Untamed (88 page)

But I hear his footsteps returning, step back from the door. He opens it, comes to me, holds me in his arms and he kisses me. He lifts me off the ground, sits me on the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing?” I say, pushing him off me. “We are not on the same page.”

“No, we’re not.”

His eyes exude a lustful intensity, but behind them is a fog of something else I can’t identify.

“So what, you think you can just come in here and have me?”

“Tell me to go again.”

I hesitate, and his eyes never leave me, like he can’t bear to look away from me.

“You’re mad at me still.”

“I am.”

“So why are you kissing me?”

“Because I’ve missed you, and I want you.”

His fingers trail up my thigh, then beneath my blouse. When I feel his hot fingers on my belly, sidle slowly up to my breasts, I suck in a breath of air.

“But we haven’t finished talking.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He pulls me toward him, jams his hard cock up against my sex, and despite myself I wrap my legs around his waist. It occurs to me that this counter is the perfect height—

“And we’re not going to be finished talking in just one day,” he growls, scooping up my face and bringing it to him.

He kisses me hard again, almost angrily, and pushes his tongue into my mouth. I pull back, bite his lip, and stare into his eyes.

“You think we can just sort this about by fucking?”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot, Dee.”

He claims my lips again, holds me against him, and with my hands against his muscular chest, I know I have no hope of pushing him off me.

“So what are you going to do?” I say, my breathing quick, my eyes unable to leave his amazing lips. “Just take what you want from me?”

“Tell me you don’t want me to.”

“If I did would you leave?”

“Yes. So tell me,” he says, tugging me closer again, a little rougher. His hands travel up my sides, make me shiver, make me pulse.

I can feel his heat, smell him, and I know that in the blink of an eye I could just melt into his arms.

“Come on,” he says. “Say it. Tell me to go again.”

“Shut up,” I say, leaning forward and taking his lips. His fingers come around to my blouse, and he rips it open, sending the plastic buttons spraying.

My whole body is jolted by the force, and he pulls it roughly over my shoulders.

“That was my favorite blouse,” I say.

But he doesn’t reply. He kisses my neck, leaves a smoking trail from my ear to my shoulders, makes me hold my breath as he nibbles on my skin, sets it afire with his tongue.

He unhooks my bra, pulls it off my arms, and then grabs each of my breasts hungrily, kneads my globes and thumbs my nipples.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing onto his wrists. “Be gentle. They’re tender.”

I pull him into me tighter with my legs, weave my fingers through his hair and hold him close to me, my heart pounding, my temperature rising, at the same time both not wanting to do this and wanting to.

“You need to tell me how you feel,” I pant, as he licks a swathe of skin down in between my breasts, takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks on it. “We can’t just forget about it.”

“Who says I’m going to forget?” he says, working lower still. He reaches my jeans, pulls open the button with his teeth, then pulls the flaps apart, forcing the zip down.

“You can’t blame me for this.”

“Who says I’m blaming you?’

His whole body is tense, and I see that lustful fire in his eyes.

“We can’t just fuck it away!” I cry.

“We’re not fucking anything away.”

He steps back, rips my jeans down my leg, throws it carelessly behind him. His chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Duncan, just hold on,” I say.

He pulls down my underwear, presses it against his nose, smells me, then jerks me forward on the counter so that I’m right on the edge.

He slaps my thighs open, spreads me, bares me to him. “God, I’ve missed your sweet pussy.” He runs his tongue hard up my center, and I shiver, lean back, clutch at the edge of the counter behind me.

“Duncan, wait—”

He licks me again, up one side of my clit and down the other, and I’m feeling flushed, and I’m feeling it inside me, the anticipation building up, the pressure.

“God, you smell so good.”

His tongue circles my pearl just the way I like it, and I moan and squeeze when I feel him slide a finger into me quickly, then a second.

“Oh my God,” I pant, unconsciously bucking my hips forward to him, pressing against him.

Instantly he’s sending hints of pleasure through me, making me feel so good, and he laps at me like a starving animal, like he’s never needed to lick my sex more than he does right now.

“I’ve missed you,” he groans. “The way you taste, the way you smell. God, why’d you run away?”

“I had to!” I say, taking his head, pressing it against me. I mash myself against him, gyrate against his face, lost in bliss, my eyes shut.

His tongue is fast and strong, and he knows just how to get me off. I’m surging forward, tightening up, feel so good and I’m getting closer and closer.

“Like that,” I gasp as he rubs my front wall, massages it to the rhythm of his tongue. “Oh, shit, Duncan.”

I squeeze, tighten, my whole body tense. I haven’t felt this good in so long, since the night I left him. I’ve been so alone.