Read Online Stand By Your Man by Susan Fox - Free Book Online Page B

ripped muscles that flexed under her touch.
    His fingers were busy with the back zipper of her sundress. “I like this dress,” he muttered. Then he stepped back, freeing himself from her grip.
    Impatiently she shrugged her shoulders to send her dress sliding to the floor. She was about to step back into his arms when he said, “Mmm, I like that even more.” He studied her appreciatively. Clad only in a silky peach-colored bra and panties, she straightened her shoulders and delighted in his gaze.
    â€œWhat happened?” He gestured to the scar on one hip, above the top band of her skimpy panties.
    She ran a hand over the puckered flesh. “I was arresting a husband for domestic violence. His battered wife hauled herself up off the floor and grabbed a kitchen knife. She got in a swipe before I could stop her.” She studied his face, wondering if he found the scar ugly.
    Instead, his hand cupped her hip in a warm caress. “Yeah, shit happens.”
    A cop respecting her as another cop even when the thing most on their minds was lovemaking. Yes, she liked it.
    And she liked it even more when his caress moved up to her breast. His large, dark hand was so masculine compared to her soft curves and the peach silk. She was a tall, fit woman who prided herself on her strength, yet how lovely to revel in her femininity, her sexuality. Her nipples tightened and he caressed one bud through her bra with a slow, circling fingertip.
    Eager to see him naked, she unbuttoned his shirt. He stopped teasing her breast long enough to pull off his shirt and toss it on the floor. Even as he did, she was at work on his jeans, and soon they slid to the floor too.
    Oh God, Jamal in nothing but black boxers. Boxers tented by an impressive erection. Dusky skin gleaming in the late afternoon light that slanted in the window. Muscles any athlete would envy and any woman would drool over. He was beautiful—and he, too, was flawed by scars. She touched one on his side above his waist, guessing from the shape that he’d been creased by a bullet. One day she’d ask. Now, she was just glad, so glad, that he’d survived all those years of undercover work and was ready to move to something less dangerous.
    â€œBedroom down the hall?” He hoisted her into his arms.
    She let out a startled squeak. “Yes, but I can walk.”
    â€œThis is more fun.”
    And it was, being carried as if she weighed next to nothing. This was the first time in her adult life except for training exercises that a man had carried her. She snuggled against Jamal’s hot, naked chest as one powerful arm curved around her shoulders and the other hooked under her bare legs. Leaning her cheek against him, she breathed in his scent, slightly musky and totally male. Seductive, addictive.
    Her bedroom was plain and functional, only a few family photos for décor, but Jamal didn’t glance at anything other than the bed. He laid her down, her head on stacked pillows. A moment later he was on the bed too, leaning over her, unfastening the front closure of her bra and sucking her nipple.
    Pleasure arced through her and she pressed into him, demanding more. Her fingers stroked through his wavy hair, its texture springy and slightly rough, as masculine as everything else about him.
    He licked around her areola, flicked the tip of her nipple with his tongue, took the bud between his lips, and alternated sucks and licks.
    Gripping his head, she moaned, arched, and her hips twisted as need hummed between her legs.
    His erection was sandwiched against her thigh, thick and hard. She wanted to touch him, lick and suck him, explore every inch of his body. But even more than that, she wanted him inside her. Later, there’d be time to do everything. Right now she wanted to merge their bodies, to seal the deal so there was no going back. God knows, her body, celibate for over a year, was primed and crying out for release.
    â€œJamal, now.