“You missed me,” he whispered. “Say it.”
Jesus, she had. Desperately. “No.”
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Hands reached between them and tore her jeans open, then long, sure fingers delved into her panties, stroked there long enough to ensure they both knew how wet she was, and then his lips curved into a smile. “Part of you did.”
“I hate to break it to you, Shane, but a lot of men can do that for me.” She tossed her head back in a patented bitch move. “A lot of men have.”
His eyes darkened, but his smile kicked up a notch, to downright cocky. “Nobody can do it for you like me, though.”
That was all the warning she got. Her breath burst out in a shocked gasp as he slid two fingers inside her, curling upward to let her know what was coming. The heel of his hand settled against her clit like it had been made to fit there. She writhed. Couldn’t stop herself.
“You remember how I first taught you to come, baby girl? Just like this? You’d squirm around, like you’re doing, trying like hell to get yourself there. Then I’d reach up inside this tight…little…pussy”—he reached as he spoke, and she rose up onto her tiptoes—“find the magic spot, and you’d come all over my hand. Just for me.”
He found it. Unerringly. Her vision blurred, and she came in a rush—as if she’d been waiting for his touch for ten long years.
Chapter Nine
“Still hate me?”
The question taunted her from somewhere beyond the pounding of her pulse in her ears. “Yes,” she muttered but doubted he heard her, considering she leaned into him with her face pressed against his sweater and his sturdy frame supporting her. If not for his arm around her and the hand still lingering protectively between her legs, she’d be a puddle at his feet.
A moment to catch her breath—that’s all she needed—and maybe another to get her misfiring nervous system under control, and then she’d push off him and barricade herself safely behind the barn doors. The point when she’d have to deal with the fallout from today’s little trip down memory lane was closing in fast, and she preferred no witnesses to her personal meltdown.
But apparently, he had heard her reply, and he wasn’t done trying to prove her a liar yet. Everything went weightless, and then she landed in the driver’s seat of the Rover with her elbows propped on the center console and her legs dangling out the open door. He stepped between her knees, filling the door, blocking everything from her view except him.
“Was that orgasm you’re still shaking from an example of how badly you hate me? Three more minutes, Sinclair, and you’re going to despise me.”
She scrambled for handholds on the seat and steering wheel as he tugged her jeans and panties down past her hips. Another tug left them bunched around the tops of her boots.
“Remember the second way I taught you to come?”
Oh, sweet Jesus. She did. But he didn’t give her a chance to answer. He hitched her legs up and braced her heels along the top of the door. Cool February air washed across her bare skin, making her all the more conscious of her vulnerable position.
“I taught you to come in my mouth.”
He said the words against the inside of her knee and then kissed his way down her thigh, lowering himself to his knees in the process. “You were shy at first, and so nervous your legs trembled…just like now.” Those wicked green eyes sent her a look of pure masculine satisfaction. “Nervous?”
She bit her lip, because she didn’t know what might fly out of her mouth. No. Yes. Please. It was anyone’s guess. The silence earned her a knowing smirk before he raked his teeth over delicate skin and sent a current of need straight to parts of her so overstimulated a wayward breath might leave her reeling. Her body jerked in reaction.
He laughed, but there was a surprising amount of affection in the sound, and the hands supporting the backs of her thighs swept up and down, soothingly. “You jumped every time I touched you then, too. Especially here…”
He kissed her. Right there. Dead on target, but just a fleeting brush of lips and a staggering gentleness that only strung her tighter. So tight she jerked again, damn him. A yearning moan vibrated from her chest—possibly her soul.
“Yeah, you took right to this, baby girl. Remember? Once I showed you what I could do, you forgot all about nerves, and shyness. I had you trembling all over, for different reasons, and begging me not to stop. Think you’ll beg this time, too?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, Sinclair.”
And then he proceeded to, hard and fast, with lips, teeth, and—oh…ohhh—tongue. She fought it for one useless second, unwilling to let him win, but every lash whipped what promised to be a brutal orgasm to new urgency. The wet sound of his mouth working her filled the silence, punctuated by her panting breaths. Soon dignity surrendered to need. She chased it, one hand wrapped around the oh-shit handle, the other clenched in his hair. Somehow, she’d gotten one boot wedged into the corner where windshield met dashboard. His shoulder braced the other. Her jeans stretched tight between her ankles like an awkward tether. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another hit, he closed his lips around her clit and applied devastating suction. Suddenly she was on the brink, quivering and whimpering in the face of agonizing pleasure.
And then—the bastard—he raised his head. Green eyes burned into hers. “Say it,” he ordered.
She ground her teeth. “I hate you.” She did. She hated him for leaving. Hated him for coming back. Hated how easily he’d gotten her across the front seat of his car, with her ass hanging out the door and her jeans around her ankles, about to burst into tears because she needed him so badly.
A hard palm smacked her unprotected ass. The sound sent a trio of birds flying from the tops of tall pines overhead. “That’s for lying.”