Fate Book - Page 51

“We have to jump through it,” he said.

Was he nuts? “You want me to run through that?” We’d be burned alive.

He grabbed the teakettle from the stove and emptied it down the front of his body. Then he shoved his head under the sink and wet down his hair.

Yes. Please save the hair. It was, after all, very, very nice hair.

He then grabbed a quilt from the couch, shoved as much as he could under the sink and dampened it.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “I saw from the roof.”

He pulled me to come with him.

“I can’t.”

He stopped and looked down at me with his dark eyes. “I promise, I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

I nodded like a fool, knowing that the word “ever” was a lie. But I appreciated the conviction in his voice. He was asking me to trust him. Really, truly trust him. The ironic part was that he didn’t have to ask. I already did.

“Okay.” I glanced at the counter and saw my small bag of clothes lying there. My notebook. I grabbed it and shoved it into the back of my jeans right before he threw the quilt over the flames, grabbed my hand, and pulled me outside.

I yelped when I felt the heat, but as he’d promised, nothing happened. We came out on the other side within a split second. We ran into the forest and kept going. I stumbled my way behind him, tripping on rocks and branches. My toes felt like ground beef—whatever that feels like.

After about twenty minutes, panting hard, we ducked behind a thick tree trunk. He pressed me against it with his body and held his hand over my mouth.

“Let me listen,” he whispered in my ear.

The feel of his hard frame pinning me to the tree, his chest and hips pushing against mine, unexpectedly sparked an odd, physical reaction. It was like all that adrenaline coursing through my blood had ignited, sending a blaze of sexual need right through me. I remembered reading about that kind of stuff happening to men, that when they were in the heat of battle, their testosterone levels shot through the roof and made them hornier than hell. But I didn’t know that happened to women.

Paolo squeezed my shoulder, warning me not to squirm, only furthering the sensation of impending combustion despite the dampness of my cold clothes.

All too aware of what his touch was doing, I tried to wriggle to the side just a little.

“Hold still. I’m trying to listen for footsteps,” he said.

Did he realize he was doing so much, much more than that? And did he realize that I wasn’t the only person feeling a little frisky?

I clamped my eyes shut and tried not think about his thick, hard erection pushing against me. With the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I wanted him so badly that nothing else seemed to matter—not that someone had just tried to kill us, or that I was wet and freezing—just our bodies pressed together.

“Paolo. You need to let me go.”

“I’m shielding you with my body,” he argued.

“I realize that, but—”

“I don’t hear anything, but I need to be sure no one is following.”

“Okay, but when you’re done making sure, I’d like it noted that I would prefer to lose my virginity lying down. Something soft against my back might be good, too,” I lied. Christ, I’d let him have me over a heap of broken branches.

“What the hell are you—?” his head snapped down, and then he realized just what I’d meant, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he simply stared. The faint light of the moon, filtering through the treetops, allowed me to see the contours of his face, but not his eyes.

Was he embarrassed? Annoyed?

He leaned his head down and kissed me. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was forceful and demanding. His mouth moved over mine, and his tongue slipped inside, stroking me, heating me. I moved my arms around his neck and angled my head to the side, allowing him to deepen the kiss, to fit our bodies more snugly together. Blood rushed between my legs and to my nipples. The blaze of sensual need charged through my veins and consumed every rational thought I had.

A tiny groan escaped his lips as he pushed his hips more tightly against mine.

Oh God, I’d never felt anything so good.

One hand reached for my leg and lifted it as his hot mouth moved to a frantic pace, his tongue lapping away at my own. He angled himself and pushed forward again, the ridge of his hard shaft hitting me right where the tension was building. The breath whooshed from my lungs as the sensation of him thrusting against me drove the tension higher, and the need to release it to a point I could no longer bear.

Tags: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Romance
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