The Summer He Came Home (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 1)

Her mouth hung open, and he thought she was probably shocked at his bold statement. He didn’t care. He lowered his mouth and groaned into her, his tongue going deep, probing the hot wetness inside as he kissed her long and hard and thoroughly.

She tasted like cinnamon and chocolate, and when her tongue met his, when that first tentative stroke tingled inside his mouth, he melted. She was everything at that moment. The air he breathed, the blood that pumped through his body, the thoughts that crowded his brain.

His hand splayed across the roundness of her ass, and he pulled her in as tight as he could, loving the heat that spiraled out from his stomach to clutch him hard. He tore his mouth away and sought out the valley between her breasts. Her skin was damp, heated, and that scent he’d been craving, that unique signature that was all hers, tingled in his nose.

Such a rush of possessiveness rolled over him that he was momentarily stunned. It was as if she’d been imprinted onto him somehow. He not only wanted her—and wanted her badly—he wanted no one else to touch her. Ever.

Maybe that thought should have been enough to stop him cold. But it didn’t.

The sounds that erupted from deep in her throat drove him crazy. He felt every single one of them rip through him, and he licked, nibbled, and suckled her there, low in the crook beneath her ear. She shuddered against him and groaned softly. It damn near undid him.

“I need to see you.” His voice was harsh, his breaths ragged.

“Michael…” Her voice was so low, he’d barely heard her.

“He’ll be fine.”

Cain brought her with him, back a few feet, and they tumbled onto one of the low-slung lounge chairs near the beach. The vinyl was cool, wet from the water and the night’s dew. They didn’t care. Their hands were grabbing, tugging, twisting, and he rolled onto his back, gazing up at her in wonderment as she ripped at his T-shirt.

The moonbeams from above dusted her head in an eerie glow, gave her an ethereal quality that was breathtaking. Her lips were parted, their bruised softness swollen and sexy as hell. He sat up with her straddling his lap, and he threw his shirt onto the ground.

“I’m a goddamn mess for you, Maggie.”

Her hands were near his stomach, the fingers circling the flesh that lay open to her. She licked her lips again like the temptress she’d become and adjusted her body. Her hips slid across his groin, causing just enough friction to elicit a hiss.

“Touch me,” he whispered, teeth clenched.

Her gaze focused on him, the edge of her tongue peeking out as her hand slowly moved. His breath hitched at the back of his throat, and he gripped the sides of the lounge chair, his knuckles white. Her touch was like a whisper of feathers, tracing and touching, teasing.

She moved once more, the apex between her legs hot against his upper thigh. When she closed the heat of her palm across his cock, he couldn’t help himself and swore. “Holy Christ, Maggie.”

A playful smile swept across her mouth as she began to massage him in a slow, methodical motion that had his balls aching for relief. He hissed. “You gotta stop, babe. You’re moving too fast—”

“I don’t want to.”

Her words stopped him cold, and he groaned as her free hand crept along his abs until she leaned forward and braced herself above him. She continued to knead and roll her palm across the hard length of him, and when she closed her mouth over his nipple and began to suckle, he tightened even more and for a moment thought he was going to literally explode in her hand.

“Sweet fucking Jesus.”

Her hand moved faster against him, rubbing and grasping, all the while gyrating her hips along his thigh, and the heat of her burned him. His right hand crept up her rib cage and held her in place, while his left sought out the heat between her legs and he mimicked her motions, his palm firm against her softness.

She stared down at him, mouth open, panting, as his fingers rubbed along the crevice there. She looked wild, untamed, and when her fingers slipped inside his shorts to grasp his cock—when it was skin on skin—he groaned and paused.

His heart leaped into his throat, and the pressure inside was fierce. He wanted nothing more than to throw her to the ground and bury himself inside her. He could do it too. She was there, riding along with him and, from the dampness in his palm, as horny as he was.

A whimper escaped from between her lips as he continued to rub along the inside of her legs, fingering and teasing until he slipped inside her panties. When his fingers found the wetness there, he didn’t wait but plunged two long fingers inside her slick warmth.

She screamed. Not a surprised, holy-shit kind of scream, but a throaty, sexy noise that drove him crazy. “Cain, I—” He moved his fingers, massaging her tight sheath with quick, sure strokes, and she moaned.

“Maggie…” Christ, he couldn’t even finish his thoughts.

He closed his eyes and let her hold him as he continued to minister his own form of torture. He bit his lips as her thumb massaged that sensitive skin beneath the head of his cock, and his chest rose and fell in rapid jerky motions. When he didn’t think he could take any more, he squirmed, sat up straighter, and grabbed the hand that was inside his shorts to hold her still.

Cain stared into her eyes, those large liquid pools of ocean, and time stopped. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her tongue was caught between her teeth, and her skin shone with the silvery sheen of sweat. He shifted and coaxed her toward him, claimed her lips in a whisper of a kiss. It was all about touch and emotion and communicating without words.

He knew she was as worked up as he, and that if he wanted, he could have her right now. But for the first time in his life, he wanted more than just a quick screw. He wanted more than the pleasure of a physical release.

He would have Maggie, but he wanted it to matter. Cain broke off the kiss, and his fingers settled into the thick hair at her nape. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this again but…