now.
The problem, she eventually realized, was that her lips and tongue were already busy—busy kissing Carl back as hard as he was kissing her.
Chapter 6
Danielle brushed her hand down Carl's naked chest.
Now how had that happened? Her mind whirled with the past minute's activities: a simple good night kiss at the door. Then a frantic search for the key.
Oh, yes. Memory returned with a hot flush of embarrassment. She'd grabbed Carl and physically dragged him into her bedroom, torn his shirt from his broad chest, and buried her face in the pure maleness of it.
If she was clueless, Carl seemed to know exactly what he was doing.
He nibbled down the side of her neck sending delicious shivers rocketing through her body. His large strong hands held her firmly, let her believe that she was protected despite a lifetime's experience that she could never truly be safe.
She sighed and leaned against him. All of her training, all of her reasoning told her not to let down her defenses, not to let Carl do more. He was her herd, off limits. He was male and therefore risky. He was impaired and therefore a killer.
Yet she could do nothing. Rational thought yammered away inside her, ignored and muted as if locked in a nearly soundproof room. Danielle's reaction to Carl was driven by something more primal than logic.
His hands left trails of liquid fire behind them, left her panting with burning desire and need. He stroked her back and she purred like a cat.
"If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he warned.
His tone should have frightened her beyond thought, but she was way beyond thought already. Way beyond fear. Instead, the knowledge that she excited him this much, that she drove him past his ironclad control, made her feel powerful, desirable.
"I've waited too long already,” she answered. Her hands fumbled at his belt.
He groaned with need, then grasped both sides of her silk blouse and pulled.
Silk may be thin, but it's incredibly strong. Against the power of Carl's grasp, her blouse disintegrated as if it were made of rotten cotton.
She brought up her hands to cover her breasts, but he caught both her arms in one of hand, holding her immobilized while he lowered his lips to the exposed tip of one breast.
The touch of his hands had been fire. The hardness of his teeth as they grasped her nipple, the warm touch of his tongue against its very tip, raised her heat to levels of pleasure that she had never imagined.
She took advantage of his distraction to free her hands from his grasp and reach, again, for that hard bulge.
Carl laughed, pulled away, then peeled her from her pants as if they weren't even there, left her standing naked and exposed in front of him.
His eyes gleamed with passion as he admired her, his hands everywhere, stroking, touching. His lips following with gentle kisses and firm nibbles.
"You too,” she urged. “I want you naked."
"Soon."
He picked her up and put her on the bed, then slid beside her.
One of his hands brushed against her sensual folds and she responded with a liquid surge.
"Don't torture me,” she urged. “Hurry."
"You've been torturing me for weeks,” Carl answered. “It's turn-around time."
She hadn't been a deliberate tease, even when she'd worn skimpy workout attire in Carl's presence. But she had noticed the way he looked at her. Had savored the knowledge that he desired her.
Slowly, deliciously, he slid a finger into her, then brushed his thumb against her sensitive nub.
She moaned, again pressing herself against him. She didn't need artful lovemaking. She needed to be taken, to be ridden hard, to find release. But Carl's touch sapped her protest, tore her between the urge to sink back and savor the pleasure and the need to feel Carl inside of her, driving toward their fulfillment.
His belt buckle finally gave way against her probing hands and she seized the evidence of his hunger.
"Two can play at this game,” she breathed as she squeezed down hard on his
The problem, she eventually realized, was that her lips and tongue were already busy—busy kissing Carl back as hard as he was kissing her.
Chapter 6
Danielle brushed her hand down Carl's naked chest.
Now how had that happened? Her mind whirled with the past minute's activities: a simple good night kiss at the door. Then a frantic search for the key.
Oh, yes. Memory returned with a hot flush of embarrassment. She'd grabbed Carl and physically dragged him into her bedroom, torn his shirt from his broad chest, and buried her face in the pure maleness of it.
If she was clueless, Carl seemed to know exactly what he was doing.
He nibbled down the side of her neck sending delicious shivers rocketing through her body. His large strong hands held her firmly, let her believe that she was protected despite a lifetime's experience that she could never truly be safe.
She sighed and leaned against him. All of her training, all of her reasoning told her not to let down her defenses, not to let Carl do more. He was her herd, off limits. He was male and therefore risky. He was impaired and therefore a killer.
Yet she could do nothing. Rational thought yammered away inside her, ignored and muted as if locked in a nearly soundproof room. Danielle's reaction to Carl was driven by something more primal than logic.
His hands left trails of liquid fire behind them, left her panting with burning desire and need. He stroked her back and she purred like a cat.
"If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he warned.
His tone should have frightened her beyond thought, but she was way beyond thought already. Way beyond fear. Instead, the knowledge that she excited him this much, that she drove him past his ironclad control, made her feel powerful, desirable.
"I've waited too long already,” she answered. Her hands fumbled at his belt.
He groaned with need, then grasped both sides of her silk blouse and pulled.
Silk may be thin, but it's incredibly strong. Against the power of Carl's grasp, her blouse disintegrated as if it were made of rotten cotton.
She brought up her hands to cover her breasts, but he caught both her arms in one of hand, holding her immobilized while he lowered his lips to the exposed tip of one breast.
The touch of his hands had been fire. The hardness of his teeth as they grasped her nipple, the warm touch of his tongue against its very tip, raised her heat to levels of pleasure that she had never imagined.
She took advantage of his distraction to free her hands from his grasp and reach, again, for that hard bulge.
Carl laughed, pulled away, then peeled her from her pants as if they weren't even there, left her standing naked and exposed in front of him.
His eyes gleamed with passion as he admired her, his hands everywhere, stroking, touching. His lips following with gentle kisses and firm nibbles.
"You too,” she urged. “I want you naked."
"Soon."
He picked her up and put her on the bed, then slid beside her.
One of his hands brushed against her sensual folds and she responded with a liquid surge.
"Don't torture me,” she urged. “Hurry."
"You've been torturing me for weeks,” Carl answered. “It's turn-around time."
She hadn't been a deliberate tease, even when she'd worn skimpy workout attire in Carl's presence. But she had noticed the way he looked at her. Had savored the knowledge that he desired her.
Slowly, deliciously, he slid a finger into her, then brushed his thumb against her sensitive nub.
She moaned, again pressing herself against him. She didn't need artful lovemaking. She needed to be taken, to be ridden hard, to find release. But Carl's touch sapped her protest, tore her between the urge to sink back and savor the pleasure and the need to feel Carl inside of her, driving toward their fulfillment.
His belt buckle finally gave way against her probing hands and she seized the evidence of his hunger.
"Two can play at this game,” she breathed as she squeezed down hard on his
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