Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

Under him, she wriggled, hips shifting. He knew the smell of her arousal; it was burned into his brain. It scented the air now, filling his nostrils, driving him to the edge of his restraint.

As he turned his attention to the other taut tip, nipping with his teeth, her lashes fluttered shut. “No.”

“No, don’t touch you? Or no, don’t stop?”

She opened her eyes, glowing golden with desire as she bit her lip and arched closer. Her breaths turned fast and harsh. She gripped his shoulders, her little nails digging into him. Yeah, she was fighting it…and she was losing.

“Tell me, pretty girl. What do you want?” He punctuated the question with a long pull on her pert nipple.

Brea dragged in a sharp gasp. “Oh!”

He watched her pulse beat wildly at her neck. Beneath him, her legs drifted apart, the beautifully welcoming gesture unconscious.

One-Mile fused his stare with hers, took another drag on the hard peaks of her tits, then threw a fucking party at the throaty moan that slipped from her lips.

Brea may not have said yes yet…but she clearly didn’t have the resolve to refuse him with a no.

He could work with that, especially since he didn’t mind playing dirty.

“I’m going to keep touching you until you tell me to stop,” he challenged as he pinched her nipple and skimmed his lips up her neck. When he felt her pulse pound under his lips, he bit gently, reveling in her gasping response. “Got anything to say?”

She shook her head, then pressed it back into the pillow, offering him her throat.

He just smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Need surging, he kissed his way up the smooth, vulnerable column before covering her mouth. He didn’t have to part her lips with his own; she was already open to him. Waiting for him. He raked her shy tongue with his, tasting the tart hint of the lemonade she’d been drinking mixed with a heady something so Brea. A shudder zipped down his spine.

Jesus, this woman slayed him.

She wrapped her arms even tighter around him as another feminine moan slipped free. Then she cocked her head to encourage his kiss and slowly began to give herself over. But he was a greedy bastard. He wanted more. He wanted her to surrender faster—like right fucking now.

One-Mile reached under her head to grab a fistful of hair at her crown and angled her face to his satisfaction. He jerked her even closer. His tongue slid even deeper.

She met him stroke for stroke. Her next moan pinged off the walls. Her kiss grew wild.

He greedily took all she offered and still demanded more.

What was it about this woman? He’d gotten an early start on his sex life, thanks to his degenerate dad. Wherever the military had taken him around the world, he’d fucked hard, well, and often. He didn’t have any trouble going online or walking into a bar and finding someone willing to shuck her clothes and spread her legs. So why was it that the minute he’d met the preacher’s pretty virginal daughter, every other female had ceased to exist for him?

Brea was kind and sweet. She put others first. She was too delicate to be sexy in the way he used to prefer, but Brea and her shy sensuality lured him like no one else. She was somehow both sheltered and smart. Quiet but stubborn. One of a kind. But none of that explained why she’d hooked him with a glance.

That big heart of hers did.

She’d seemingly looked at him in Hunter Edgington’s open doorway and given him some untouched chunk of it that he’d been desperate to have. Cutter warning him away had meant nothing since Brea spent the rest of that barbecue sending him curious glances from under her long lashes. He’d tattooed her timid, pink-cheeked smiles into his memory. They’d kept him hard well into the next day.

From the instant he’d met her, he’d known he could pleasure the hell out of her. But for reasons he hadn’t been able to explain, he didn’t simply want to bang her. When he’d driven her to the hospital after her father’s first heart attack and she’d clung to him for comfort, he’d understood then what else she needed—besides toe-curling sex—that he could give her in return: security. So he’d held her in his arms and resolved to make her world better.

When she’d clung to him and cried, Brea had sealed her fate.

She was his.

Since he knew shit about relationships, it was no surprise he was doing everything ass-backwards. He’d taken her to bed before he’d taken her out. He’d gotten her pregnant before he put a ring on her finger. The situation wasn’t optimal, but he’d work with it and fix it all eventually.

Right now, he had to make sure she knew exactly in whose arms—and whose bed—she belonged.