escaping. No hope of wanting to escape.
Hell no, she wanted more.
“No. Don’t stop.” She jerked in his arms as his head lifted, his expression so sexually tight now that she wondered why she wasn’t feeling fear.
She should be damned scared. She should be fighting tooth and nail to make herself jerk out of his embrace.
She didn’t want a broken heart.
She didn’t need a broken heart.
“Navarro.” She moaned his name again as she felt his hand stroke to her thigh, his fingertips, calloused and heated, caressing over her sensitive flesh as his hand drew closer to the saturated folds of her pussy.
Oh God, she was so wet. She could feel the slick wetness beginning to spread to her inner thighs.
Slick. Hot.
And if he didn’t touch her soon, if he didn’t do something, anything to ease the ache, then she just might not be able to survive it.
CHAPTER 3
“I’m not about to stop.” The dark, rich male sex in his voice had her trembling with arousal as the stroke of his fingertips against her thighs had her hips shifting forward, desperate for his touch between her legs.
“No,” she whispered again as his fingers eased back.
In the same second his head lowered, that slight rasp on his tongue rubbing against her other nipple, making her realize how neglected it had been, as he began to ease back toward the bed.
“Navarro . . .” She didn’t know if she was protesting or begging for more as she stepped with him.
Was she really ready for this? She was dying for it, but could she handle the aftermath?
His gaze lifted as he delivered as gentle, sensation-rich kiss to her nipple and turned her slowly, easing her knees back against the bed.
“I’m not . . .” She couldn’t force the words out as he stared back at her.
She wasn’t sure of this. She didn’t know if this was the right time. If she was ready for it.
She didn’t know if she could bear it if he stopped touching her.
Her eyes met his, the conflict raging in her, shaking through her body as she fought to decide which she could bear the least—letting him go or facing the morning if she didn’t.
“It’s okay, Amaya.” The endearment rolled off his lips, a soft, dark drawl that stroked over the indecision tearing her apart. “Just tell me when to stop, when to go slow, whichever you need. It’s all for you. Just this.” His head lowered, his lips stroking against hers gently. “Just for you.”
Her lips parted.
His tongue eased inside, and she welcomed it with a low, breathless moan as she submitted once more to the incredible veil of sensuality he’d wrapped around her.
His lips worked over hers as his fingers returned to her thigh. Petting, stroking, his fingertips rubbed against her flesh as though he knew instinctively that her juices were rushing from her pussy, easing to her thighs, eager to meet him.
Her body was no longer her own. She felt as though it had been overtaken, possessed, her senses now controlled by the slightest touch of his body against her.
His lips moved to her neck, sensual, destructive little flicks of his tongue, his fingertips moving steadily closer to the slick, hot essence of her juices where they collected on the sensitive lips of her pussy.
Weakening, submissive arousal continued to grow inside her. She couldn’t make sense of so many sensations or the fact that she couldn’t fight them.
His teeth raked against the side of her neck, drawing a startled, surprised cry of pleasure from her. One hand stroked her back, trailed along her spine, then moved to the back of her thigh, to mere inches from the clenched rise of her ass.
The hand at her thigh moved steadily closer to its ultimate goal as she felt the heated moisture moving lower.
“Navarro, it feels too good,” she gasped as her own body betrayed her further.
Her hips jerked forward, the hollow ache clenching the muscles of her sex as her clit throbbed in eager anticipation of his touch.
The ache centered between her thighs was
Hell no, she wanted more.
“No. Don’t stop.” She jerked in his arms as his head lifted, his expression so sexually tight now that she wondered why she wasn’t feeling fear.
She should be damned scared. She should be fighting tooth and nail to make herself jerk out of his embrace.
She didn’t want a broken heart.
She didn’t need a broken heart.
“Navarro.” She moaned his name again as she felt his hand stroke to her thigh, his fingertips, calloused and heated, caressing over her sensitive flesh as his hand drew closer to the saturated folds of her pussy.
Oh God, she was so wet. She could feel the slick wetness beginning to spread to her inner thighs.
Slick. Hot.
And if he didn’t touch her soon, if he didn’t do something, anything to ease the ache, then she just might not be able to survive it.
CHAPTER 3
“I’m not about to stop.” The dark, rich male sex in his voice had her trembling with arousal as the stroke of his fingertips against her thighs had her hips shifting forward, desperate for his touch between her legs.
“No,” she whispered again as his fingers eased back.
In the same second his head lowered, that slight rasp on his tongue rubbing against her other nipple, making her realize how neglected it had been, as he began to ease back toward the bed.
“Navarro . . .” She didn’t know if she was protesting or begging for more as she stepped with him.
Was she really ready for this? She was dying for it, but could she handle the aftermath?
His gaze lifted as he delivered as gentle, sensation-rich kiss to her nipple and turned her slowly, easing her knees back against the bed.
“I’m not . . .” She couldn’t force the words out as he stared back at her.
She wasn’t sure of this. She didn’t know if this was the right time. If she was ready for it.
She didn’t know if she could bear it if he stopped touching her.
Her eyes met his, the conflict raging in her, shaking through her body as she fought to decide which she could bear the least—letting him go or facing the morning if she didn’t.
“It’s okay, Amaya.” The endearment rolled off his lips, a soft, dark drawl that stroked over the indecision tearing her apart. “Just tell me when to stop, when to go slow, whichever you need. It’s all for you. Just this.” His head lowered, his lips stroking against hers gently. “Just for you.”
Her lips parted.
His tongue eased inside, and she welcomed it with a low, breathless moan as she submitted once more to the incredible veil of sensuality he’d wrapped around her.
His lips worked over hers as his fingers returned to her thigh. Petting, stroking, his fingertips rubbed against her flesh as though he knew instinctively that her juices were rushing from her pussy, easing to her thighs, eager to meet him.
Her body was no longer her own. She felt as though it had been overtaken, possessed, her senses now controlled by the slightest touch of his body against her.
His lips moved to her neck, sensual, destructive little flicks of his tongue, his fingertips moving steadily closer to the slick, hot essence of her juices where they collected on the sensitive lips of her pussy.
Weakening, submissive arousal continued to grow inside her. She couldn’t make sense of so many sensations or the fact that she couldn’t fight them.
His teeth raked against the side of her neck, drawing a startled, surprised cry of pleasure from her. One hand stroked her back, trailed along her spine, then moved to the back of her thigh, to mere inches from the clenched rise of her ass.
The hand at her thigh moved steadily closer to its ultimate goal as she felt the heated moisture moving lower.
“Navarro, it feels too good,” she gasped as her own body betrayed her further.
Her hips jerked forward, the hollow ache clenching the muscles of her sex as her clit throbbed in eager anticipation of his touch.
The ache centered between her thighs was
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