Teague (The Family Simon 4)

“This is good,” he murmured, keeping one hand on her backside while the other sank into all that silky hair that now hung in wet ropes.

Her face was level with his and he stared into her eyes for half a second before sliding his mouth over hers. Her lips were soft and full, but there was hesitation there—he felt it.

Teague eased into the kiss, taking his time to taste and to touch and to savor. He slid his tongue along the corner of her mouth, but went no further until he felt her relax. And then he slid inside, his tongue coaxing her open.

Damn, if it was possible, she tasted even better than he’d imagined.

Teague kissed her slowly. Thoroughly. He tasted every inch of her mouth before making his way down her neck. She was pliant against him and when he found the spot where her pulse beat so rapidly, he knew she was just as affected as he was. She moaned and clutched at his shoulders.

“Teague,” she whispered.

He paused, eyes on her face. “Do you want me to stop?” It was hard for him to get the words out because he was so damn worked up for this woman.

Half lidded, she looked down at him and shook her head, those big eyes of hers glistening. She mouthed the word, ‘no,’ and with a wicked grin, he continued his assault. He held her tightly and when she bent backward, he took the opportunity and opened his hot mouth over her breasts.

Even through the thin wet cotton of her shirt she felt amazing, and he nipped and tugged, using his tongue and mouth until she was squirming against him.

By this time Teague was breathing heavy and dealing with his own situation. His erection was painful and if he could have ripped off her bottoms and buried himself inside her, he would have. The need in him was strong, and he paused for a moment, resting his head on her chest.

“I want you,” he said roughly.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but his heavy breathing, the gentle swell of water lapping at his waist, and the night sounds of cottage country.

Tentative fingers rested on his shoulders and he tilted his head so that he could see her face. Wait…was that…was she crying?

“I don’t think I can, Teague.” Her voice trembled. “I mean I want to but I…I’m not sure.”

He took a moment, startled to realize how badly he wanted her. Maybe he should have backed off. Taken the hint and cut things off before they got too intense. But something in her eyes—the vulnerability and the pain—struck a chord inside him and he pressed one last kiss to that sweet spot in her neck.

Her pulse still pounded hard. He liked that.

“We’ll take this slow. You say when. We don’t have to have sex tonight. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

She gazed past him, up at her dark cottage. “Could we just sleep together?” Her eyes shot back to his. Anxious. Luminous. “Without the sex? I’m sure that sounds weird, but I…”

He watched her intently, liking the play of shadow on her delicate features. Liking the heartbreaking honesty. “It doesn’t sound weird.”

She stared at him for a long time, saying nothing, her hands tracing the scars that dimpled his shoulder.

“I miss being held,” she whispered, her words tumbling from her. “I miss the warmth of another body beside me. I miss knowing I’m not alone. Even if it’s just for a night, that would be so…nice.”

Something twisted inside Teague. It was hot and hard and painful. It was the realization that this woman was as scarred as he was.

“Then I’ll hold you

until morning,” he replied, moving out of the water with Sabrina still in his arms. She didn’t utter another word when he turned toward his place. And when she rested her head on his chest, he felt something he’d not felt in a long, long time.

Contentment.

Teague was more than content to spend the night out under the stars with this woman doing nothing more than holding her in his arms—no making out and no sex. He had an erection to end all erections and he was so goddamn hot and tight he knew, there wouldn’t be any sleep for him.

And yet he was fine with all of that. Him. Teague Simon. The selfish bastard who’d never put a woman ahead of his own needs before.

What. The. Hell.

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