Innocent 'til Proven Otherwise. Amy AndrewsЧитать онлайн книгу.
was wild beneath his palm and her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. Each sweep intensified his longing but he was determined to hold back.
He knew when he let go and kissed her, really kissed her, there would be no holding back.
No more gentle.
No more slowly.
No more easy.
It had been a long time. And his appetite was back.
Ali had reached screaming point. How could a simple brush to her mouth be felt everywhere? How could it bead her nipples to unbearable hardness? How could it undulate through muscles so deep inside she didn’t even know she had them until now? How could it pool liquid heat in places that it hadn’t even touched?
‘Cute, cute, cute,’ Max whispered.
Ali groaned. ‘Shut up and kiss me properly.’
And then she took matters into her own hands, standing on tippy-toes and dragging his face towards her, closing the maddening distance.
Max inhaled as their lips met, sucking in her heat and her breath and her sweet, sweet perfume and it was like rocket fuel through his already charged bloodstream.
He exploded.
He ground her against the door, pinning her with his mouth and his hands and his hard, hard body. Demanding entrance into her mouth with his tongue and sweeping inside like a conquering general. She tasted like rum and strawberries and his hunger intensified. Angling her head back, he plundered every moist morsel of it.
She moaned beneath his onslaught, clutched his shoulders, pulled him in deeper and he gave her more. His hands slid to her hips, gripping them hard then releasing only to grip them again, pulling her harder, closer, nearer each time. His erection strained against the maddening friction, getting harder, more demanding.
His lips left hers to explore all the soft, sweet places of her neck and she moaned again. He’d forgotten how soft women were. How they fitted to a man’s body, how they yielded against all the hard angles and planes and moulded just right.
Her fingernails dug into his back and she gasped, ‘Max,’ as he laved the frantic pulse in the hollow of her throat.
He claimed her mouth again revelling in her noises. He’d missed those mysterious womanly noises. The gasps and the whimpers. The little sighs and moans and the desperate, unintelligible urgings that came from deep inside when you hit a sweet spot and they did-not-want-you-to-stop.
She opened for him wide, matching the fervour of his mouth with her own and it was a very potent mix. Heady and sexual and dirty.
Good, dirty.
It had been a long, long time since he’d felt this good. Since he’d last kissed a woman he didn’t really know. And he’d been more than fine with that. He’d been happily married, perfectly content. But that was then and this was now and Ali was shifting against him with reckless abandon that felt good everywhere.
For the first time in a long time he felt good.
Everywhere.
And he was going to damn well take what was on offer.
Pete had been right. He did need this.
Ali could barely breathe from the lust slugging her system, thickening in her veins like molten lava, beading like liquid mercury. She was dizzy and light-headed but strangely heavy-limbed all at once.
His tongue was stroking against hers—prodding and probing and lapping against her mouth as if it had been crafted especially for him from the world’s sweetest chocolate. She could taste beer and opened to him to taste some more.
His hands were clamped on her hips, scorching his palm prints into her flesh like a brand and his groin was pressed so intimately against her she already knew what it was going to feel like to have him inside her.
She’d forgotten how great this was. How kisses could last for hours. How the taste of someone new could be so endlessly fascinating you just couldn’t stop. How the need to touch them, taste them, became an overriding imperative. How being intimate with a man could make you feel loose and yet tight in all the right spots.
She realised it was probably the first time in a year she’d gone this long without thinking about Tom.
If this was moving-on sex then she was a convert.
She thrust her hips against his hard belly again and rubbed herself against the even harder ridge that was driving her mad. She wanted to touch it. Feel its steel and its heat and its purpose. Wanted to touch all of him. To see him naked. To press her lips to every inch of his flesh.
To make him moan.
To make him come.
To make him beg for more.
‘I need to see you,’ Max groaned into her neck as he pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt.
And she knew exactly how he felt. She wanted more. Needed more. More than passionate kisses and fully-clothed fumblings. She needed to see his flesh. Familiarise herself with his skin. Surround herself with the aroma of pure male animal. Inhale the very essence of him.
She followed suit, pulling his shirt-tails out of his trousers and fumbling like a two-year-old with his buttons as he licked heat along her collarbone. It rendered her fingers totally useless and her eyes rolled back as his tongue dipped lower, tracing the full curve of one breast.
How long had it been since a man had taken the time to seduce her so thoroughly? Tom had certainly never been this thorough. And those few teenage fumblings had been exciting at the time but had most definitely lacked the finesse that oozed from Max’s fingertips like some kind of sexual magician.
Or was that genius?
A fingertip whispered against her nipple and she almost fainted from the pleasure. She gripped his shirt for fear of falling and moaned her pleasure—again.
His half-opened shirt brought her back to her original mission and she tried again to divest him of it. But as his fingers continued to lightly tease her nipples, stoking her pleasure higher, she gave up the battle, grasped both sides of his shirt and ripped.
A button pinged on the door near their heads and it momentarily shocked them out of their haze. Ali, breathing hard, stared at his bare chest, stunned by both her handiwork and his pure male magnificence.
She blinked. ‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ she murmured.
Max, breathing even harder, looked down at his tattered shirt. ‘I have a dozen more,’ he said.
And reclaimed her mouth.
She speared the fingers of one hand into his hair, dragging his head closer as her other hand stroked his chest, his back, his belly. She felt his muscles contract in her wake and broke off the kiss to follow with her mouth. To put her lips where her fingers had been.
She kissed down his neck. Nibbled at his collarbone. Ran her nose across the rounded heat of a perfectly formed pectoral. And swiped her hot tongue across his disc-like nipple.
Ali was sure it sizzled but his loud groan obliterated the soft hiss.
Max could feel his control unravelling as she laved his chest with her tongue. It made him harder and hotter and hungrier than he’d ever been. He didn’t want her to stop but he needed more.
He pushed her back. Her face was flushed, her mouth moist from its ministrations and his breath hissed out. ‘I want to look at you,’ he half groaned, half growled.
Ali sucked in a breath at his guttural command. She was incapable of thinking never mind denying him. Everything felt good and him looking at her could only feel better.
She smiled at him through lust-laden lids. ‘Be my guest.’
Max made short work of the buttons on her blouse. Two glorious mounds of soft female flesh greeted him and he