Phoenix Burning. Patti O'Shea

shook herself enough to look around. Maybe they weren’t on the sidewalk, but the alcove wasn’t deep and they were directly across from a large apartment building. A curtain fell back into place and she spotted a few faces at other windows. Instead of worrying her, it sent a shiver through her body and her nipples became harder. She tugged his T-shirt out of his jeans and sent her hands under the fabric. His skin seemed to burn her, that’s how hot he was. “No more teasing,” she said, her tone almost an order.

      “Patience, young one.”

      Patience my ass. She reached for the zipper of his jeans, pulled it down and discovered he’d gone commando. Phoenix’s fingers tightened around the hard shaft of his cock and began to stroke. A shudder went through him, but she couldn’t appreciate it, not with her own need going from blaze to inferno.

      Ivar freed himself from her grip, imprisoned both her wrists above her head, and used his free hand to torment her. His thumb brushed her breasts where the torn sweater left her exposed before gently pinching her left nipple. Phoenix arched, wordlessly inviting more. He ignored her. She was thrashing against the door, all but insensible, and he was playing with her, denying her.

      “More.” There was nothing but command in her voice. “Now.” Breaking free of his grip, Phoenix jumped at Ivar. She caught him off balance and drove him into the wall on his side of the doorway.