Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out (13 page)

Warning screamed through his brain.

Boone needed to break this off—now—and get the hell out of dodge. Lock himself in his room, maybe in the shower and turn the water on—screw a
cold
shower. He’d skip straight to ice. If he was smart, that was what he’d do.

He told himself he’d do just that.

But her mouth…

It was soft. Soft and hesitant, brushing against his so quick and light, it could have been the touch of a butterfly wing. If she’d left it right there, maybe, just maybe, he could have finished this torturously slow parody of dance, gotten away from the soft elegance of her body and ended the night with a cold shower.

Except she did it again and the kiss was a little firmer this time.

He was in trouble.

Without even realizing it, he’d maneuvered them to the far edge of the dance floor and if there was any privacy in the place at all, it was here. The doors opened onto a deck and just as she would have kissed him a second time, he pulled away.

He registered the dazed look in her eyes even as he caught her hand. She had started to turn away but when he pulled her through the doors out onto the deck, she followed.

The part of his brain that was still sane wanted to yell at her. She’d just followed a man she didn’t know outside, just followed a man she didn’t know into the darkness where only a few other couples were lingering, and they were doing the same thing he was getting ready to do—take advantage of the dim light and the solitude.

But the part of his brain that was dying for a real taste of her was in control and he led her to the farthest, darkest corner and tugged her back up against him. A startled breath escaped her—he caught it with his mouth and then, because it had been driving him crazy, he tugged at her upper lip with his teeth. She had a top heavy mouth, the upper lip just slightly fuller than the lower one and he should have known

he’d end up kissing her at least once tonight.

Her mouth parted under his and he pulled her tighter against him, not even bothering to keep up with the pretense of dancing anymore. He had the presence of mind to guide her hands up to his neck, to keep them from the gun he’d tucked into a custom holster tucked under his left arm, hidden by the flannel he wore half buttoned over a white shirt. He’d guided her hands the same way when they danced, but if this kept up…

Fuck it
. He took advantage of her parted lips and stole inside, the taste of her hitting his system with explosive force.

Groaning, he backed her up against the fence surrounding the deck. He kept his left arm secure around waist, forcing her to keep her right arm where it was, around his neck while her other hand fisted in the front of his flannel shirt.

It wasn’t enough—Boone wanted to feel her hands on him, skin to skin. Would her hands be as soft and smooth as she was everywhere else? He was dying to find out.

And because he all but saw himself stripping his shirt open, guiding her hand down to his chest…lower, he broke the kiss off.

Sloane’s head was spinning.

Her skin felt hot, tight and so sensitive, even the light brush of air of her bare skin and shoulders seemed erotic.

When he lifted his head, she didn’t know whether she wanted to drag him back to her or shove him away and take off running. What she did was press her head to his chest and suck in much needed air.

“We need to stop,” he said, his voice starting as a rumble deep down in his chest.

She went to nod.

But the feel of his fingers playing along the length of her spine distracted her and she just shuddered instead.

“I’m already tempted to drag you to the hotel as it is.”

The gruff tone of his voice had her shivering—and his words made her knees week.

Calm, rational Sloane Redding knew the right thing to do was

exactly what he’d suggested. Stop. She didn’t do this—dance with

strangers, kiss them in dark, shadowy corners or make out with them where almost anybody could see.

Smoothing a hand down his chest, she felt the muscles of his stomach bunch under her hand.

His hand went to her hip, gripping tight. “Sugar, we need to…”

She turned her head into his neck and pressed a kiss there.

He swore and tangled a fist in her hair, dragging her head back as he kissed her, hard and fast, shoving one knee between her thighs. It forced her already short skirt up into indecent territory and she didn’t care. Sensation blistered through her at the feel of his denim-clad thigh rubbing against her bare ones and then, the hand on her hip dragged her closer, closer—her silky panties dragged over her.

Every muscle inside her tightened and she clutched at him, near desperation fueling her.

“
Fuck
.” It was a harsh growl against her lips and then she was standing on wobbling legs and he was two feet away from her.

He held out a hand. “This is insane. I’m at the hotel across the street. Do you want to leave?”

The words were delivered in a calm, level voice, as though he was asking her the time of day, or if she knew if it would rain tomorrow. And his eyes were glittering, harsh flags of color riding on his cheekbones.

Calm, rational Sloane was shouting up at her.
Say no! Say no! Go inside. Right now!

She put her hand in his and told calm, rational Sloane to go to hell.

• • •

Instinct told him to hurry her out of the bar, into his room, and out of her clothes.

Instead, he kept to a slow, easy pace, his hand on the small of her back. She walked with him, her shoulders back, head up. And every once in a while, she shuddered. As he kept dragging his thumb over her naked skin, he wanted to think those shudders were because of him but as they were crossing the street, he said softly, “Are you

cold?”

“No.”

He nodded.

And that was all they said.

Even once he closed the door behind him, that silence lingered—right up until he went to turn the light on.

“Can you—” Her voice tripped.

He lowered his hand from the switch on the wall, the nerves in her voice as clear as if they’d been written on her face.

“The lights can stay off,” he said. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Wait here a minute.”

He stripped off his flannel and dealt with the holster and the Glock M17 he used as his personal weapon, tucking them under the bag he’d dropped near the head of the bed. He could still get to it if he needed it.

Not that it was likely. If that was likely, he wouldn’t be here. He took a few more seconds to deal with the secondary weapon he wore at his ankle and the two knives before he returned to her.

It had taken a few moments more than the promised minute and when he returned to her, it was to catch her face in his hands, press his mouth to hers. He hovered there, though, just a breath away, a question lingering just there, on the tip of his tongue—it was a need almost as strong as the need he had to kiss her.

He didn’t let himself ask, though, and instead, he rubbed his mouth over hers, licked his tongue along the seam and waited for her to open for him.

By some unspoken mutual agreement, neither of them seemed willing to ask the other’s name. Boone wanted to know hers, even wanted her to know his, simply because he wanted to hear her moaning it as he drove himself inside her.

But in the morning, when he slid out of the bed and left, he wanted to just walk away—wanted this to be nothing more than what it already was.

A night they both seemed to need.

No names, in the end, was probably better.

And he didn’t need to hear his name on her lips to make her moan for him.

The brief walk from the bar to here had taken only a few minutes. Those few minutes hadn’t done a damn thing to ease the ache in his cock, or cool the fire in blood.

But he kept his movements slow. As he pinned her up against the door, hands over her head, he studied her face. It was dark, but he’d spent years working in situations with less light than this. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but he could see the sweep of her lashes, the way she caught her lip between her teeth, the erratic rise and fall of her chest.

“Change your mind?” he murmured, pressing his mouth to her ear. If she had, he might just have to dump some ice over his head, in addition to the cold shower.

“No.” She cleared her throat and then, with a bluntness that surprised him, she added, “I have condoms in my purse.”

He straightened, staring down at her.

Hell.
She
was thinking more clearly than he was. His brain hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

Reaching out, he traced his finger along the low neckline of her dress. It was hot, vivid red and it had lured him in at the bar, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. The entire dress looked to be a series of criss-crossing strips of fabric, fitting her like a glove, drawing attention to the narrow waist and the generous swell of her hip. He traced one of the mock strips of fabric to the midline of her body, then down to the hem where he toyed with it.

“How many?”

She blinked at him. “How many what?”

Leaning back in, Boone braced his free arm over her head and murmured against her ear, “How many condoms? I can already tell you right now that one isn’t going to be enough.”

“Oh.” It came out in a shaky sigh. “Um…a couple?”

“That’s a start.” He spread his palm flat on her thigh, dragging the hem of her snug skirt up as he went. When his fingers touched the

lacy edge of her panties, a sharp exhalation escaped her.

He traced a lazy pattern, still watching her in the low light. Her eyes were closed, her breathing sharply erratic and when he slid his hand between her thighs, a choked noise escaped her and she bit her lip to hold the sound inside.

She was already wet. He could feel it through her panties and when he rubbed the damp silk over her, her entire body trembled. Another sound left her and again, she swallowed it down.

He pressed his mouth to her ear.

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop what?”

He circled the hard nub he could feel through the scrap of material that hid her from him and when she muffled the sound again, he said, “
That
—I want to hear every noise you make and I want to hear what I make you feel. Sometime very soon, you’re going to be under me and I plan on hearing you moaning when you come for me.”

He slid his hand lower as he spoke and pressed against her, the tip of his finger just barely entering her, the wet silk of her underwear no barrier at all.

Her thighs tightened around his hand and a harsh noise rose in her throat.

But this time, as she struggled to muffle it, Boone didn’t even notice. He was too busy swearing and crooning against her ear when she climaxed.

Sloane had had orgasms before.

Not with Rodney.

She’d figured out soon enough that he’d done her a favor when their marriage hadn’t happened—despite the humiliation. But she’d only mildly enjoyed kissing him.

Sex with him?

Not even worth thinking about.

But once she got over the embarrassment of it, he’d figured out how to make herself climax. No matter what Rodney had said to her the one time she’d tried to confront him,
she
didn’t have a problem.

She wasn’t cold.

She could orgasm and she was almost certain if she could just find the right guy, sex would even be something…pleasant.

She’d been wrong.

This
wasn’t pleasant. Pleasant was ice cream on a hot summer day. Pleasant was a good book and a glass of wine. This was…divine.

And they hadn’t even had sex—yet.

She was trembling against the door with him standing over her, one arm braced on the door beside her head and his mouth against her ear. And he had his other hand between her thighs.

The silk of her underwear rubbed over her clitoris and she shivered.

He hadn’t even put his hand
in
her panties and he’d made her climax.

“Where’s your purse?”

His voice, the low, rough timbre of it, made her shiver and her mouth went dry thinking about what he’d said.
I plan on hearing you moaning when you come for me.

His teeth nipped her ear—just hard enough that she gasped. “What?”

“Your purse.”

“My purse?”

He lifted his head and although all she could make out was the shadow of him, she had the weirdest idea he could see her—too much of her. “Why do you need my purse?”

He ground his hand lightly against her and the sensation sent another ripple through her. She thought she might climax again. Right there.