Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

“Oh, I will.” He released me but scooped me into his arms again. He strutted across the room and tossed me not so gently onto the bed.

Excitement shot through me.

I went up on my knees and reached for his tie, unraveling it. Then I freed the buttons on his shirt from their small holes and ran my fingers over his hot skin. His sculpted muscles flexed beneath my touch. Leaning forward, I kissed his chest, flicked my tongue over a small nipple. He let out a low, sexy sound.

His fingers tangled in my hair, loose about my shoulders and cascading down my back. My lips trailed over his pecs, then along the valley in between, to his cut abs. The beauty of him never ceased to astound me. To arouse me.

Dane’s edgy perfection had drawn me in from the very beginning. Touching him and tasting him hitched my excitement. I inhaled his enticing, stimulating scent, so dark and virile.

As I made my way back up to his collarbone, his neck, his strong jaw, I asked, “How long do we have?”

“However long you want,” he told me in his desire-roughened voice.

“That’d be forever.”

“Then forever it is.”

I stared quizzically at him.

He gave me a shadow of a grin, though it was mostly a scorching look. “I provided depositions. Juries are deliberating. The FBI wants me to stay under their surveillance, but there’s no reason to remain in their safe houses when I can be here. We have state-of-the-art security, FBI agents along the perimeter. And with Vale dead and Horton soon to be on his way to prison, I don’t see a problem with being here. I’d rather be here.”

“I’d rather you be here, too.” I kissed him, our lips slowly tangling. Then my tongue slipped inside to sweep over his. A groan escaped him.

I got a bit more aggressive, wrapping one arm around his waist, my palm flattening against the rippling muscles of his back. I raised my other hand and threaded my fingers through his hair.

He didn’t let me keep the lead for long, of course. He toppled me until I was flat on the mattress, him partially on top of me. His tongue delved deep into my mouth and he turned our kiss into a smoldering, soul-stirring one. I simply gave myself over to it—to him.

When restlessness set in, I shoved his shirt over his broad shoulders and down his arms, tossing the material aside. He divested me of my sweater, reached around to unfasten my bra, then palmed my breast again, caressing firmly. My spine arched as I pressed against him, loving the feel of his skin, his hunky body.

His thumb whisked over my taut nipple, back and forth, tightening the small bud. His kiss went on and on, until I’d all but forgotten my own name, where I was, what our argument had been about earlier. I had a feeling I was in for angry sex, and that was perfectly fine by me.

Dane’s head dipped to my breast and he curled his tongue around my nipple. Then the tip flitted against the pebbled peak, making the sensitive flesh tingle.

“Dane,” I urged, “I need you inside me.”

“Not yet. I have a little lesson to teach you.”

A shiver of delight ran through me. He was good at his “lessons.”

Still, I taunted him. “You haven’t made love to me since Amsel was born. Don’t you want me?”

He harrumphed. “That’s not even worthy of a response.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Oh, but I like it when you beg. And you will.”

He scooted off the mattress and removed the rest of my clothes. I lay sprawled diagonally, the thick duvet beneath me.

Dane pulled the long silver satin sash from my robe, draped along the bench at the foot of the bed, and rounded the corner. The headboard was a low ledge with polished wood on top and the rest covered in tufted distressed brown leather that matched some of the oversized chairs scattered about and the sofa in front of the fireplace.

He crouched down and, I presumed, wrapped part of the sash around the leg of the bed frame to secure it. Then he eyed me seductively and said, “Arms above your head.”

A tickle along my clit made me press my legs together. He’d tied me up before. On more than one steamy, erotically tormenting occasion. It was always a challenge to keep my cool when I desperately wanted to touch him. But what he did to me took a backseat to the desire to have my hands all over his body.

So I gave him what he wanted—knowing he’d give me exactly what I needed. All of him.

He bound my wrists as I wondered what creative tactic he had up his sleeve. Dane was capable of going to great lengths to pleasure me until I reached the breaking point. Was an expert at it, in fact.