“Regular or overload?” she asked again, looking at him like she was throwing down a challenge.
It was the rasp in her tone that did it. That little tell that her physical desire was true, visceral, real snapped the last of his restraint.
Slowly, he rose. Stalked across the kitchen. Took the ice cream from her hands. He reached over and dropped the boxes on the counter, and then he was right back to her again. All up in her space and walking her back until she was trapped. Trapped by him.
“You, Emma. I choose you for dessert.” His mouth came down on hers, demanding and firm. And that first brush of skin on skin lit him all the way up. He was rock hard and wound tight, full of need and wonder. What was left of his brain function raged against the recklessness of allowing himself even a single taste of her sweetness. He shouldn’t do this. He knew he shouldn’t. But he wanted to so fucking bad.
Just one good long taste.
On a moan, her lips parted and her arms went around his neck. Caine’s tongue sank deep, plundering her mouth like the invader he was. She tasted like orange soda and everything good in the world, and he licked and sucked at every little moan and mewl and gasp she gave him.
He needed to claim every single one. And he wanted more.
Plowing his hands into her silky, soft hair, he boxed her in tighter against the counter, the shifting press of her belly a too-soft tease against his hard dick. But this wasn’t going to be about that. He was going to make this about her. About giving her pleasure, not taking his own. If he gave and didn’t take, maybe she’d regret it less when she realized what she’d done—and who she’d done it with. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find it easier to walk away when this was over and she came to her senses. Like he knew she would.
“Caine,” she rasped around the edge of the kiss.
Fisting his hand in her blond waves, he urged her to tilt her head back. He trailed kisses and licks and nips across her cheek to her ear, her jaw bone, that soft spot on her neck. Downward, to where the slope of her skin met the neck of her sweater. God she was soft and sweet, the little sounds spilling out of her like rays of sunlight in the darkness. So warm and unexpected.
And then he was back at her mouth again like the greedy motherfucker he was. Tasting and exploring and penetrating until she was panting and pushing herself against his cock and he feared he might not be strong enough to keep his dick in his pants where it needed to stay.
Reaching between the tight press of their bodies, he popped the button on her jeans.
Her eyelids lifted slowly, like she was as lust drunk as he was. And he looked her eye to eye as he laid out his intentions. “I need to taste more of you. All of you.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, the words puffing against his lips because they were so close. “Taste me.”
Caine didn’t have to be told twice. He went down to his knees, his hands already working at the denim clinging to her hips. She wore white satin beneath the jeans—of course that was what she wore. And it shouldn’t have turned him on even more, but he couldn’t deny that it fucking did.
When he had the denim around her knees, he smoothed his calloused hands up the outside of her thighs to her hips, then back down again. He peered up at her, leaned in, and grabbed the edge of the panties with his teeth.
Holding her gaze, he worked them down, too. And then she was bared to him. Bared and fucking beautiful.
He didn’t ask a second time, but she nodded anyway. That pretty face so flush, her mouth open and her lips red from their kisses. From his kisses.
His gaze fell to the triangle of dark blond at the top of her thighs, and Caine was suddenly ravenous all over again. He worked a hand between her closed thighs and then pushed it up until he’d opened her stance a little and held her ass in his hand. And then he put his mouth on her.
Right. Fucking. There.
His tongue immediately found her wetness and swirled it around until the volume of her moans told him he’d found her clit. And then he was absolutely relentless. Licking. Sucking. Flicking. Nipping. Lapping at her until his mouth and chin were wet with her juices and she was thrusting and straining her hips.
“Oh, God, Caine. Oh, God,” she rasped. And his name on her lips in this moment was like a prize for a man who’d never before won a contest. He just hoped it didn’t raise his hopes that he might win again. Because the odds were always stacked in favor of the house, not the player.