The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

He laughed and then, because he couldn’t stand the separation any longer, kissed her again. Outrage forgotten, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowed against his chest, and, again, gave him everything with that one kiss. He plucked at her clothing with his free hand, groaning at how ineffectual his attempts were, and she made soothing sounds, her hands stroking up and down his bare back, her fingernails alternately digging in and lightly scraping.

“Brand,” she said, her voice muffled against his lips. “Let me.”

“What?” he asked dazedly, lifting his head to look down at her, worshipping her with his eyes.

“Let me. Please let me do this, just while you’re in that cast. I can . . .”

“You want to drive, sunshine?” he asked lightly, understanding where she was going with this, and she flushed before nodding. He grinned, loving the thought of it. He threw himself back on the sofa and spread his arms invitingly. “Then have at it.”

Sam wasn’t sure what to expect when he so brazenly invited her to take over, but it certainly wasn’t what he got. She licked her lips, those juicy, bubblegum-flavored lips, and her hands fell to her blouse. She was still in that mint-green pencil skirt and white top that had so turned him on that morning, and he watched with bated breath as she flicked open one pearly button at a time. Her movements weren’t seductive so much as efficient, and that was even more of a turn-on than any blatant attempt at seduction would have been. He watched as she tugged her blouse off, folded it, and placed it aside. His greedy eyes drank in every aspect of the neat, pretty figure now revealed to his gaze. The sweet little nipped-in waist, the cute indent of her belly button, and then her modest cleavage in a pretty, lacy white front-fastening bra.

She didn’t need much support. The bra seemed entirely superfluous, but it was still such a turn-on to imagine peeling it off her and revealing the loveliness beneath. She didn’t touch the bra, though, instead she kicked her foot back and his throat went dry as she tugged off one sensible pump and then the other. His cock twitched urgently when she skimmed her hands under her ass-hugging mint skirt and hitched it to just below her thighs in order to access her panties.

Sam growled when she performed a tug and then a shimmy and her lacy white panties dropped to her ankles. She stepped out of them and again folded them and placed them atop her blouse. Still none of this was overtly sexy, just efficient as hell. She barely looked at him while she did her sensible little striptease, while Sam couldn’t take his eyes off her. When he was himself again, he was going to strip her slowly and kiss every single silky strip of newly revealed skin until she was begging him for release.

“Undo your hair for me,” Sam begged hoarsely, startling her into looking at him. She went bright pink, and he comprehended that one of the reasons she was so determinedly avoiding eye contact was because this was hard for her. It explained the efficiency and the lack of artifice. She didn’t know how to seduce but in her innocence succeeded in seducing him more effectively than any other woman had before her. Her hands went up to her ponytail, and he winced when she tugged the rubber band off without any care or concern for the silky stuff bound within. Her soft, sleek hair fell to her shoulders like a dark-brown curtain, and Sam ached to trail his fingers through it, yearned to bury his face and nose in it.

“Beautiful,” he encouraged softly, and she smiled, running her splayed fingers through the mass before allowing it to settle again.

“Show me your breasts,” he begged, his voice a whisper. “Please.”

“No,” she said, her voice stubborn. He scowled, irritated by her disobedience, but instantly forgave her when she fell to her knees on the floor in front of the sofa where he sat and wriggled between his splayed knees. Her forearms rested on his thighs, and she looked up at him earnestly. “I’m quite . . .”

She sucked on her lip and swallowed back whatever she’d been about to say, and Sam groaned in despair.

“Don’t withhold your words from me now, Lia. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m quite wet,” she confessed, her voice low. She seemed embarrassed by the confession, and the sound that emerged from Sam’s throat was equal parts amusement and despair. “I don’t remember being this wet before.”

“God, I want to touch you,” he moaned. “Taste you.”

“You will,” she promised. “But before you do, I think it’s prudent we do this.”

This turned out to be palming his thick erection through the thin material of his boxer briefs. She gave another one of those shuddery little sighs that Sam found so damned erotic and finally reached under the elastic waist and wrapped her small, soft hand around his rampant hardness. Sam hissed and arched into her touch, damned near coming in her hand.