But to show me the arm, she had to twist the blanket around until the gap was at her side and then stick her arm through. And even with the blanket clamped together at the waist, I still couldn’t help but see her whole side-boob. And then below her waist, her entire leg was exposed, like some Hollywood starlet on the red carpet, and my eyes just kept climbing upward, right up to that bare patch of hip that reminded me she wasn’t wearing panties—
It scared me, how much I wanted her. And the lust was just the surface layer, white water on a wave so deep, so powerful, it was close to sweeping me away. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, feel my eyes flicking over her too fast: her eyes, her hair—
Her lips….
I tore my gaze away and took her hand in my hand. When I felt how cold she was, I came dangerously close to melting. And when I ran my fingers up her arm, probing and testing, a big swell of protective need rose up in me and I had to stare hard at the goosepimpled flesh because I didn’t dare look into her eyes. “Nothing broken,” I muttered. “But you’re going to have a hell of a bruise.” I tried to let go of her arm but I couldn’t seem to. “You could have been killed! If it had hit you in the head—”
“I just—I wanted to make sure everything was okay!” she said. “I didn’t want you to get back and find the cabin wrecked.”
That very nearly did it. My heart went caramel soft and it took a superhuman effort to growl at her. “I don’t care about the damn cabin—” Her wet hair was falling over her face and I brushed it angrily out of the way—
And suddenly, I was looking right into her eyes.
The rest of the world ceased to exist. I don’t care about the damn cabin...something in my eyes must have completed the sentence because I saw her eyes widen, her pupils grow.
Her lips parted.
And I just growled, grabbed her waist with both hands, plucked her up off the floor, and brought my lips down on hers.
40
Bethany
HE KISSED ME and nothing else mattered. I didn’t feel cold or wet or even in pain. My eyes closed and in the warm blackness, all that existed were his lips. They owned me, made me his, then spread me open and damn well plundered me, and I flowered open beneath him, inviting him in as urgently as he invaded. I could feel his panting breaths and that I was panting, just as hard. Everything that had been building up for weeks was finally being released.
His hard upper lip demanded every part of me, wouldn’t stop until he knew me completely. And just behind it, that wonderfully soft lower lip, brushing over my sensitive flesh, making me tremble. Other sensations started to trickle in, now, one by one. The brush of his beard against my neck, that reminder of how wild he was, the hair so gorgeously soft. The heat of him through the blanket, his body like warm rock. His hands—oh God, his hands, big and powerful, gripping my waist under the blanket and holding me in the air like I weighed nothing.
That silver wire inside me, the one that was drawn so achingly tight whenever I was around him, was vibrating and dancing, singing in harmony with every hard press of his lips. And all those vibrations were bouncing and echoing, low in my belly, triggering a deep, scarlet, bass drum rhythm that made me squirm and crush my thighs together, and that got more powerful with every kiss.
He growled low in his throat and pulled me to him, my upper body pressed tight against his chest. My legs kicked either side of his waist and hooked around him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if I belonged there. My groin settled against his abs and a flutter went right up my body, leaving me light-headed. In some ways, it was just like when he’d carried me over the gorse bushes, that first day. But then I hadn’t been naked and wrapped only in a blanket, my legs entirely nude as they encircled him, one bare breast spilling through the opening in the fabric to press against his shirt.
I was breathless and desperate: the feel of him against me was amazing. My hands dived through the opening in the blanket and slid over the swells of his biceps and the wide curves of his chest, and with every brush of my palms over soft cotton and warm muscle, I felt myself melt. There was something about the effortless strength of him, the way he could hold me so easily. It made me feel small and weak in an entirely good way. My legs tightened around him and I ground myself against him, flushing but unrepentant, and he cursed under his breath.