Two Hot!. Cara Summers

      He slipped his hand into hers again and drew her closer. “Before we get to the kinky part, I want to kiss you.” He tipped her chin up as he lowered his head. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a long time.”

      His mouth was so close that she could feel his breath on her lips. “Me, too.”

      “Nice to know that we’re on the same page,” he murmured as he framed her face with his hands and urged her up onto her toes. Even then, he only pressed his mouth lightly against hers before he withdrew. But he followed with another kiss, lingering longer before he broke it. “I’ve been wondering about the fit.”

      As far as she could tell, the fit was very good. Each new angle that he tried seemed to get better. And his taste—the wonderful male flavor was as good as chocolate. When his tongue finally touched hers, she had to reach out and grab his waist to steady herself. This time when he drew away, she slid her hands up and grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. “More.”

      “Yes.” Finally, he deepened the kiss. But he was still gentle, still tasting her as if he had all the time in the world and intended to take it. Pleasure streamed through her with an intensity that she’d never felt before. She could smell the heat of the day, the earthy scent of the trees and ground, and the sea. But she could also smell Jed—a mixture of soap and sun and man. She was so aware of that firm yet gentle mouth and the warmth and strength of the hands that framed her face—she felt the pressure of each finger. She was melting, floating, and he wasn’t even touching her. Not really. When he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, the sharp stab of desire took her by surprise. She pushed against him.

      When he drew back, she said, “I think it’s time to get into the hammock.”

      He drew a thumb over her bottom lip. “Not yet.”

      She pressed her hands more firmly against his chest. “Why not?”

      “Once we get in there, foreplay becomes problematic. Besides, I’ve never been a fan of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of sex. I want you ready.”

      “I am.” For heaven’s sake, she was pretty sure she’d been ready the first time she’d seen him.

      He moved his mouth to her earlobe and gave it a quick nip. “Maybe I’m not. I’ve wanted to be inside you since the first time I saw you. I want you wet and slick.”

      The whispered words, the warmth of his breath, had a tremor moving through her. She managed to take in enough air to say, “I’m practically melting.”

      His gaze returned to hers, and he smiled that slow, easy grin. She was very much aware that his mouth was only a breath away from hers.

      “Are you always in such a big hurry?” he asked.

      Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d never thought about it before. “I guess.” But perhaps her sexual experience had been limited to men who’d always been in a hurry.

      “Sugar, anticipation is half the fun. But in the interests of compromise, I think we can proceed to step two.”

      Before she could react or even think, he spanned her waist with his hands, lifted her and carried her toward the hammock. Then, to her surprise, she found herself on her feet again with her back against one of the trees.

      “Why don’t we step up the pace just a bit?” His mouth covered hers again, and this time he probed more deeply with his tongue. His hands weren’t quite gentle as he moved them up her sides and then slid them to cover her breasts. The heat that shot through her was even more intense than what she’d felt before. Her toes curled into the cool grass.

      But still he moved slowly as if he had all the time in the world—as if he wanted as much time as he could get. Sensations streamed through her in a series of contrasts: the coolness of the breeze off the water and the furnacelike heat radiating from his body; the strength of those hands stroking down her arms, up her sides, yet the restraint in the patient, thorough exploration of her skin; the hammering race of his heart against the palms of her hands and the slow, gentle movement of his thumbs over her nipples. She felt as if she were sinking and floating at the same time.

      When he lifted his mouth from hers, she whispered, “Please.” But she wasn’t sure if she was pleading with him to stop or to go on. And on.

      His mouth was poised above hers. “Have I convinced you yet of the benefits of foreplay?”

      He was teasing her. Again. She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Maybe.”

      “I guess I’ll just have to try harder,” he said. “You’re a research scientist, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then you probably run experiments all the time.”

      Her brows drew together. “No. I mostly gather and analyze data.”

      “That’ll work. I’m just going to gather a little data on what you like. We’ll start with this.” Leaning down, he ran a string of nibbling kisses along her shoulder until he reached her throat. Then he nipped at the ligament just where her shoulder joined her neck. She felt her body go limp as a sharp streak of pleasure shot through her.

      “Better?” he asked.

      “Mmm.” Even her lips had grown weak. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent word.

      His chuckle was a rumble that started deep in his chest and vibrated against her fingers. He began to feather kisses along her jaw, down her throat, all around that spot where he’d bitten her before. When would he do it again? Desire coiled and tightened inside her. “Do it again.”

      “Sure thing, sugar.”

      But it was his tongue she felt first, hot and wet. And the bite was sharper this time. So was the pleasure. Her skin felt icy cold and hot at the same time, and desire tightened into an ache. Suddenly, she had to touch him. She ran her hands up his chest. The hair felt soft, the skin smooth. Both sensations provided a delicious contrast to the rock-hard muscles she felt beneath.

      “Yes,” he murmured as he began to nibble again along the line of her throat. “Touch me.”

      Encouraged, she ran her palms down his sides and lower over his narrow waist and sharp hip bones, absorbing the hard planes and angles. Each little response he made—a sharp intake of breath when she tried to span his waist, a groan when she moved lower to his thighs—spurred her on. She’d never before received so much enjoyment from merely touching a man. The more she did it, the more she wanted to continue.

      To her surprise, her hands seemed to be developing a mind of their own as they moved down and up his thighs, then around to grip his buttocks. And squeeze.

      “You’re good,” he said, gripping her waist and pulling her close so that she felt the hard length of his penis press into her stomach.

      This time, her groan mixed with his, and the ache inside of her twisted into a pain. Then he set her back against the tree. “Touch me.”

      Her hands followed his command and closed around the hard length of him. Once again she marveled at the contrasts—steel hardness covered in velvet. Fascinated, she stroked her hand down, then up. She was about to do it again when he gripped her wrist.

      “Am I doing it wrong?” she asked.

      For the first time, he wasn’t smiling and the look she saw in his eyes wasn’t amusement. It was something else, something that shot a little shock wave of heat through her.

      “Sugar, you’re doing it just right, and if you keep doing it, we won’t make it to the hammock.”

      That would have been perfectly fine with her, but she didn’t protest when he drew her hand away and placed it on his waist. “You’re really attached to your fantasies, aren’t you?”

      Now his lips curved just the barest fraction. “You got that right. And I haven’t nearly finished collecting data.”

      She