All Fired Up (Kate Meader) (21 page)

“Well, I’m fairly shameless, so how about I get us started?”

She swallowed. Yes, please, yes.

Standing, he tipped his hat up like he had just spotted her from across a dusty saloon and revealed those sweet, caramel eyes. Her sexy Irish cowboy. Slow as molasses in January, he undid the buttons of his shirt. As he stripped it off, his eyes stripped her bare. The shirt fell to the floor but she couldn’t say the same for her inhibitions. Not yet.

“Now you,” he said.

Trembling, she unpicked each mother-of-pearl button of her sleeveless silk blouse and slid it off her shoulders, deliberately enough that she felt a tingle of desire as the fabric whispered against her skin. Her inner priss couldn’t get on board with the slinky stripper waft to the floor, so she kept it in her lap. That blouse cost two hundred dollars, for Chrissakes.

Swatches of color darker than her rose-pink La Perla bra flushed his cheekbones.

“Let me take care of that.” He held out his hand for her blouse and she gave it to him, expecting he would drape it over the corner chair tucked beneath her vanity. Instead he headed for her closet door.

He was going to hang it.

She wanted to say he didn’t need to, but he had already moved inside and was surveying the neat-as-a-pin racks. The unexpected kindness made her gulp.

Bending, she reached for her shoe.

“Heels stay on,” he said from her closet entrance, his voice rougher than before. A lot rougher, and she realized that the dip displayed her breasts to advantage. Good to know.

The slow scrape of his descending zipper sent a message of readiness to her brain and a host of follow-up texts to her sex. The bulge of his erection filled her vision. Completely.

“Now your skirt.”

Wait…all she got was his zipper? Sure, there had been a nice reveal and all, but still. At her hesitation, he grinned
Get it off, Cara.
Oh hell.

Standing, she unrolled the waist he had reworked to hooker length back at Sarriette, then unzipped and peeled. She had no choice but to wiggle, an action that jiggled her breasts.

She might have done that on purpose.

His next inhale sounded harsh and that auditory confirmation of the effect she had on him was enough to cause a few respiratory problems of her own. She stepped out of the skirt and handed it off to him. Back in the closet he went, taking a moment to smooth out the creases.

She fell in love with him a little right then.

Since she’d started eating properly, she no longer had toast-rack ribs, and her breasts and hips had filled out some. While she would never consider herself shapely, standing there in her expensive lingerie, she felt close to sexy. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like he didn’t know where to start.

She knew exactly where to start. That jagged thread of silver on his shoulder was number one. She tracked her gaze down to his flat stomach, to the cut indents at his narrow hips, to the open
V
of his jeans. His boxer briefs were slung so low she could see a nest of fur covering that part of him straining to spring free.

Whatever was on her face must have made her lusty thoughts obvious. With a provocatively slow motion, he pushed down his briefs a few lovely inches and revealed his erection. Oh, my. She gasped like it was her first time out.

“Watch,” he said, as he took his hard length in his hand and started to stroke. Like she could tear her gaze away from the sexiest thing she had ever seen. Shane, touching himself, his beautiful hands gripping and pumping with a necessary roughness.

Take me now, Jesus.

Between her legs, wet heat bloomed, and she pushed her thighs together. He never took his eyes off her, trapping her between his slow, rhythmic stroking and his blazing gaze. It was so hot it left grill marks on her eyes. Her knees nearly buckled and the floor started to look increasingly attractive—anything to get her mouth closer to that unbelievably arousing example of male magnificence. She wanted to lick him dry.

Instead she licked her lips, which seemed to excite him more if the way his eyes turned from deep chocolate to a one hundred percent cocoa was any indication. His movements were still marvelously controlled, but his voice betrayed him.

“You gettin’ there, Cara?”

Gettin’ there?
Oh, she’d missed her stop a couple of miles back. She licked her lips again, drawing his smile of triumph. That cheeky Irishman.

Stopping his stroke, he reached for her hand and pulled her close in a twist so her back was flush to his chest, his erection jutting into the base of her spine. He unhooked her bra and slipped it off, then wandered his hands down to her hips. Under his touch they felt voluptuous and shapely.

Under his touch, she felt whole.

He started with exquisite little nips at her neck, then soothed every sting with his tongue. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast before his palm covered it entirely. So big and rough. The brim of his hat grazed her cheek as he kissed her shoulder, his open mouth hot, his tongue licking fire against her skin. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tight and painful.

Across her stomach, he stretched one huge hand and slid a couple of rough-cast fingers below the band of her panties. Withdrawing, he traced circles along her toned abs, then dipped his fingers past the lacy border once more. She rubbed her butt against his open zipper like a wanton cat at a scratching post. The tantalizing friction made her skin buzz. A little lower with his hand and she felt his sharp intake of breath against her neck.

He spun her around to face him. A dull red flagged his cheeks. “You’re shaved.”

She giggled, so loving his reaction and loving more how it released some of her nerves. “Waxed, actually.”

Slowly, like he was unwrapping a gift, he peeled down her thong a few inches to the tops of her thighs. He watched his own hand palm against her bareness, the edges of his mouth twisting up. “Is it everywhere?”

“See for yourself,” she said, feeling bold.

Foxy fast, he was on his knees, pulling her thong with him.
Now
he moved quickly. Before she could get her bearings he had pushed her back on the bed, tossed her shoes and thong over his shoulder like a plea against bad luck, and spread her wide. Embarrassed, she squirmed her discomfort and tried to pull her thighs together, but he pinned her hips fast with his big, blunt hands.

“Let me see,” he demanded.

He pulled her toward him, then nudged her thighs apart and arranged her legs over his shoulders, exposing her completely. Oh God, oh God. His lust-stoked gaze stroked her core, drawing moisture in a pool between her thighs. It felt like minutes passed under his intense scrutiny, every passing second kindling her nerve endings to flame.

A carnal curve touched his lips. “I see now that the fashion princess coordinates her wardrobe with the most luscious parts of her body. Pink lips, pink nipples. Pretty pink pussy.”

Desire felt hot and loose in her belly. It might have been the dirty talk, but it could just as easily have been the look of smoky want in those dark eyes. Parting her with his fingers, he stroked through and dipped a thumb in his mouth. The sucking noise he made was positively obscene.

His eyelids lowered. “You taste so good.”

“Really?” She’d always had her doubts.

“Oh, yeah. And I should know. I’m a professional chef.”

Her half-hysterical laugh morphed to a moan as he got busy again. Blood rushed to feed the throb between her legs. His fingers speared her, sliding in and out, making her so wet she
felt
pink. Bracing on her elbows, she looked down. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see her center vibrating with a remorseless beat like a telltale heart.

As much as she enjoyed the sight of his cowboy self, seeing right into his eyes would make this a million times better. She pushed up his hat to get a better view of those brown blobs of gorgeous, then plucked it off and placed it on the bed beside her.

“Good thing I haven’t shaved in a couple of days. This is going to feel really good for you, LT.”

Oh.
Ohhh.
He was already licking the crease between her leg and hip, his bristled jaw raspy against the soft, sensitive flesh of her thigh.

“I don’t usually do that.”

His tongue slicked perilously close to her folds. “Don’t do what?” It came out as “doe-doo-whah.”

“Oral.”

That got his attention. “Giving or receiving?”

“Either.”

He laid his forehead on her hip, and she thought she heard him mutter, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“Shane?”

A couple of extra-long beats passed, and then his shoulders rumbled. The man was…he was laughing!

“Cara DeLuca,” he said around a hoarse laugh. “You are determined to drive me over the edge. Explain to me why.”

Because it was just so intimate and it took too long to get her relaxed enough to get to that flash point. Guys usually acted like it was the ultimate sacrifice, like she should be ready to explode as soon as tongue meets clit. Past experience told her she would only end up faking it. The Shane experience told her she might not have to, but she didn’t want to take a chance that her hopeful fantasies might be evicted by awkward reality.

“It just bores me,” she said in her most offhand manner. “Most guys don’t have the patience.”

Lights of challenge flashed in his eyes. She should have known he would see if that way. Deep down, she probably hoped he would see it that way.

“The Irish are a very patient race, Cara. We endured eight hundred years of oppression.” He blew a wisp of cold air on her sex that had her straining against his secure hands. He said she was killing him when really every one of his actions had her close to dying with pleasure.

“If you expect me
not
to bury my tongue inside you after you offer up that beautiful, bare, pink pu—”

“Shane!”

He leaned in and inhaled like she was a fine wine. “Cara, you have a starving man kneeling before you. Are you going to deny him?”

She knew he wasn’t starving—not literally—but in some cold corner of her mind, the idea of feeding Shane her body seized her. That she, of all people, could possibly provide sustenance to anyone synched her heart up in a beat with the thrumming in her core.

“Cara,” he warned in the wake of her silence.

“Shane, I need…”

His gaze met hers, his eyelids at half-mast but wide enough to see his banked lust.

“What, Cara? What do you need?”

Your mouth, your heart, all you can give.

“Just do it.” She aimed for bossy but it came out shaky. Please, please,
there.

“I need specifics, LT.”

God
damn it
, she was too cranked up to be properly mortified. “Eat me, you Irish idiot.”

Grinning like he’d won a prize, he placed his mouth between her legs and applied an unbearably arousing suction. He swirled his tongue around her tight bundle of nerves, alternating with gentle and firm laps. Life she hadn’t known existed before she’d met him pounded through her. It was torture and ecstasy and she never wanted it to stop.

She shoved his head closer to the pulsing heart of her. She ground against his mouth and yelled her desperate need. Filthy things. Words that made her body blush. His tongue…oh, his tongue. It plunged and licked, soft, hard, wet, wet. She released a cry, high in her throat that probably sent the cat running for cover two walls over.

Thirty seconds. She had come in less than thirty seconds. How embarrassing.

He stopped feasting between her thighs and replaced his tongue with his fingers. Levering his body over hers, his mouth hovered close, shiny with her arousal.

“Didn’t expect you’d be so easy.” In an instant, his self-satisfied grin vanished. “Cara, you’re shaking.”

Not so much shaking as vibrating, and she was unable to will her body still. There was an excellent chance she might have a heart attack on the spot.

“I was trying to relax you,” he said, his voice stroked with worry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just out of practice.” That’s right, tell the hot, young stud how bad the old lady is at all this, but truth was she had never experienced an orgasm like that. This new-to-her body was having a hard time coping with the bliss overload. Pleasure-stung, that’s how she felt. Overstimulated, every sense and nerve heightened to a dizzying sharpness.

“We can take a break, if you like.” He looked concerned, but his tone said,
Please don’t want a break.

She felt her face splitting into a grin. “Back to work, Doyle.”

“Hm, I’ll get right on that but first you need to know how good you taste when you come.”

While those dynamic digits continued to stroke her nerve-strung flesh, he kissed her. A sweet, soft kiss that stole her breath and doubts and all semblance of common sense. Nothing new there. She had no idea if she tasted good on his lips but she knew this much: together they tasted amazing. Her own kisses turned urgent, begging him to match her. He did. He always did. Each stroke of his tongue tore her under, each return of his blunt finger resharpened her arousal.

Though she was lying down, his fingers inside her and his mouth working hers were her only points of contact with this world. Her legs felt like water. Her skin felt so raw it might peel off any second. He broke their kiss just as another quake racked her, lifting her hips off the bed, shattering her into a million tiny screams.