Wicked as Sin (Wicked & Devoted 1)

Their shirts were in the way. She needed his bare skin against hers. Ached for it. Craved it.

With an impatient fist, she tugged his camo T-shirt up his torso. The velvety skin and rigid muscle across his abdomen and ribs tempted her. She dug her fingers into his back, pulling him closer, feeling him deeper. It still wasn’t enough.

At her touch, he groaned, twined their tongues together again, and reached behind his head. He interrupted their kiss just long enough to yank his shirt off and toss it to the floor.

She got a glimpse of his bare torso—big and hair-roughened, littered with tattoos and the scars of war, panting with desire—before he covered her mouth again and took her lips.

He seized her soul.

With shaking fingers, she braced herself on his steely shoulders and crashed into him, returning every jagged breath and stroke of his tongue as she curled her leg around his. As if he shared her desperation, he grabbed her thigh in his big hand and dragged it over his hip before backing her against the kitchen table and nudging her needy feminine flesh with his erection.

Pleasure spiked. Pierce swallowed her cries.

Under him, she wriggled, her blazing need burning through her misgivings and modesty. It demanded she get even closer, feel more of him—now.

Brea grabbed his steely biceps and writhed shamelessly. He ground his erection against the spot that made her wild for him. Pierce tore his mouth from their kiss, tossed his head back, and groaned out a curse.

Then he met her gaze. Instantly she knew if he’d been wearing gloves before, they were off now.

Good. She wanted to taste him, to feel him, to give herself to him.

She wanted to be his, even if it was for a night. Even if it was a sin. Even if she burned in hell for this desire. It couldn’t be any worse than twisting in agony without him.

His hands took a rough plunge down her body, skirting dangerously close to the sides of her breasts before he filled his palms with her backside and lifted her off her feet. Her flip-flops fell to the floor as he set her on his kitchen table, spread her legs, and made himself at home in between. “Want your shirt off?”

“Yes.”

Pierce gripped the hem of her floral tank and yanked it over her head. His stare fell on the skin he’d exposed. Beneath the lace-trimmed cups of her white bra, her nipples tightened and stabbed the modest cups. She shivered.

His rapacious black gaze skated down her bare belly, to the denim shorts clinging to her hips, to her bare feet with their painted pink toes. Then he settled his big palms around her hips and dragged her flush against him again. The sensations jolted her system. The longing between her legs torqued up, becoming pure torment.

“Pierce…”

“Jesus, pretty girl. You’re perfect.” He swept one hand across her abdomen, searing wherever he touched, before he dug his steely length right against her ache again. “Oh, fuck, yeah… You with me?”

Brea didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

“I want to suck those pretty nipples. What do you say to that?”

His demand sounded immoral. Wicked. Sublime. “Please.”

“Tell me to take off your bra, pretty girl.”

Her head was spinning. Her heart was chugging. She felt ready to burst into flames. “Take off my bra. Hurry.”

Pinning her in place with his hungry gaze, Pierce lifted one hand to the strap bisecting her back and unfastened all three hooks in the blink of an eye.

Brea swallowed. This was happening. This was real. Pierce Walker was about to lay eyes on her naked breasts.

He let go. Her bra fell away.

His black eyes fastened on her, firmly affixing to her nipples. They drew up even tighter under his scrutiny, the tips so engorged they throbbed. “Fucking gorgeous.”

His words made Brea blush. But she wanted more than his praise; she wanted relief from this endless ache.

She wound her arms around his neck and arched, flattening herself against his muscled torso. The jolt of his skin directly on hers was electric. She gasped at the new, foreign sensations.

“You feel so damn good,” he groaned.

“You feel better.”

But the skin-to-skin contact wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She wriggled again, needing something more.

Pierce eased away, gaze fastened on her breasts again, as his fingers crept up her torso. “Tell me to touch them.”

“Please.” She prayed that would end her torment. “Touch them now.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking before he had her breasts in his scorching palms. He cradled them, testing their weight, squeezing. Then he swept the sensitive crests with his thumbs.

Tingles spread throughout her body. She hissed in pleasure and arched closer to Pierce, shoving herself deeper into his grip—and under his spell—silently begging for more.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Want more?”

“Please.” His touch made her need more insistent.

She feared only one thing would end it.