Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

Sadly, no man had ever touched her the way Cooper Trent had; she’d never let any other man close enough to reach her or to wound her.

She didn’t protest when he lifted her from her feet and carried her along the short hallway and into his bedroom. He fell with her on the mattress, which squeaked beneath them.

“This is a big mistake,” he whispered, still holding her close.

“You’re right.”

“Oh, hell.” His mouth found hers again, and there was no stopping. His hands slid beneath her sweater, pulling it over her head, while hers worked at the fly of his jeans. He buried his face in the cleft of her breasts, his breath warm, his lips eager as he nibbled at the edge of her bra, then slid the strap from her shoulder. One breast spilled from its cup, and he kissed her nipple, causing the ache deep inside to grow. She moaned, arching to him as he teased and nipped, circling the areola with his tongue, causing her nipple to harden.

With a moan, she cradled his head to hers as he suckled, and she arched her neck and back.

“I forgot how beautiful you were,” he said against her skin, the warm air from his mouth ruffling across her flesh.

“And I forgot how adept you were at bull,” she replied, giggling a little.

He kissed her belly then, his nose pressing deep into her skin. “You are trouble, Jules.”

“As are you.” She forced his jeans over his hips, scraping the hard muscles of his butt and thighs, reminding her that he’d once ridden rodeo, that his body was honed by years of hard work. There were scars along his back, old injuries that her fingers skated over after he flung his shirt onto the floor.

He made short work of her ski pants and snapped her panties off in one deft stroke.

“You sure about this?” he asked once they were naked and he was levered above her, balanced on one bent arm while his free hand stroked her, fingers exploring her ribs and waist, lingering at her hips.

“I’m not sure about anything,” she admitted.

His smile was a slash of white. “Me neithe

r.” He kissed her again and rolled atop her, his weight welcome, his skin warm against hers. She told herself a thousand times that this was a mistake, that she would regret making love to him, but the scent of him was too powerful an aphrodisiac, the feel of his body welcome relief.

She closed her eyes and gave in to the moment, feeling his hands twine in her hair as he pressed a wet trail of kisses from her nape, across her neck, to the circle of bones at her throat.

Her body responded, and she kissed him in kind, feeling the stubble of his beard against her lips, tracing her fingers along his spine, cupping his muscular buttocks.

She moaned as he slid his knees between hers and arched upward when he caressed her with his mouth and tongue, sliding downward, exploring and breathing hot air against flesh already on fire.

He parted her gently, then touched her in the most intimate of places, creating a swirling pool of need deep within until she cried out. He kissed. He touched. He licked. And she wanted more.

“Trent,” she whispered, her voice cracking as he slid upward, coming to her, his hardness rubbing gently against her belly. He kissed her and tried to slide between her legs, but she moved lower, intent on pleasuring him as he had her. The bedsheets crumpled beneath her back as she positioned herself, kissing him, feeling his back muscles tense as she offered featherlight touches that made him groan and gasp above her.

The smell of sex was heavy in the air, beads of perspiration rising on her skin.

“Jules … Jules …,” he rasped.

“Mmmm.”

“I don’t think I can … hold back.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, but pushed herself upward to find his mouth with hers.

“Jesus, God, woman!” He pushed himself inside her, and she wrapped her legs around him as he thrust. Once, twice, three times. Faster and faster. Jules clung to him, arching up, her mind spinning crazily.

She was here.

With Trent.

In his bed.

She felt the first wave wash over her. Hot. Violent. A spasm that caught her in its heated grip.