Bar Bites: A Man of the Month Cookbook (Man of the Month 13)

Her words shot through him. Her bold, demanding touch fired his blood. He'd already been half-hard just from having her in his arms, but he'd been hesitant, too, knowing she was upset and that she'd fallen.

She'd just swept away the last cobweb of uncertainty, though. Her need was so palpable it seemed to reach out and grab him, then mingle with his own luminous desire, a feeling so intense it lingered over them like pulsing neon. Now. Finally. Alone.

God, yes.

Without another word, he claimed her mouth. Not a polite kiss, but raw and hard, with tongue and teeth and wild abandon. And the real joy of it was in the way she kissed him back, opening herself to him. Giving her entire body to him the same way that she'd given her heart--open and freely and completely.

She shifted, then pulled her legs up onto the couch. He knew her well enough to anticipate her move, and gave her space to get settled before straddling her, roughly yanking the sofa's cushions out of place and tossing them over the back.

Her laugh delighted him, but that didn't keep him from silencing her with a fresh kiss. This one, however, he broke quickly. "I want to see you naked," he said, delighted when the humor in her eyes faded to heat.

She said nothing in response, but she shifted onto her elbows, then pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Then her fingers reached for the button of her jeans. He stilled her motion with his hand, wanting to do it himself. Even after all these months--even after slipping the engagement ring on her finger-- there were still moments when Spencer couldn't believe the universe had righted itself and she was now really and truly his.

Slowly, he unzipped her jeans, then pulled them down over her hips. He paused long enough to trace a fingertip along the band of her panties, then held his breath as he watched the tightening of her muscles, as he heard the small gasping sound she made before stifling it by putting a knuckle into her mouth and biting down in a way that made his cock twitch with the memory of all the times she'd sucked him dry.

"Angel," he murmured, forcing himself to continue until finally he'd tossed aside her slip-on sneakers and tugged her jeans over her ankles and feet. He dropped them negligently on the floor, then spread her legs slowly, his eyes on hers.

"Spencer, please."

The words were simple; the heat in them was much more complicated. She was ready--he knew the signs so intimately now. The way her skin tightened. The soft sounds of arousal that worked a kind of magic on him. And the scent of her, a primal, sexual musk that almost demanded he sink deep inside her, taking them both to places they'd never manage on their own.

So yes, she was ready...but he was going to make her wait.

First he wanted to taste her, wanted to drive her crazy. Wanted to hear this woman he loved--this beautiful angel who would soon be his wife--beg for mercy before he fucked her hard. He'd claimed her so many times already, but there was never enough. Could never be enough. And with one quick, brutal motion, he tightened his grip on her thighs, then pulled her roughly toward him, lifting her hips and hooking her legs over his shoulders as he knelt between her legs, then closed his mouth over the thin strip of damp silk that covered her pussy.

He sucked her through the silk, relishing the way she arched up, her ankles locking behind his head. He jerked her higher, wanting her tighter against his mouth as he sucked and licked, then ran his tongue along the line of her panties between her sex and her thigh. She squirmed, she begged, and still he didn't relent.

Until finally, he couldn't take it any more and he used his teeth to tug her panties aside, losing himself in the taste of her as he thrust his tongue deep inside her warm, wet folds.

"Please," she murmured, as one hand closed over a breast and the other slid between her legs. Her finger brushed his tongue as she teased her clit, her core tightening and throbbing. She was close--He knew she was so damn close, but he wasn't about to let her explode. Not yet. Not until he was inside her.

He pushed back, making her cry out in surprise and then prop herself up on her elbows as he violently ripped his shirt free from his jeans, then started to pull it over his head.

"No," she said, reaching for him.

He paused, meeting her eyes, certain she didn't mean to stop.

"I want you dressed." She shifted on the couch, managing an almost acrobatic maneuver that ended with her on her knees beside him. Her fingers reached for his fly. He understood what she wanted and let her free his cock before he leaned back against the one remaining cushion, fully dressed except for his erection, now freed from confinement and eager for her.

"Stand up," he ordered, and she did. His beautiful fiancee, his naked angel. His heart flipped over once again as that single word played in his head once more--His.

How the hell had he gotten so lucky?

He met her eyes and knew what she wanted. What he wanted, too.

"Come here, Angel," he said. "Come ride me."

Come ride me.

Those were the words Brooke heard, but they meant so much more. They meant You're mine. They meant I'll protect you.

Most of all, they meant I love you.

And oh, dear God, she loved him, too. Loved the way he looked at her. The way he cherished her. The way he understood her. Hadn't he cleared out the house? Hadn't he given her this night?

Now she gave herself to him. Only not really, because she'd done that long ago. She belonged to Spencer, body and soul, and the engagement ring she wore proved it.

Slowly, because she wanted the moment, she straddled him, using her thigh muscles to keep her sex barely over the tip of his cock. His jeans rubbed her inner thighs by her knees and she smiled. There was something so delicious about being naked and making love to a fully dressed man. It made her feel possessed. Owned. Something she wouldn't want with anyone but Spencer, but with him, it was as fundamental as breath. As essential as blood.