Читать книгу The Naughty List Bundle with The Night Before Christmas & Yule Be Mine - Fern Michaels - Страница 15

He crushed his mouth to hers, and it only took the breadth of a single heartbeat for her to respond. She grabbed him right back…and took him on fully, willingly, and completely.

One of them growled. She didn’t know which end was up, or down, and in that moment, didn’t much care.

Far too many things had happened that day. The very last thing she needed to do was complicate an already seriously complicated situation by having anything more to do with him. Certainly that particular kind of anything.

Yet, it was the only thing she felt certain of. She wanted him. She might not be able to keep him, but with everything else she held dear up in the air…what she knew was that she wanted Griffin Gallagher. At that moment there wasn’t anything she could do about her shop, her future, or the choices that were to be made.

But there was most definitely something she could do about Griffin Gallagher. And, more to the point, with Griffin Gallagher.

He wasn’t the enemy any longer. He wasn’t her savior, either. She knew that. He was merely the harbinger of change. None of that mattered.

Melody couldn’t have described in any accurate detail how it was they managed to store cupcakes and cakes and get up the back stairs to her place over the shop.

She fully acknowledged the pure insanity of the moment. And simply didn’t care. Her whole life was on the brink of massive change. Again. Even if she decided to do nothing, her world was going to change. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do, what she wanted to do.

And there was Griffin. The man who was both refined class and raw energy, who was presently all but carrying her up the stairs over his shoulder, caveman style.

She stopped thinking about tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that, and grinned when he slid her down the front of his body in front of the door leading to her personal rooms. “I’ll warn you,” she said a bit breathlessly, “I keep my kitchens and store immaculate, but my personal space, not so much.”

He was kissing the side of her neck, nibbling her earlobe, making her gasp. “I’m no’ findin’ the least bit of anything wrong with your personal space,” he murmured as he continued his delicious journey along the sensitive skin beneath her ear, trailing kisses and nips down the side of her neck, pushing the heavy, starched collar of her chef’s coat off her shoulders so he could continue his quest.

Melody fumbled with the door handle behind her. She always locked the door at the bottom of the stairs, so this one was usually left open. The door swung in rather abruptly beneath their weight, and the two of them stumbled inside.

Normally she’d have been a bit mortified for someone she was interested in to see her place in its current condition. But Griffin wasn’t someone she would be seeing again, so what did it matter?

He certainly didn’t seem to be noticing. “Bedroom?”

She grunted and nodded her head in the general direction, as he stripped off the light blue, long-sleeved Henley she wore under her white jacket. She was trying to do much the same with his pale green button-down shirt.

“Small space,” he managed, as they tripped past the orange suede ottoman that sat in front of her stuffed, chenille-covered chair, then banged chins and calves on the small, wrought-iron base of her glass-top coffee table. They managed to squeeze by the couch without further damage, leaving clothing behind on the lush, floral-print arm at one end.

“I’m not up here much. I don’t need much room,” she panted.

Griffin lifted his head long enough to shoot her the most wicked grin. “Oh, but I do, luv.” Then he pushed her backward through her bedroom door, and all the way to her brass four-poster.

“Stepping stool,” she cautioned. The antique bed frame held her deep pillow-top mattress high up off the floor.

“Right,” he said, then merely tossed her gently into the middle of it as if she was lighter than a feather.

She let out a surprised laugh, which ended on a indrawn breath of anticipation as Griffin stepped onto the stool, and loomed over her.

“You’re a beautiful, beautiful woman, Melody Duncastle,” he said, simply standing there, taking in his fill of her.

Rather than make her feel uncomfortable or self-conscious, his words had her all but quivering with the need for him to get off the damn stool and put his hands on her.

She was wearing nothing more than a bra, hot pink drawstring surgical pants, which were her preference when putting in long hours in the kitchen, and whatever panties she’d pulled out of the drawer in the dark that morning. She didn’t even bother to look down to find out. She didn’t care.

He raked his gaze over her like a man starved for days who’d just been shown the buffet table. She was hoping he viewed it as an all-you-can-eat arrangement—she was feeling rather carnivorous herself.

“Are you going to stand there, or—”

“Or,” he said quite definitively. Rather than jump her, which she’d have been quite happy with—and expected, given their rather animalistic approach to things so far—he knelt down on the edge of the bed, and gently, slowly, tugged her loose pink pants down her legs, pushing her knees up so he could slide her pants and ankle socks off completely. He tossed those over his shoulder, the twinkling glint in his clear eyes making her shiver, though she didn’t feel the slightest bit of a chill. Quite the opposite. She felt like she was burning up from the inside out.

“Your turn,” she said, her voice quavering with need.

He shook his head, and lifted her foot up so it rested on his shoulder. His dress shirt hung open, and the white T-shirt he wore underneath clung to a frame that belied his career as a businessman and looked far more like that of the street tough she’d earlier imagined him to be. Had it only been that morning?

Her mouth watered, imagining what the smooth, taut muscles of his chest and shoulders would feel like—taste like—once she got him naked.

But he had other ideas. He turned his head just enough to kiss the sensitive skin of her ankle. Then he gently bit her instep before moving his mouth back along her ankle and up over her calf. She was shuddering in pleasure, quivering with each, individual, hot kiss, her hips already quaking.

Her skin felt like a mass of live wire endings, feeling his every touch like a tingling series of shock waves, every one of which pulsated straight to her core. As he worked his way closer to the inside of her knee, he shifted his weight more onto the bed, sliding her other calf over his thigh, as he continued to kneel between her legs.

His gaze found hers as he began to slowly lick and kiss his way up the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her hands were splayed beside her head, her nipples two exquisitely sensitized nubs rubbing at the fabric of her bra as he made her back arch again and again with his devilish assault.

He pushed her back up the bed, so he could stretch more fully between her thighs. He slid one hand up over her stomach, cupping one breast, catching and rolling the nipple between two of his fingers.

“Griffin,” she gasped, and would have arched violently against him, but the weight of his arm, and his shoulder pinning down her other thigh, kept her body right where he wanted it as he toyed with the elastic band of her panties.

“Are you ready for me, Melody?” he murmured against her thigh, not so much as taking a breath away from his steady decimation of her entire defense system.

“Do you…have…?” She’d had some thought in her head about protection, but that concern slipped away like mist, replaced only with thoughts of how the tip of his tongue, sliding along under the edge of her panties, was so close…and yet, so damn far away from—“Oh!” she gasped, then another, longer, almost groaning “oh” followed as his tongue slowly, torturously, found its mark.

She didn’t arch hard, but rolled her hips up to meet him, groaning deep inside her throat as the waves of pleasure washed over and through her, each one building to a higher and higher crescendo. He grunted his own encouragement, and continued making her move, dip, and sway beneath his oh-so-clever tongue. Then making her gasp and arch when he slid a finger into her, bearing her down onto the bed with the force of his flicking tongue, while he pushed.

She climbed up that last peak in a full rush, going straight over the edge, her body pulsing, almost convulsing under him. It didn’t stop. And he didn’t stop.

“Griffin, I can’t—you have to—”

“Shh,” he whispered, and his soft breath alone shot her straight up all over again. “Aye,” he said, between kisses “but ye can.”

He proved he was right. More than once.

Only when she was too limp to move, too satiated to do more than whimper when he finally slipped his finger out and moved his tongue away, did he slide off her panties, then move back off the bed himself.

She managed to roll her head to one side and watch him drop his own clothes to the floor. He was…magnificent. Modern-day gladiator was the description that came to mind. But then, she’d known he wouldn’t be anything but magnificent. Not that it would have mattered at that point, but looking at him roused her again, when she thought she’d be spent for hours, if not days.

“Do ye have any”—he glanced at the nightstand.

“Mmm,” she nodded, managing to make a vague motion with her hand, then watched with pure, unadulterated pleasure as he found a condom and rolled it on. She’d never thought the act a particularly sexy thing, but she’d had a very sudden change of heart.

When he climbed onto the bed, and over her, the look in his eyes made her feel purely female and utterly desirable. Her body was still humming with the delightful aftershocks of the very thorough attention he’d given to her.

As he moved over her, pulling one leg up and around him as he did, she arched to meet him, swamped with need all over again, before he’d so much as brushed against her.

“You are ready indeed for me,” he said, grinning as he pushed against her, even as he slid his hands over hers, weaving their fingers together, and pinning her most deliciously against the bed.

“So what are you waiting for?” she taunted, her breath coming in short pants of anticipation, her hips quaking a little under him.

“What, indeed?” he said. Without needing so much as a guiding hand, he found her easily and slid into her fully with one, smooth stroke.

She moaned, he growled in appreciation, and they immediately began to move. It wasn’t going to be some slow, carnal climb to mutual satisfaction. They’d exhausted any ability they had to do anything slowly with his intent, protracted seduction of her. She’d been compliant then, willing to let him set the pace, let him take his time. But she had little patience left. Even with the pulse-pounding ride he’d taken her on, he’d left her still quivering, still wanting. He was on top of her, inside her…and she was done following his lead.

As she’d anticipated from the first time he’d put his hands on her, their mating was raw, bordering on ferocious. As soon as she slid her hands from beneath his and took his face to yank his mouth to hers, he roared fully into her, losing any semblance of control.

Theirs was a needy, pounding mating. She gasped, he groaned, she screamed…and he came. It was glorious and intense and completely outside any realm of intimacy in which she’d ever indulged. In fact, no one had ever made her come alive like that. Certainly, no one had claimed her, ever.

But that was exactly how she felt, when he let himself rest his weight on top of her as he tried to find his breath. He started to move away moments later, but she slid her heels higher up his thighs and her arms around his neck. “I like this,” she whispered.

“Mmm,” was all he managed, but he stayed there a moment longer.

Would he simply roll off her now, she wondered? Get up, tell her it had been nice, and head out the door? Did he expect they’d do this again? How long would he be staying in town? Did she dare take up with him, knowing that one or both of them would be leaving Hamilton for good? Him for certain, which was all that mattered. She had no idea when he was planning on heading back to Ireland, but she knew enough to realize that she wasn’t cut out for playing games.

He kissed the side of her neck, her cheek, the bridge of her nose, and then gently, her lips, before he moved off her.

She was surprised by the gentleness, and by her accompanying prick of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, willing them away, so she could be all casual and unconcerned when he made his excuses. Instead he surprised her further by rolling her to his side and tucking her body up against his. She glanced at him, but his eyes were closed. He was toying with the hair on the back of her neck, urging her cheek down on his chest.

She fit naturally—too naturally—against him. It felt good. Okay, better than good, it felt bloody fantastic, she thought, smiling privately. She didn’t move away, or roll to the side of the bed and initiate his leaving. Although that would certainly have been the wisest thing to do. She’d worry later about the wisdom of drawing out the moment. She thought about the unexpected gentleness in him and snuggled closer, the motion purely instinctive.

For now, he was there, and he was hers.