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traitorous body responded that it liked him right there, too. In fact, it would like him even more if he took off his jeans and shifted his hips just a tad to the right, but her mind had the good sense to be outraged and indignant. If only it weren’t also struck temporarily dumb by the heavy, masculine, hot, sexy, orgasm-inducing feel of him.
    She swallowed hard.
    He traced the motion in her throat with his tongue, which made her swallow again, which made him trace again, and she figured she had maybe five more seconds before he reduced her to a quivering mass of goo.
    She cleared her throat and moaned when the sound made him stutter his tongue against the sensitive skin. Her hands pressed against his shoulders, and she mustered one last coherent protest. “Um, I really do need to be going. I have things I need to do.” He reached up and locked both of her wrists in one of his big hands. Then he used his tongue to investigate the hollow at the base of her throat and the smooth curves of her collarbone. “At four thirty in the morning? I don’t think so.”
    “Maybe I’m an early riser.”
    “I know I am. Wanna see?” He ground his erection against her and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.
    It took some doing not to be charmed by his sense of humor and his blatant sexuality. “No!”
    He grinned. “Liar.”
    She felt the blush rising in her cheeks. “What I want is for you to let me go.”
    “Why?”
    “Why?”
    “Yes. Why do you want me to let you go?”
    He looked down at her with his disconcerting green eyes, and Missy suddenly realized she really couldn’t remember why she felt so determined to leave when she still had fantasies he could be fulfilling. And he certainly wasn’t helping matters by rubbing his thumb gently against her wrists that he still held pinned above her head in an unbreakable grip.

    Christine Warren
    Fur Factor
    38
    She shrugged. “Why do you want to keep me?”
    The smile spreading across his face reminded her of sunrise and fallen angels and wicked, wicked intentions.
    “Silly question,” he growled, though it sounded more like a purr, as he brushed her crumpled clothes aside and bared her body once more to his gaze. She saw the light of appreciation in them and fought not to show how much she liked that he enjoyed looking at her.
    She tried to mold her expression into a scowl, but she knew it probably looked as forced as it felt. “Silly answer. I doubt very much that you can’t get sex any time and from anyone you want.”
    He leaned down to lap at her nipple, wetting the tip and making it stand out from her breast. He pursed his lips and blew, watching as the crest tightened further. “But I don’t want it from anyone. I want it from you.” Missy squirmed and fought to keep her breathing from turning into panting as he left one breast and moved to the other. She wanted to concentrate on what he was saying, especially since it seemed more likely to be a product of wishful thinking than hardcore reality. But she defied anyone to concentrate while Graham played with their tender bits. It couldn't be done.
    He scraped his teeth over her skin then lifted his head to survey his handiwork. “In fact,” he purred, “I think I only want it from you from now on.”
    “But why?” she moaned.
    His mouth closed over her neglected nipple, drawing the aching peak inside and sucking rhythmically. He pressed it firmly against the roof of his mouth, and she could feel his tongue rubbing in tiny strokes against the underside. The sensation made her want to cry out and when he pulled away, she nearly did.
    “Because you taste so good,” he murmured, shifting until he could slide his tongue down the center of her chest and dip teasingly into her navel.
    Her muscles clenched, from her abdomen to her ass, her pussy to her toes. He breathed warm currents against her skin and ruffled her pubic hair with the tips of his fingers. Her hips arched reflexively into his hand, and she bit back