All of You (23 page)

A soft and shallow penetration. A slow withdrawal so he could start again, pushing in deeper with each stroke, riding her soft and tender, filling her with his body, caressing her with his cock.

“Is this what you want, preciosa?”

She fisted her hands in the sheet, as that hard muscled body covered her pale skin.

He slowed his strokes, just pulsed inside her wet slick heat. “Tell me you want this.”

“Yes.” She couldn’t breathe. “I want this.”

A slow glide of his cock. “Tell me to fuck you.”

“Yes. Do it.”

His hands massaged her buttocks, spread them apart so that he could trace a wicked line right on the crease. She shuddered at his touch, watching him in the mirror.

“Tell me to fuck you.” Low rough words.

She dragged in liquid air. “Fuck me.”

Look, but don’t touch…

Veiled Desire

© 2010 Alisha Rai

Leyla Karimi can’t keep her eyes off the hunky guy living in the house behind her. How could any woman resist ogling Dr. Mason Barrett, especially when he makes it so easy by parading around in his skin and skivvies?

If it was only their age difference, she would have made a move a long time ago. Except Mason is more than a neighbor. He’s her baby brother’s oldest friend. It’s not like they can have a casual fling and walk away in the morning.

Mason’s been doing a little lusting—okay a lot—for quite some time. When he catches Leyla peeking, it’s a sure sign she could finally be ready to heat up his nights with loving. One taste of her lips, though, and he doesn’t want a “little” of anything. He wants it all.

Unwilling to jeopardize a lifetime of friendship for a one-night stand, Leyla is reluctant to throw caution to the wind. When he’s kissing her senseless, though, it’s hard to remember all the reasons why she should hold back…

Warning: Contains a hot hero who doesn’t mind baring it all in the name of love, a heroine who doesn’t settle for less, a sweet romance, steamy sex in a car and more good lovin’ in bed.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Veiled Desire:

As Leyla chewed her last bite, savoring the taste of strawberry, cream cheese and cinnamon, she glanced up to find Mason’s gaze on her mouth, his eyes just a bit unfocused. He looked hungry. And since his plate was clean, she figured it wasn’t for food.

Her heart rate accelerated. Though she was careful with her love life, she’d received her fair share of admiring looks over the years. She knew what male interest looked like. But…Mason?

Well, why not? Hadn’t she spent months wrestling with her attraction and feelings for him? Why wouldn’t that desire be reciprocated?

Baby.

Sweetheart.

This is a nice thing to wake up to…

“Why don’t you call me Lee-Lee anymore?” she blurted out. Sasha had tagged her with the nickname in childhood. Though her brother had grown out of it, Mason had continued to use it affectionately. But now that she considered it, he had switched to only calling her by her given name for months.

He didn’t seem at all startled by her pulling the topic out of thin air. “Because it’s a child’s name. Neither of us are children, are we?”

She was a bit too rattled to answer. Her heart pounding, she swallowed the lump in her throat and deliberately set her fork to the side. Leyla dipped her finger in the remaining syrup on her plate. His eyes flicked down to follow the lazy figure eight she made and followed her finger back up to her mouth, where she enclosed it and…sucked.

His eyes flared, and he bit his lower lip. Hard.

Oh my. Well, this was very interesting.

Leyla had never considered herself a wilting flower, so as much as she wanted to swoon a little, she stiffened her spine at the obvious signs of desire she was suddenly noting all over him. Dilated eyes, chest rising and falling. Even his nipples were hard.

Want to taste. Then maybe he would reciprocate.

Her head was spinning from the onslaught of the sudden epiphany. Did he just want her for sex? Because that would never work. She wasn’t set up to be a fuck buddy. But if he wanted more, did she? What about Sasha? How would her brother react?

Her natural humor kicked in, and she tried to fight the sudden urge to laugh at herself. Sasha had always been the impulsive Karimi, but here she was, ready to go nuts on the basis of a couple of hot looks. Time to slow down and really think about this. He hadn’t given her that much encouragement, if she looked at it objectively.

To distract herself, she picked up her plate and stood. “You done?” Without waiting for anything more than his nod, she picked up his empty plate as well and carried them both to the sink. A small pile of dishes had already been gathered there.

As she grabbed the sponge and drizzled some soap on it, she heard the scrape of his chair behind her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Seriously, leave it.”

Trying to diffuse some of her tension, she forced a smile into her voice and made a tsking noise. “Look at all these dirty dishes. You and I both know you’ll let these gather until you don’t have any other choice. I still have a few minutes, and I’ll just—”

Without warning, hard hands closed over her hips, and she dropped the sponge. He swiveled her around. Reaching behind her, he wrenched the water off. “Goddamn it, Leyla. Stop treating me like a kid.”

She blinked up at him, stunned at both the anger on his face and the hard tone of his voice. “I’m not.”

“You are. I’m not your son, and I’m not your brother. I can do my own fucking dishes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to swear at me.”

He sneered. “Are you going to chastise me for my language now?”

“Someone needs to. You idiot. I certainly don’t think I’m your mother.”

“Then stop acting like it. You don’t have to clean up after me. You certainly don’t need to do my fu—”

She slapped her hands against his chest. “That’s a nasty swear, Mason. Say it again, and I will make you sorry. I was doing the dishes because you cooked, you ass.”

He stilled. “Do you mind if I use it and I’m not swearing at you?”

“What?”

“Fuck.”

The short, graphic word looked erotic on his full lips. She caught her breath.

“Do you object to the word or the context?”

“The-the context.”

His lips quirked. “I’ll keep that in mind. I apologize. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

“I’m not your sister,” she blurted out.

“I know that. I’ve known that for a while. The question is, do you know it?”

“Yes.” She realized at that moment that her slightly damp hands were flat against his chest.

His naked, hard, hot chest.

Leyla had never touched him so intimately. Hugs, pecks on the cheek, pats on the back; that was it. The way she’d been raised, males and females who were platonic friends didn’t touch each other inappropriately. Mason knew and respected that.

She couldn’t look at his face. Instead, she studied her hands, so small against the wide expanse of his chest. Her one hand curved over his developed pec. She only had to move just a smidgeon to scrape the nail of her pinky over his nipple.

Then he was growling, a low rumbling noise, using his tight grip on her hips to pull her closer and crowd her against the counter. He shoved one hand into her hair, tilted her head and lowered his lips to hers.

All she could think was that she no longer needed to wonder if he desired her. He didn’t bother with an exploratory foray or gentle teasing. He kissed her as if they’d been kissing for years, as if he had an absolute right to her lips and her mouth. It was hot and carnal, his mouth open on hers, his tongue stroking against hers and inside. When she twined her arms around his neck and sank into him, he made a rough noise and captured the zipper on her hoodie. One quick tug had it undone, and then it was like her shirt just magically undid itself of its buttons for him as well. He pushed it to the side with rough impatience until her breast filled his hand.

When he pinched her nipple, Leyla figured she was pretty much done for. Her breasts were sensitive, but Mason touched her with just the perfect amount of pressure. She arched her back and whimpered into his mouth. God, she wanted more.

He ripped his mouth away and studied her with hot eyes. She knew what she would see if she glanced down at herself right then. Tousled hair, unbuttoned top, her right breast plumped up by his hand, her nipple long and tight. She didn’t want to look down at herself. The reality would force her brain back into action. There was a certain comfort and simplicity in letting one’s vagina do the talking. “Mason, please…”

Slashes of red crested Mason’s high cheekbones. “You’re so beautiful.” He dipped his head, pulling her nipple into the wet cavern of his mouth.

If she’d thought that Mason knew how to touch a nipple, that was nothing compared to how well he could suck one. He was a freakin’ maestro of the nipple, suckling hard and fast, teasing her with light flicks of his tongue. She looked down at his blond head against her skin. Instantly, doubts and worries crept into her mind. She shut her eyes and they faded. She didn’t want to think. Just feel.

He drew away from her nipple. “One day, I want to spend just an hour or two sucking your breasts. Will you let me do that?”

What was a girl supposed to say to that? Yes please? She nodded, since she really couldn’t think of anything she’d rather have at that moment.

“Good.” He flicked his nail against the wet tip of her breast and she shuddered. His eyes narrowed. “Are you close? Already?”

“Mason, I need…”

“Don’t worry. I know.”

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