Made For Loving You (Rescue My Heart Book 3), Kait Nolan [good non fiction books to read TXT] 📗

“Just let me.” He laid his lips over hers again, drugging. Seducing. And it didn’t matter that she didn’t entirely understand what he wanted, what he was asking. She couldn’t help but give in. She’d never been able to deny him anything.

Circling them toward the bed, he began to strip off her clothes with far more dexterity than he’d had at eighteen. Her heart beat slow and thick as he laid her back on the bed, following her down to cover her with that incredible, battle-honed body. When she would’ve reached for him, he kept her fingers laced with his and began a lazy journey down her torso, sipping here, suckling there, mapping every inch with his mouth and hands. Or maybe he followed a very old map, as he lingered at the crease where her thigh met her hip, a spot that had always driven her wild.

“Ty, what are you doing?”

“Enjoying you. I didn’t take enough time for this last time.”

After the wedding, he’d been busy driving her out of mind with orgasms, a fact she hadn’t complained about in the slightest. It seemed he was determined to drive her crazy with patience this time, and Paisley wasn’t at all sure she’d survive it.

Ty rubbed his bearded cheek against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she whimpered, needing so much more.

“I had to learn incredible patience in the Rangers. Sometimes we’d have to wait hours, days even, for the right moment to execute an op.” His tone was conversational, as if his mouth wasn’t millimeters from the promised land.

“Your point?” Paisley gasped.

“There was a lot of downtime to think. I used to think about this.” He nuzzled her center through her panties.

“Sex?” God, please.

“Sex with you. What it felt like. What you sounded like. How you tasted.”

The idea of it had her going impossibly wetter, likely soaking the panel between her thighs. She couldn’t think through the implications of his words, only focused on the fact that he’d thought of her, thought of this, at least as often as she had after they’d parted.

Ty began to work the underwear down. “My memory is pretty damned good.’’ Tossing the scrap of fabric away, he finally, finally settled between her thighs, spreading her open for his hungry gaze. “But absolutely nothing is better than the real thing.” And then he dove in and proved it, licking and sucking as if she were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Desperately turned on, Paisley gripped his hair, soaking in the sight of his head buried between her legs and the sounds of pleasure he made as she rode his tongue until she was breathless and flying. Before she’d even ceased shuddering from the aftershocks, he moved up her body and took her mouth. The taste of her own release had tension coiling fresh.

She nipped his lip. “You aren’t nearly naked enough.”

“Yes ma’am.”

By the time he’d stripped and come back to join her, she’d found enough muscle control to rise to her knees. “Your turn.” She pressed a hand to his chest, intending to shove him back and taste those V grooves at his waist that she’d been fantasizing about since the wedding. He’d had an athlete’s body at eighteen, but these were new.

“Later.” He pinned her hand to his heart and toppled back, pulling her with him. “Right now I want to watch you ride me.”

As if she could resist an invitation like that?

Taking the condom he offered, she rolled it on, loving the thick feel of him in her hand. Hers. For the weekend, at least, this—he—was hers.

Swinging a leg over his hips, she straddled him, torturing them both by rubbing her slick folds over his crown.

“Paisley.” His eyes were a dark, thrilling warning.

“You said you wanted to enjoy me. Turnabout is fair play. And you did claim that magnificent patience.”

“Maybe I was wrong.” Gripping her hips, he bowed up to take one nipple into his mouth. The motion slid the first couple of inches of him inside her.

Swearing, she speared her hands into his hair, rolling her hips to the suckling of his mouth, taking a little more of him each time. When he reached up to knead her other breast, she groaned and gave in, taking the rest of him in one long, slow slide.

They both moaned. Nothing had ever felt more perfect than the way he stretched her, filled her. She’d spent years trying to find this again and failing. No one had ever fit her like him.

His fingers curled into her hips, encouraging her to move. She bowed back to take him even deeper and gave herself over to the long, slow climb.

“You look like a fucking goddess.”

She felt like one as she watched his face—the pleasure, the fierceness. When he gritted his teeth, obviously trying to hold on, she dipped forward, capturing his mouth and squeezing her inner muscles to push him past the edge of control. She loved him just the other side of civilized. Loved him desperate. On a growl, his control snapped, and he thrust into her hard and fast, until the kick and jerk of his release pulled her right over behind him.

Ty had conducted all kinds of covert, stealthy operations in his career. He’d been taught to move in silence, in and out without detection. If push came to shove, he could probably plan a successful heist. But he wasn’t at all sure he could crack an egg without waking the woman he’d left sleeping in his bed.

Gently tapping it on the edge of the counter, he glanced up. No sound. No movement. They’d worn each other out since Friday. Maybe he could pull off this breakfast in bed thing after all.

Pulling his attention back to the egg, he looked for the crack. Nothing. How did they make it look so damned easy on those cooking shows? They’d probably say something obnoxious like, “It’s all in the wrist.” Which it probably was.

With plenty of furtive glances up, he managed