Stripped Down

“Rose Jordan,” he gives me back. “Don’t get cold feet on me now.”

Another order, but this is one I’m happy to obey. I want more from him than the limited contact we’ve had. I crave more and my arousal is a sweet ache I won’t ignore.

“That goes double for you,” I tell him. “You walk out that door, and I’ll come after you. Your brothers will get an eyeful.”

“We can’t have that.”

“Wouldn’t be a wise move.” His hand cups my breast and I run out of air fast. He makes me burn. “Not unless those stories I’ve heard are true, about you boys liking to share any and everything.”

A spike of bright pleasure shoots through me as his work-hardened thumb teases my nipple, doing something impossibly sweet.

“I won’t share you,” he growls, and I’ll take that promise. I’ve never been one of the girls who watched the Mendoza boys, naughtily wondering if the rumors were true that, sometimes, the brothers shared everything. Angel is already too much for me.

“And you’re off the market.” I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him toward me roughly. “No other women for you for as long as this lasts.”

“Agreed,” he growls and then he bites. Rough sex is a trigger for me, but Angel’s bite feels more like a mark he’s putting on me. I want to mark him too, but we’re already dangerously close to relationship territory.

I learn the shape of his head, running fingertips over his scalp and tracing each line. The intimacy is almost shocking, touching him like this, in ways other people don’t get to do. And then he shivers, as if just that simple pressure of my fingers against him sets him off. God. I like that. Like that I make him every bit as hot as he makes me. The making here is a two-way street, and his body’s riding that path as hard and fast as mine. My Angel, who is always so in control of every situation is just a little bit undone, and I love it.

What happens when he lets go of all that careful control of his?

When. I’m taking control, I’m taking Angel, and I’m definitely taking it all.

“Tell me you’re off the market.” He presses against me, making me desperately aware of how large and hot he is.

“Yes,” I breathe. Yes to everything.

“Good,” he says roughly, and he kisses me. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Not the words, but the raw, hungry touch of his mouth on mine communicating something no word could say. I arch into his touch. His mouth parts mine, his tongue stroking inside me. God, he tastes good. If I could, I’d crawl inside him and learn him from the inside out.

He nudges the straps of my bra down with his thumbs, revealing the barely-there cups. I bought the bra on impulse, and it’s the barest scrap of white lace and cording. He likes it. I can tell. He inhales sharply, his fingers tracing the bra where it crisscrosses my cleavage. “This is nice.”

“Think of these as a very belated birthday present.” I cover his hands with mine, stroking the curves pushed above the cups. “A little something for you to finally unwrap.”

For whatever reason, against all the odds, we’re here, together. Maybe because it just isn’t possible to deny the heat building between us any longer. Maybe because I wondered about Angel when I was sixteen and we first met, and maybe, from what he’s said, he wondered the same things, too. I can’t stop saying his name, trying to make myself believe that this is really happening. That we’re here, in his bed, together, even if we only have a handful of stolen hours. Our relationship can’t go anywhere for so many reasons.

He cups my breasts, stroking them with his large hands, his work-roughened drawing wicked, knowing, slow patterns against my skin. I’ve seen him rope a calf or hold the wheel steady with these hands as he takes his truck off-road. His hands know long days and sometimes longer nights of work, but right now they know me and what they deliver is pure pleasure. Each rough-gentle brush of his skin against mine stokes the fire burning inside me, teases me higher until I can’t think.

Angel’s excited, too. But despite his own hoarse breathing, he moves deliberately, as he explores my body with a possessive touch. I can’t rush him. He won’t let me, even though other parts of me ache for his touch. How long will he make me wait to come? I’m ready and wet for him now.

Finally, he unhooks my bra and tosses it aside, his gaze raking me from head to foot. I’m still wearing my panties, but not for long. I reach for them, but his hands close over mine, dragging my hands over my head.

He closes my fingers over the headboard. “Don’t let go.”