Read Online She's My Kind of Girl by Jennifer Dawson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Dawson
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hers.
It was nothing like she remembered. And everything she remembered.
It was better. Hotter.
His lips were hard, firm, and commanding. His tongue swept into her mouth, tangled with hers.
So good. Perfect. Just like Griffin.
Nobody kissed like him. Nobodyâs hands felt the same way on her skin. She moaned, pulling him toward her, wanting him closer.
He wrapped one steely arm around her waist, while his other hand roamed.
He slanted his head, deepening the kiss, and she sank into him. Getting lost in the feel of his mouth and tongue. The scrape of his teeth as he nipped at her lip. She wanted him with near insanity.
The air thickened. Turned hotter.
Their mouths parted and came crashing together again. Practically fighting in an effort to get enough. An impossible task, because with him it was never enough.
His fingers snaked under the hem of her top, and he cupped her breast, his thumb stroking over the pebbled nipple.
She gasped, arched. Wanting more.
He rolled the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger, tugging until she cried out into his mouth.
With deft fingers he unclasped her bra, and then his hand was on her bare skin. Twisting and pulling and stroking.
Driving her out of her mind.
She walked a path down his chest, gathering the fabric of his shirt and raising it up. He did the same to her top, and then her breasts brushed against his bare skin and it was an electric shock to the system. Skin to skin after all this time. After all these years.
He ripped his mouth away and bit her neck. âFuck, Darce. Do it again.â
She did, her nipples abrading his skin, raking over his.
He let out a frustrated moan and jerked back into his seat, reaching down below. His seat moved and he lifted her up, hauling her into his lap. She scrambled to straddle him. Her elbow knocked the steering wheel. The horn blared but they didnât even pause.
Their lips met. Their tongues dueled.
She ground against his straining cock, and he covered her hips with his big hands, helping her along. Rocking and surging, their clothes an unwanted barrier.
Everything became hotter. More frantic. More demanding.
He thrust against her aching center and said against her lips, âThatâs right. Ride me.â He squeezed her ass hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow and growled in frustration. âI need to fuck you. I need to bury my cock inside you and pound the hell out of you.â
At his words, it was like a flame burst. She cried out, leaning back against the steering wheel and blaring the horn again. âYes.â
Then his mouth was on her breast, her nipple in his mouth. She clutched at him. Holding him tighter. She whispered urgently, âHarder. Please, Griff, harder.â
He groaned and sucked deeper, stronger, his other hand coming up to pinch and pluck her other nipple. His teeth sank into her flesh, she keened, and rode his cock, the seams of her jeans a delicious press against her clit.
He created that perfect rhythmic pulling and rubbing, the feel of his erection.
So damn perfect.
She got lost in it.
She never wanted it to end.
The orgasm barreled toward her, but she pushed it away. Because the pleasure coursing through her was almost better than climax . . . it was endless.
There was a loud knock on the windowpane.
She screamed in surprise as reality rushed over her.
Griffin jerked back.
He glared, but they couldnât see anything as the windows were completely fogged over. Another knock tapped against the glass, and Griffin yanked down her top and his own just as a blaring light shone in the window.
Griffin sat back, raked his hands through his hair, and swore under his breath.
Darcy scrambled back to her seat, shifting and adjusting her clothes. Griffin took a deep breath, seeming to compose himself, before he pressed the button to roll down the window.
The sheriff, Charlie Radcliffe, grinned down at them, tipping his hat. âEvening, Mayor.â
Griffin gritted
It was nothing like she remembered. And everything she remembered.
It was better. Hotter.
His lips were hard, firm, and commanding. His tongue swept into her mouth, tangled with hers.
So good. Perfect. Just like Griffin.
Nobody kissed like him. Nobodyâs hands felt the same way on her skin. She moaned, pulling him toward her, wanting him closer.
He wrapped one steely arm around her waist, while his other hand roamed.
He slanted his head, deepening the kiss, and she sank into him. Getting lost in the feel of his mouth and tongue. The scrape of his teeth as he nipped at her lip. She wanted him with near insanity.
The air thickened. Turned hotter.
Their mouths parted and came crashing together again. Practically fighting in an effort to get enough. An impossible task, because with him it was never enough.
His fingers snaked under the hem of her top, and he cupped her breast, his thumb stroking over the pebbled nipple.
She gasped, arched. Wanting more.
He rolled the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger, tugging until she cried out into his mouth.
With deft fingers he unclasped her bra, and then his hand was on her bare skin. Twisting and pulling and stroking.
Driving her out of her mind.
She walked a path down his chest, gathering the fabric of his shirt and raising it up. He did the same to her top, and then her breasts brushed against his bare skin and it was an electric shock to the system. Skin to skin after all this time. After all these years.
He ripped his mouth away and bit her neck. âFuck, Darce. Do it again.â
She did, her nipples abrading his skin, raking over his.
He let out a frustrated moan and jerked back into his seat, reaching down below. His seat moved and he lifted her up, hauling her into his lap. She scrambled to straddle him. Her elbow knocked the steering wheel. The horn blared but they didnât even pause.
Their lips met. Their tongues dueled.
She ground against his straining cock, and he covered her hips with his big hands, helping her along. Rocking and surging, their clothes an unwanted barrier.
Everything became hotter. More frantic. More demanding.
He thrust against her aching center and said against her lips, âThatâs right. Ride me.â He squeezed her ass hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow and growled in frustration. âI need to fuck you. I need to bury my cock inside you and pound the hell out of you.â
At his words, it was like a flame burst. She cried out, leaning back against the steering wheel and blaring the horn again. âYes.â
Then his mouth was on her breast, her nipple in his mouth. She clutched at him. Holding him tighter. She whispered urgently, âHarder. Please, Griff, harder.â
He groaned and sucked deeper, stronger, his other hand coming up to pinch and pluck her other nipple. His teeth sank into her flesh, she keened, and rode his cock, the seams of her jeans a delicious press against her clit.
He created that perfect rhythmic pulling and rubbing, the feel of his erection.
So damn perfect.
She got lost in it.
She never wanted it to end.
The orgasm barreled toward her, but she pushed it away. Because the pleasure coursing through her was almost better than climax . . . it was endless.
There was a loud knock on the windowpane.
She screamed in surprise as reality rushed over her.
Griffin jerked back.
He glared, but they couldnât see anything as the windows were completely fogged over. Another knock tapped against the glass, and Griffin yanked down her top and his own just as a blaring light shone in the window.
Griffin sat back, raked his hands through his hair, and swore under his breath.
Darcy scrambled back to her seat, shifting and adjusting her clothes. Griffin took a deep breath, seeming to compose himself, before he pressed the button to roll down the window.
The sheriff, Charlie Radcliffe, grinned down at them, tipping his hat. âEvening, Mayor.â
Griffin gritted
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