Blackhawk Desires. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ brushed her hands away, knew he didn’t dare let her touch him yet. “You first.”

      In one fluid sweep of his hands, he had her slacks and underwear off and tossed them aside. She rose up, managed to undo the knot on her own tie and yank it off, then reached for him. But he moved too quickly, tugged her blouse downward, pinning her arms and dragging her closer while he dropped his mouth down on hers.

      She couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and she thought she might die if he didn’t hurry. Heat coursed through her, coiled between her legs. She wanted desperately to touch him, but he’d trapped her arms, frustrating her. Exciting her. Thrilling her as no man ever had before.

      “I can’t stand it,” she said raggedly, dropping her head back when his mouth moved to her neck. He sucked lightly, then used his teeth. Flames raced over her skin. “Sam, please.”

      Hopelessly and wonderfully lost in the sensations battering her, she couldn’t think, could only feel as he moved over her with his mouth and teeth and tongue. She trembled with need, wantonly arched upward, frantic for him to be inside her.

      When he released her arms, she fell backward and lay naked under him. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. She drew in a breath when he shoved his pants and black boxers down. He was hard and fully erect.

      And large.

      Her eyes widened, and she felt a moment’s apprehension. He slid his hands up her legs, her thighs, his gaze dark and fierce and primal. He spread her legs and she gripped the bedclothes as he moved over her.

      He entered her, moving deeper with each thrust, then deeper still, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She released the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms and legs around him, felt the rippling sinew under her limbs.

      And then he began to move.

      Slowly at first, his rhythm building gradually. Exquisitely. Moaning, she clung to him, every thrust of his hips coiling the pleasure inside her tighter, then tighter still. Blood pounded in her temples, raced through her veins, until she burst apart.

      She cried out, bit her lip as the shudders tore through her like shards of colored glass. When he groaned and thrust deeper, harder, she held him tight, felt his muscles bunch under her hands. He moaned, deep in his throat, then his body convulsed with his release.

      He collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Closing her eyes, she slid her arms around his neck and smiled.

      It took a few moments for Sam to regain any sort of order to his brain. With his breathing still ragged, he rolled to his back, bringing Kiera with him. She lay over him like a rag doll, her head on his shoulder, her warm, soft breath fanning his chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies.

      Reality slowly came back. They were in his bedroom, on his bed, their clothes tossed on the floor. He could still hear his blood pounding in his temples, though not quite as loudly as a few minutes ago.

      He stilled when he saw the impressions on her arms left by his hands.

      “Dammit,” he said through clenched teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

      “Hurt me?” she mumbled without moving.

      “I was a little rough.” He felt like an idiot, losing control like that with her. “I should have been more careful.”

      “Did I act like I wanted careful?” She slid her hand up his chest.

      Gently, he traced a fingertip over the marks on her arms. “You may have a bruise or two.”

      She raised her head and rested her chin on her hand, gave him a sultry smile. “You may have a few yourself, mister. Maybe I should have been more careful with you.”

      He grinned at her. “Bring it on, darlin’.”

      “I love a challenge.” She slid her hand down his chest, then his belly. Her smile turned wicked. “You may live to regret those words.”

      He hadn’t a chance to answer, couldn’t have come up with anything witty even if she had given him a chance. But the second her hand closed over him, his brain locked up and his body took over. When she brushed her lips across his stomach, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

      “I see we’re off to a good start,” she murmured, touching her tongue to his skin.

      He couldn’t have agreed with her more.

      When he woke, the room was dark, the bed beside him empty. His brain was thick as mud, his throat dry and coarse. He rose on one elbow and winced, realized he must have pulled a muscle in his bad shoulder.

      But at least he was alive.

      Barely.

      Frowning, he sat, scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook the cobwebs from his brain and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He glanced at the bedside clock: 8:57. He swore, irritated that he’d lost over an hour sleeping.

      And given Kiera an opportunity to escape without an argument.

      Any other woman, any other time, he wouldn’t have been annoyed. Hell, it had always been easier if he’d been alone when he woke up. Usually, after he made love to a woman he didn’t have a great deal to say, and he sure didn’t want to deal with the emotional expectations some women built up in their minds.

      But this wasn’t any other time, and this sure as hell wasn’t any other woman. Without question, Kiera was one of a kind. Sexy, funny, confident, and yet strangely innocent at the same time. He’d never met anyone like her in his life. He rotated his shoulder, preferring the sharp pain of a tweaked muscle to the strange, dull ache in his chest.

      Tossing the bedcovers off, he sat on the edge of the mattress, spotted his slacks at the foot of the bed, had barely yanked them on when he stilled. The amazing smell of warm chocolate wafted in from the other room. His first thought was one of relief that she hadn’t left, but then he frowned, couldn’t imagine that under the circumstances she had ordered room service.

      Dragging a hand through his hair, he moved to the bedroom door, felt his heart slam against his ribs when he caught sight of her.

      She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt. She hummed softly, her arms elbow-deep in dish soap bubbles. He leaned against the doorjamb, took in the endless length of sleek legs, the curve of her bottom, her shiny black hair tumbling down, resting on her shoulders. How could he want her again so soon? he wondered. They’d fallen into bed nearly an hour ago, and all he could think about was dragging her back.

      But he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. At some masculine level, he felt a profound sense of satisfaction simply watching her. He glanced at the oven, couldn’t imagine what she was baking in there, especially considering how little food he kept stocked in his cupboards. But if there was a kitchen in heaven, he thought he’d just stepped into it, complete with his own gorgeous angel.

      He pushed away from the doorjamb and moved toward her. “Smells good.”

      She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiled. “Wait till you taste it.”

      He came up behind her, brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. “I can’t wait.”

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