Читать книгу Pleasure To The Max! - Cami Dalton, Cami Dalton - Страница 12

CASSIE STARED MUTELY at the very embodiment of her fantasy, wondering if she should scream in terror or knock him out before he could escape. Holy…The lover’s box really worked.

Yeesh. Even barely able to see him, his looks had her blushing hard enough to pass out. Yes, indeedy, the man certainly fit the from a superior race of godlike beings part of her description, and the phrase Come to Mama…flitted through Cassie’s mind.

This vaguely surprised her since it would be more in character for her to start kicking herself for requesting someone so far out of her league. But she didn’t feel like worrying about the sudden silence of the voice inside her head that liked to keep a running monologue of Cassie’s faults, her past failures and the deadly combination of the two that seemed to make her constantly repeat them. Besides, the proper response to such masculine beauty brought via Gypsy magic to satisfy her carnal demands was the happy dance. She felt like jumping around the room and singing, “I get to do him, I get to do him.” She restrained herself, just barely.

Instead, she took a big gulp of air. She’d sort of forgotten to breathe. She’d also forgotten that she was wearing a towel, and only remembered when she felt it heading south. She wriggled, trying to save the darn thing.

At her movement, the man’s eyes went wide and he dropped his light. The room was thrown completely into darkness and the sound of his cursing floated in the air. Now that she couldn’t see him, she tried to drag her thoughts back to reality, frantically telling herself that only a complete idiot would believe her stupid fantasy had anything to do with this freakishly attractive burglar. Her brain was having none of it.

She also decided that she couldn’t stand here all night. She either needed to call the cops or have sex with him. She also needed to speak, say something, to figure out what the heck was going on.

And then his light came back on, and that’s when she noticed that besides possibly being the sexiest man in existence, completely conjured for her own personal enjoyment, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He’d wrapped it around his hand, a few slivers of glass clinging to the fabric.

If she’d been staring at him before, her eyes were now devouring him. Perfection. Pure male perfection. Ripped and cut without any of that pesky body-builder bulk. All right. Who the hell was this guy? If the lover’s box had worked, then it was time for him to get busy doing the job he’d been brought here for, chop-chop. If not, then she needed to screw him before he could figure out where the exits were.

Scanning every golden inch of his exposed skin, she suddenly noticed something was missing and before she could stop herself blurted, “You don’t have a tattoo.” Okay, so she sounded panicked. That’s only because she was.

His head jerked back, and he said, “I beg your pardon?”

“A tattoo. I can’t see one.” Cassie felt like a complete yahoo but if Adonis here didn’t have a tattoo, then the lover’s box couldn’t be what had delivered him to her house in the middle of the night. No-o-o-o-o! She was just about to throw herself down on the floor and wail at the unfairness of it all, when she saw that he was unbuttoning his pants.

“Uh…what are you doing?”

He grinned and her knees practically buckled. Yikes, the man had it going on. “You want to see my tattoo, right?”

Cassie nodded dumbly.

“Then I need to open my pants.”

And while Cassie opened her mouth to object, somehow the words, “Give me the flashlight. You’ll need your hands free,” came out instead, and she didn’t know which of them was more shocked.

He stilled, closed his eyes for a second, then handed her the light and went back to work on his zipper.

Well, this was certainly progressing nicely. It was all she could do not to yell out, Thank you, Minerva. Or wiggle the light and tell him to hurry up.

With the beam from the flashlight trained on the widening V of fabric at his fly as if he were a prisoner under police interrogation, she watched as dark lines of ink drawn into the writhing coils of a serpent, or maybe a dragon, arched over his hip bone. Cassie whimpered. Yep. It was a killer tattoo. Just as she’d written in her journal. Well, that settled that. The lover’s box worked, and his ass was hers. Yippee!

She suddenly felt light-headed. Her mouth went dry and with each more inch that she could see of the beautiful design on his skin, the sensation grew stronger. Beneath her towel, the tiny gold key decorating her nipple became almost hot. She gasped, the tip of her breast an erotic burn. Something was happening.

His fly was halfway open, and his pants were pulled down on one side to show his hip bone. He stopped his striptease a heartbeat before he gave her the money shot and ran his finger over the portion of the tattoo he’d exposed. Cassie swallowed. The artwork looked almost alive, caressing his flesh.

He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it, then said, “This is so weird.”

“You’re telling me,” she mumbled.

“No, I mean, it feels hot. My tattoo.” At his words the tiny key at her nipple gave a responding pulse of heat.

“Oh,” she gasped. She closed her eyes and swayed. She started to reach out to, well, grab him and jump his bones, but pulled the motion short. What was wrong with her? As much as she wanted to frog-march him upstairs to her bedroom and put him to work, she knew this wasn’t right. Surely the man didn’t just go throwing himself through glass windows whenever he felt horny. The lover’s box had done this to him and it was her fault. She was taking advantage of the poor genetically superior thing. Great, in one evening, she’d gone from desperate to sexual predator.

This didn’t upset her nearly as much as she knew it should.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to take a step backward, trying to put a little distance between them. She had no flipping idea what to say. Hello? How are you? I’m sorry that Gypsy magic brought you here tonight to satisfy my insatiable sexual demands?

Mercifully, he spoke, sparing her the first conversational gambit. He must have noticed her step backward, because he lifted his hands and said in the sort of voice used to talk a jumper down from a ledge, “Everything’s cool. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cassie figured that whimpering out, “Hurt me, baby, hurt me,” would be completely inappropriate and kept her big yap shut.

Besides, the only thing she was afraid of at the moment was her bizarre lack of anxiety or fear. Sure, she was a bit flustered, but what female wouldn’t be if faced with the sort of pulling power this guy radiated in waves. Heck, he was his own magnetic field. He’d make a dominatrix feel gauche.

What on earth had she written in her darn journal? Truthfully, she couldn’t drum up an ounce of concern. She knew because she’d tried, and if this is what people meant when they talked about being comfortable with themselves and their surroundings, then this self-confidence crap was some heady stuff. Like a year’s worth of therapy with a Prozac chaser.

Okay, under normal circumstances, a person would run and call 9-1-1. (That was so-o-o-o not going to happen.) Or at the very least, ask a couple of questions, like, What the hell are you doing here? At this point she didn’t have much of a conscience to wrestle with in order to justify wild, pagan coupling with a complete stranger, but making sure that he knew where he was and why he was here seemed like the least she could do before she had her wicked way with him.

Cassie cleared her throat. “What’s going on? I mean, is there a reason you broke my window instead of knocking on the front door?”

“YES.” IT WAS THE BEST Max could manage.

He opened his mouth, still drew a blank, then closed it. Okay. This sucked. Badly. He’d finally met the lust of his life and he couldn’t think of a single lame-ass excuse for why he’d broken into the place. Usually he was the high king of BS but his silver tongue was too busy imagining how great it would feel rubbing and flicking against her own to fall back into his regular brand of shinola.

Truthfully, now that he’d clapped eyes on the curvy bundle of bliss before him, he didn’t give a flying flip about Rajko’s box. He’d get to it later, the whole treasure thing taking a major backseat to his new reason for breathing—slipping up the siren’s skimpy towel, then slipping up inside her. It was as if the second he’d seen her someone had waved the ultimate relic, like the Holy Grail or the exact GPS location of Atlantis, right under his nose.

Cocky as it sounded, Max had bedded more women than any one man should be allowed to, and he could honestly say that he’d never wanted to bump friendlies with a particular female so much in his life. Damn. His whole body was one massive, pounding urge. He wanted her. And he meant wanted her. Right now. But he needed to play it cool. Not totally scare her off before he got his hands, and a few other parts, all over her.

So far, she hadn’t run screaming from the room. Definitely a mark in the positive column. He just had to figure out a way to get her onboard with the program before he died from the most rapid onset of acute blue balls in the history of mankind.

“Oh, well then…” She’d let the silence stretch interminably as she’d waited for him to continue, and clearly didn’t know how to take his one-word answer. Since nothing sprang to mind that wouldn’t get his face slapped, he was sticking with his brief response. She added, “That’s good, I guess.”

She seemed pretty mind-whacked herself, because the only thing she did was give him a look that was one part dazed, one part confused and one part I-could-eat-you-for-days-and-never-get-enough. Obviously, it was this last one that he needed to cozy up to. But how, without freaking her right the hell out…?

All right. He was not without assets. As soon as he’d been old enough to realize that boys had tallywackers and girls didn’t, he’d also noticed that the poor tallywackerless side of the species seemed to be mighty partial to the way God had made him. Had he mentioned that he was a lucky son of a bitch?

She’d also shown an unholy interest in his tattoo, which he was prepared to exploit mercilessly.

While he’d been trying to figure out a way to suavely approach her and hold her still long enough to rock their worlds, she’d gone back to staring at the heart of the dragon. And he didn’t mean that as a euphemism. The dragon’s chest happened to be the part of his tatt that twisted over his hip, and where her gaze seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

Excellent. He could work with this, he thought, and his libido gave him a high-five. He shifted his weight. His cargo pants cooperated and slipped to his pubic bone.

Her lashes hit her eyebrows, and she leaned closer. That’s it, sweetheart, he said to himself, keeping a silent dialogue running. I’ve got something you definitely want to see. And touch. And wrap those little rosebud lips around.

She had to be almost a foot shorter than him, and when she bent forward, he got a clear shot right down the front of her towel. Beads of sweat popped out across his skin. Damn, she was a tiny little thing. Well, height-wise, that was. She was perfectly, fuckably proportioned everywhere else, both above and below her waist. A pocket-size Venus, with the longest stems he’d ever seen on someone so dang diminutive. He loved it. Made him feel macho as hell. All Viking marauder, and crap. Not a vibe he’d ever gone for until he’d spotted Miss Petite Playmate, but now, it flat-out did it for him.

She licked her Cupid’s-bow mouth and lifted up onto her toes as if she were trying to peer down the open fly of his pants. The dragon sent a pulse of heat that throbbed everywhere it touched his skin, absolutely erotic and some majorly freaky shit, all at the same time.

Yep, this was so weird, and he gave not a rat’s ass, just plain thrilled to be here. He could barely even think about the Gypsy king’s treasure and it seemed ridiculous to him that he had ever wanted anything besides this woman.

She made a startled sound and her hand flew to her right breast, her palm pressing the terry cloth to her chest. Then she mumbled, “Why does that keep happening?”

“Why does what keep happening?” he asked, then let out a hiss of air. He slid his hand to his tatt, rubbing the orgasm-inducing spike in temperature. It was a lucky coincidence that this kept her attention exactly where he wanted it. “Damn, that’s hot.”

She gave a little start. “You feel it, too?”

He made a hum of agreement and sidled closer, playing off her distraction. His shirt was still wrapped around his wrist, and he flung it aside. Afraid that he was a nanosecond away from going berserk and consuming her whole, he huffed out a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair.

Now his scalp stung and he still didn’t have an ounce of control. The tiny beauty followed the movement as if mesmerized. She clearly had a thing for his hair, too. Good. If it wouldn’t have made him feel like a total dork, he’d have flipped the stuff in her face and hoped for the best.

“Oh, I’m feeling it all right. How about you?” He hardly knew what he was saying. She was only a handbreadth away and it was killing him. He hesitated, for the first time in his life afraid of blowing what had suddenly become the most important thing in his existence. He needed her to make the first move. Or at least give him some clue, some small signal that would give him the green light.

Then she reached out and ran her fingers over the lines of his tattoo, following the jut of his hip bone. Yep, that’s what he’d been waiting for. He grabbed hold of her waist, his hands damn near meeting around the delicious curve, and maneuvered her until her back hit the asinine water buffalo in the middle of the shop. His lungs were heaving and his heart was a beat away from breaking through his sternum. He stared into her huge Bambi eyes. It was too dark to be sure of their color, but they seemed to be the same deep, warm shade of honey as the pieces of hair slipping from the knot on top of her head.

“This is going to sound crazy. But I have to. I mean, you have to let me—” He broke off and shook his head. He was stuttering. He’d lost it. Big-time. “I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to,” he tried to assure her. “But I can’t wait, and—”

She reached up and grabbed two handfuls of his hair, the flashlight that she still held clunking the side of his head, then said, “Kiss me. Please…”

Max groaned out, “Thank God,” and did exactly as the lady requested. He licked deep into her mouth, chills spreading across his skin. He could have gotten off on her kiss alone. His cock felt like a living thing down the leg of his pants, straining and pushing against the fabric.

But she broke off aeons too soon, panting out, “You’re sure that you’re okay with this? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

He frowned down at her. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. But I’m willing to beg, here. We on the same page?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes…” Pulling him back into the kiss, she let the flashlight drop to the floor. It hit the carpet with a muffled thump, then flicked out. Moonlight poured through the windows in the room, brighter than he remembered it being before.

With an enthusiasm that matched his own, her hands started to move, running over his shoulders and arms. Just looking at her was like hours of amazing foreplay slammed into seconds. Her touch was freakin’ overkill. He leaned in to her, trying to stop his muscles from trembling, but this only made it far, far worse. Steam was going to start rising off him. He undid the clip in her hair, sending the silken mass tumbling around her shoulders.

He pressed his face to her neck. “You smell like flowers and honey. Good. So good.”

Her hands slipped lower, finding his tattoo again, and if the damn thing could have growled, it would have. Instead, he did, the sound an animal rumble.

“What is it? A snake?” she asked, still clearly fascinated with his ink job.

“Dragon,” he answered, and she practically oohed in approval. “I got it years ago in Thailand—” He broke off, realizing that he’d progressed to full out babbling. And now was in no way the time for trivial details since he had a much better get-to-know-ya scheme in mind.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, running her palm along the design, though, from her angle, there was no way she could see it. She was probably following the warmth. He had a regular bonfire going on down there. A couple of them.

“And big…” Her voice was sluggish, blissed out.

He muttered, “It’s not the only big thing down there.” Corny, he admitted, but he was a guy, and he was beyond eloquent wordplay at this point. “You can look later. As much as you want. Promise.”

She leaned back, making helpless little writhing movements. He had about ten seconds here, twenty tops, before he was gone. Completely. Past the point of no return. “Do you want me? Are you cool with this?” If she said no, he had no idea what he’d do. Possibly kill something. Or cry.

She let out a laugh, husky and erotic. The sound shot straight to his groin. As if that area needed more excitement. “Want you? Of course I want you. You’re exactly what I asked for. You’re perfect.”

He started to tilt his head at the “asked for” part of her revelation, but was quickly sidetracked by her overall meaning. He could hardly get out the jumble of words. “Good. You can have me. Every way you can think of. As long as it’s soon. Very, very soon.”

Her towel slipped and she bit her lip. Her right breast popped free and moonlight glittered from the little ring at her nipple. Something dangled from the bottom curve of the hoop, and she covered it with her fingers as if to relieve an ache.

An extra heartbeat started pounding in his cock, his entire length swelling beyond any previous limits. Her nipple ring was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

She moaned. “Warm…so warm. I’m on fire.”

His voice hoarse, he said, “You’re not the only one.” Puff, the now-magical dragon, sent an answering wash of flame along his hip. Oh, yeah, this was so flipping weird. And he loved it. Abso-fucking-lutely loved it.

He lowered her arm, then lowered his lips. “Here, let me help you.” He gave a gentle swipe of his tongue, tasting her nipple and the tiny piece of jewelry. It was like licking melted sugar. He sucked the hoop between his teeth, tugging softly. The ring and the little charm were surprisingly hot, erotically searing the inside of his mouth and setting his blood to a rapid boil.

She arched into him. “More…. Do it more….”

He sucked harder, flicking his tongue back and forth across the ring, playing and worrying it, following her gasps and chasing every cry of pleasure groaning from her throat.

Meanwhile, she was busily working her own agenda. Her splayed hands had staked an unholy claim on his stomach, seemingly content to hang out indefinitely and drive him right from his skin. She rubbed the bands of muscles, appearing particularly thrilled with the diagonal obliques that pointed toward his groin. Up and down, over and back, she stroked and caressed until his eyes all but rolled back in his head. As she played there for the foreseeable future, causing the tissue beneath his skin to contract and jerk, he gave the towel a small pull and it dropped to her waist.

He let her nipple slip from his mouth with a soft thwip. He looked down at her breasts. The moon’s unusually bright glow spilled over the high, firm globes. Ridiculously lush and plump, they were almost too big for her frame, her rib cage small in comparison. His hands trembled and he somehow managed to choke out a curse. “I swear you have the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen. I could look at them forever and never get tired.”

Max winced, unable to believe he’d said that out loud. He’d sounded about sixteen, except more crass. But he wasn’t going to lie. Her body plain floored him, in the best possible way.

She stilled, though her breath started soughing a mile a minute. “Do you really mean that?”

He gave a rueful laugh. “Uh, yeah. Every word.” Lord, he was such an ass.

Though, bizarrely, she appeared to be more thrilled than if he’d spouted the most romantic of love poems. Damn. She just kept getting more and more perfect. But why? Why would such a beautiful, beyond sexy woman act surprised? She had to have heard the sentiment from every man who’d ever been lucky enough to see her.

However, he wasn’t exactly in the frame of mind to ponder mysteries and was immediately distracted by the most effective diversionary tactic he’d ever witnessed. She cupped her breasts and lifted them in her palms. They didn’t need the support, since the plump pair were a gravity-defying miracle all on their own, but this was the equivalent of offering them up to him on a platter. Permission and invitation to take his pleasure from her body.

“Don’t you still want me?”

A low buzz started in his muscles, vibrating down to the bone. His nostrils flared. “Uh-huh. But in one more second I won’t be able to stop. I’ve never wanted a woman so much. It’s like I have to have you and if I don’t…” he shook his head “—well, that would be bad…really, really bad….”

This time, after he spoke, she all but beamed up at him. It was unfathomable to him that she had doubts about her desirability since mere moments in her presence had him acting completely out of character. Max was a seducer, not a taker. And if she didn’t let him take her soon, he had no doubt that he would add beggar and pleader to his new set of skills.

It certainly wasn’t the voice of a slick player that rasped, “So, um, we’re cool, right? I mean, we’re feeling the same vibe?”