him in the most intimate of ways. The depth of pleasure was a knife, sharp and edgy—she shifted restlessly, her hands running up and down his back. Mine, she thought with a primal possessiveness, he’s mine. Her hands touched his bu**ocks when he raised his head to kiss her on the lips, and she found she really, really liked stroking her hands over the sleekly muscled strength of him.

A groan against her. “Stop that.” He nipped at her lower lip when she didn’t comply. “Or I’ll play the same game with you . . . in front of the mirror.”

Her hands went motionless.

Max braced himself on his forearms, intrigued enough to fight the pulsing need of his cock, the drive to sink into Sophie’s silken heat. “So, Ms. Sophia Russo has kinky fantasies about mirrors. Interesting.”

Heat colored her cheeks, but she tilted up her head. “Tell me one of your fantasies.”

He loved that she trusted him enough to not back down. Fighting fire with fire, he made a slow, deliberate move . . . until his erection nudged at her clitoris. Lord have mercy. It felt so good, he wanted to slip a few inches lower, take everything. But this was Sophia’s first time, and he damn well intended to drown her in pleasure—it was a matter of determined male pride . . . and of how much he felt for this woman.

Whose eyes drowned in black as she said, “Don’t think you’ll distract me.”

Smiling, he kissed her, nuzzling at her throat as he spoke, “You know those suits you wear? The prim ones with skirts to the knee and jackets that button below your br**sts?”

“Mmm.” She made one of those little movements that drove him insane, rubbing herself against his cock. “My suits are boring.”

It took him several seconds to find his voice. “Au contraire.” Husky words, his breath caught in his throat. “Those suits give a man ideas. Like, for example, catching you alone in a deserted office”—he gripped her earlobe in a quick, teasing bite—“bending you over a big wooden desk, pushing up that sedate skirt to find you wet for me.” The image drove him one step closer to insanity.

Then Sophie said, “Would you touch me?” in a sultry voice that wrapped around his c**k and squeezed.

Shuddering, he lowered his head, sucked hard at her neck, leaving a little red mark. “No, this is a Neanderthal fantasy”—one of his favorites—“I just rip off your panties and thrust into you.”

“That—” She swallowed, wet her lips. “I have . . . um, nothing against that fantasy.”

Now that deserved a hot, open-mouthed, inferno of a kiss. “I have another version,” he told her afterward.

Fingers clenching on his biceps, her br**sts rising up and down in jagged breaths.

“This time, I get you to stand in front of me, and I push up your skirt inch by inch, while stroking my thumbs along the insides of your thighs.” Rising to kneel above her, he mirrored actions to words, parting her thighs to afford him the most delicious of views. “I know you’re not wearing anything underneath—though sometimes, I let you wear silk stockings and a suspender belt—”