Secret Sins (9 page)

Broad, bare, his hard, darkly tanned chest, with a thin covering of male curls just
lighter than the hair on his head, tempted her fingers. Tempted them with the need
to touch him, to experience the feel of them against her sensitive fingertips.

“How long have you been back?” She frowned at him, surprised that he had managed to
come into the house without waking her.

Surprised at how he had entered the living room.

Hell, she had been sleeping not ten feet from the damned door and he’d slipped right
up on her.

It was all she could do to keep her gaze above his hard abs because she could see
the muscles beneath the bronzed flesh tempting, drawing her gaze.

“A couple of hours.” He shrugged as though uncertain.

She bet he knew almost to the second exactly what time he had walked through the front
door.

“You should have woken me.” She watched his face, seeing the heaviness in his gaze,
in the somber expression on his face.

“You were sleeping too well.” His lips quirked with an almost gentle smile and his
eyes seemed to warm as he watched her. “Besides, I knew Oscar would run you out of
his corner eventually.”

Glancing at the monster cat who took up at least a cushion of the couch by himself,
she sniffed at his presence.

“Damned fur ball,” she muttered. “The least he could have done was wake me when you
arrived.”

“He likes you.” Leaning against the door frame, his lips kicked up at one corner.
“Anyone else would have had at least a scratch by now. Oscar doesn’t really tolerate
strangers in his home well.”

Anna pushed her hair back from her face, staring at him, at a complete loss for words.

Sweet heaven have mercy on her, he was aroused. Powerfully, unapologetically aroused.

Beneath the cotton pants he wore his cock raged, hard and heavy, pressing against
the material with insistent demand. Lifting her gaze slowly, Anna encountered the
lust-driven dark gold of his gaze.

It became hard to breathe.

Anna could feel her heart racing, beating between her breasts like fists rapping,
hard and heavy. Lips parting, she fought to drag in oxygen, to make herself breathe
through the adrenaline pounding through her.

Suddenly, she could feel parts of her body that she was only aware of whenever he
was around.

Her lips—

God, she needed him to kiss her, she needed to kiss him.

Her nipples—

Between her thighs—

Need, deep in her womb.

Her knees were weak and she wasn’t even standing.

Suddenly the room was filled with such tension, with such an overwhelming air of hunger,
that Anna could barely breathe for it. That hunger pounded through her, burned through
her, and tore aside any veil of disinterest or screen of objection. There was only
the wild, burning hunger, and her need for Archer.

Lifting her gaze, Anna wondered if it was normal to feel such constriction in her
lungs; if she could actually live without air. Because she couldn’t seem to catch
her breath.

Especially when he moved toward her with that predatory look in his gaze.

“You can sleep in the guest room or you can sleep with me,” he stated as he stopped
in front of her, the heavy proof of his arousal now at eye level.

Lifting her gaze again, Anna swallowed tightly. The fierce hunger swirling in his
eyes warned her that the need was building just as high inside him as it had been
in her.

“If I choose your bed?” she asked.

“Then it’s without promises, Anna,” he warned her, his gaze darkening. “Don’t make
that mistake, for both our sakes. I won’t tell you I love you, and there’s no wedding
ring waiting when it’s over.”

“Have I ever asked for a wedding ring, Archer?”

Yet she couldn’t deny that dream was there. It was a fantasy she’d had since she was
a teenager. The white dress, the veil—and Archer.

“It’s in your eyes.” His jaw tensed, fire blazing in the golden brown gaze watching
her. “It’s been there since the night you turned eighteen.”

“Are you sure the desire you saw was for a ring, or something a little less—” She
let her lashes lower to half-mast. “—acceptable, perhaps?”

Before common sense, embarrassment, or any other sterling qualities her mother had
no doubt tried to teach her could kick in, Anna reached for what she had hungered
for most. Before inexperience, uncertainty, or fear could overcome six years of fantasy
and hunger, she reached out for what she’d always seen as hers alone.

Archer.

Still staring into those wild eyes, Anna reached out with both hands, her nails rasping
down his hips as she leaned forward. Her lips pressed against the hard-packed muscles
of his flexing abs, her tongue peeking out to take him.

Archer’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his side as she tasted his flesh.

Licking over the indent of his navel she was forced to hold back a moan, one of pure,
desperate desire. Slightly salty, heated, clean, and intently male. His flesh was
warm beneath her tongue, the hard muscles flexing with innate power.

“Fuck! Anna!” One hand moved, strong fingers threading through the hair at the side
of her head. Clenching, his fingers tightened as his expression became darker, more
brooding with sensual, sexual heat that burned through her senses.

She’d had years to prepare for this night. Years to ensure he never forgot her touch
once she had the chance to touch him.

Years to make damned sure he never forgot being with her.

Fingers bending and hooking in the elastic band of the pants, she slowly eased the
material over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Thickly erect, blood throbbing
through heavy veins, the impressive stalk of male flesh caused her to swallow tightly
as she fought back her trepidation.

Fear thundered just beneath the adrenaline rushing through her system. A fear she
refused to pay heed to. Fear of failure. Fear of being unable to measure up to past
lovers, no matter the research she’d put into the subject of giving a man a blow job
he would never forget.

Watching him from beneath the veil of her lashes, Anna flicked her tongue around the
shallow indent of his navel again, teasing it with tasting licks as she pushed the
material of his pants to his ankles. Standing still and silent before her, he just
watched her, his body as stiff as his cock, his expression sensually brooding.

Stepping from the light cotton at his feet, Archer continued to watch her, as though
certain she would stop. Certain that the intimate caress would not be forthcoming.

Oh, he definitely had a surprise coming if that was what he thought.

Easing back, watching his gaze darken, his jaw tighten, Anna let a small smile tug
at her lips.

“I was waiting for you when I fell asleep,” she said softly, her nails rasping down
the outside of his thighs.

“Were you?” The heavy rasp of his voice sent a shudder of hunger clenching her womb
and nipping at the sensitive bud of her clit. “Why is that?”

“Because a girl can only wait so long to live a fantasy, Sheriff,” she said, her hands
sliding to the insides of his thighs where she made a U with the fingers and thumb
of one hand and tucked them beneath the taut sac that held his testicles.

A sharp, indrawn breath assured her Archer’s attention was fully centered on her now.

Lowering her head, pursing her lips, she blew a soft breath against the surprisingly
curl-free male flesh, luxuriating in his response. His hand tightened in her hair,
the other gripping her shoulder with a firm hold.

“Anna, be sure about this,” he growled.

Oh, she was sure.

Leaning forward, her head bending, she tasted the male flesh, first with her tongue.
Licking over the tight sac, probing at the base of his cock, then parting her lips
and drawing it inside.

She was going to orgasm from excitement alone.

Both of his hands were in her hair now, his legs shifting, spreading further as she
sucked one side of his ball sac into her mouth and laved it with her tongue before
moving to the other.

She’d never done this, but he loved it. She could feel him loving it. The iron-hard
thickness her fingers had no hope of circling, the rush of blood beneath the silky
flesh, the tautness of the sac she caressed, all proved he was loving it.

And if she had any doubts—

“Fuck! Damn you, Anna.” His back arched as the rasping curse tore past his lips.

His fingers tightened in her hair, then kneaded her scalp as his thighs parted further,
giving her tongue, her lips, room to play.

And how she did enjoy playing there.

Lavishing attention on first one side of his testicles, then the other, she lived
the first fantasy. Shuddering, a groan rumbled from him. With his cock throbbing in
both hands now, she stroked it with firm caresses before another drawing of his flesh
into her mouth and suckling at the sphere contained there.

Feeling the heavy throb of blood through the thick veins, Anna licked, laved, tasted
the hard, heated flesh before releasing it with reluctance.

“Anna.” The rasp of his voice was a sensual stroke of eroticism against her senses.

“My fantasy,” she whispered.

Pressing her hand into his chest she eased him back a step and came slowly to her
feet.

“Waiting until I lose control is the wrong time to change your mind,” he warned her,
his expression, his voice, dark and filled with hunger.

“Change my mind?” Anna lifted her hand to the tiny silk tie that held the white robe
over her breasts and pulled it free, slowly. “Archer, the last thing I intend to do
is change my mind.”

*   *   *

Archer had to clench his teeth to hold back a demand that she hurry. That she wrap
her lips around his dick and give him the blow job she was promising.

“Ah, hell, Anna.” The words felt ripped from his throat as he fought to hold back
the pleasure and the unfamiliar demands rising inside him. “Ah, baby, that sweet,
sweet mouth.”

She was destroying him with it.

Keeping his teeth clenched tight, he held the demand back. His arms were stiff at
his side. His gaze narrowed, he stared down at her, fighting to deny what he saw in
her gaze.

Feminine hunger was tempered by love. Confidence was tempered by inexperience. Need
was fueled by all the above—the sight of it was enough to terrify him.

He wasn’t terrified enough to pull away from her, though. He didn’t dare. His cock
would probably send agony streaking through his body at the slightest attempt.

As he watched, she rose slowly to her feet and dropped the robe she wore.

That gown was a fucking wet dream.

No—

A wet dream dressed in breast-hugging silk and spandex—in a gown so fucking romantic,
so damned bridal, despite the color, it had his chest tightening with some emotion
he could make no sense of.

From the soft lace that cupped her breasts and lovingly conformed to the gentle curves
of her slender waist, to the silk that flowed to the floor in sweeping abundance,
it was a bride’s gown pretending to be a wicked temptress.

A seductress going to her knees.

“Anna, you don’t have to…” The offer cut off in a hoarse groan as her fingers gripped
the thick flesh, stroking it in slow, even strokes as she brought the heavily flared
crest to her parted lips.

Sweet heaven have mercy on him, she was actually going to do it.

Perfect, sweet lips parted.

Free of makeup, pretty green eyes staring up at him with slumberous passion through
sooty lashes. Her heated, damp tongue peeked out, lashed at the crown, then began
tonguing it with pure wicked pleasure as her eyes closed and her attention became
completely devoted to pleasuring his dick.

Tonguing the satiny head, sweet lips taking heated kisses, and silken hands stroking
the thick shaft, she destroyed any doubt that might have flashed through his mind.

Parting her lips further and sucking the head inside, she then set out to destroy
his control, which she did far quicker than he could have ever expected.

With lips, tongue, and heated suckling of the too-sensitive crest, she swept his misgivings
to the side and convinced him—even as he knew better—that no virgin could ever embrace
the sweet, wicked moves she used on his throbbing cock.

Tucking beneath the head of the fierce erection, her tongue licked, stroked, tasted,
then swirled in intimate abandon around the flared edge. Sucking him back inside the
heated depths of her mouth, the vibration of her moans had his thighs tightening,
his hands clenching in her hair.

Kneading his fingers against her scalp, Archer bit back a hoarse groan, fighting to
contain the wild impulse to push her to the floor, hike her gown above her hips, and
fuck her until they were both screaming in orgasm.

Pleasure exploded through his senses, tore across his nerve endings, and laid waste
to any preconceived notions of the pleasure she could give him.

Staring down at her as he watched her lips redden, watched his cock fuck past them
in shallow thrusts, Archer knew the thin threads of his control were unraveling by
the second.

There was no way to hold back the response or the pleasure erupting inside him.

She pulled back, surprising him by releasing the head of his cock, her tongue flattening,
her head tilting to the side as her tongue tasted the broad length of his flesh.

Pulsing, tightening, his cock throbbed in painful pleasure.

“So fucking good. That sweet, hot mouth is so fucking good.”

Heat unfurled inside him. It blazed across his nerve endings, shot through his senses
and—fuck!

His knees were weak.

Catching his breath, watching as her head moved lower, that sensual little tongue
dancing over his cock like an erotic flame, she all but destroyed him. Pleasure burned
over his flesh, sank into his pores, and pulsed through his blood like a fever raging
out of control.