Lip Service. Susan Mallery

everything about Mitch’s body.

      He’d been her first love, her first lover and there had been a time when she would have walked through fire to be with him. But she hadn’t been willing to defy her father. Had that been a mistake?

      “I wish things had been different,” she said, before she could stop herself. She meant the past, but then he spun toward her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a thin line, she realized he thought she was talking about his leg.

      “I don’t need your pity,” he growled. “I don’t need sh—”

      He lost his balance and started to go down. Skye reacted instinctively, springing toward him. She grabbed him around the waist as he reached for the rocks. The prosthesis dropped to the ground.

      He was heavier than she’d anticipated and the weight of him knocked her sideways. Her foot slipped. She scrambled to stay upright, then they were both falling.

      The ground was hard. She landed on her back, him on top of her. Rocks jabbed her but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t draw in air.

      Mitch was off her in a second. “Breathe,” he said, propped up next to her. “You’re fine. Just breathe.”

      She sucked in a breath, then another.

      “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “You’re too small to hold me up. What did you think you were doing?”

      He looked furious, which was oddly better than cold and sarcastic.

      “I’m not weak,” she told him. “I could so kick your ass.”

      “On what planet?”

      “Zorgon.”

      One corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t, Skye. Don’t try to make this okay.”

      Because it wasn’t or he didn’t want it to be? “I missed you, Mitch.”

      The humor faded and the coldness returned. “You should have thought about that before you dumped me.”

      “I didn’t have a choice.”

      “Sure you did. Daddy asked you to jump and you got out the ruler to make sure it was high enough.”

      She sat up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “How much did I get wrong?”

      Nothing and that’s what annoyed her most. “Mitch, please.”

      “Please what?”

      They were both sitting, facing each other. She could see all the colors that made up his irises, the individual hairs of his lashes. The scent of him was familiar, as was the heat rising inside of her.

      He was so different, yet she recognized every part of him. It was as if the nearly nine years between them vanished and there was only this moment and the man she had once loved with a desperation that had left her weak.

      “Mitch,” she said, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt, closed the space between them and kissed him.

      For a moment, there was nothing. Just the feel of his lips against hers, but no reaction. She pressed harder, wanting him to want her, wanting him to respond. When he didn’t, she knew she’d made a mistake. That whatever she’d been longing for, it had been on her side alone. He hadn’t missed her at all.

      She drew back.

      Heat climbed her cheeks. She released him and started to get to her feet.

      He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down next to him. He leaned over her until she was forced to sink onto the ground.

      “There is no way this is going to happen,” he told her.

      Then he kissed her. His mouth moved on hers, all desperation, taking and claiming.

      He kissed with a need that stole her breath far more effectively than her recent fall. His arms wrapped around her, she clung to him and everything was exactly as she remembered. It was hot and hungry and perfect.

      He thrust his tongue inside of her mouth. She welcomed him with darting strokes. They teased and danced, relearning, discovering.

      She ran her hands up and down his back. He was stronger than she remembered, the muscles thicker. He’d filled out even as he remained lean. He shifted closer, his body bumping hers. She turned toward him and felt the thick ridge of his erection.

      The proof of his desire thrilled her. She hadn’t been with a man since Ray. For a while, she’d thought that part of her was dead. Recently it had tried to surface, but she was a single mother with a lot of responsibility. Sex wasn’t possible in her world.

      But now, with Mitch, desire flared to life. Liquid ache poured into her belly, moving lower as she recalled the feel of him filling her, taking her beyond this reality to a place that was pure pleasure.

      He continued to kiss her, circling her tongue with his. Then he pulled back enough to move his mouth along her jaw. He pushed up her T-shirt and jerked down the cup of her bra, exposing her left breast. He bent over her and sucked on her nipple, drawing it in deeply, flicking the tight tip with his tongue.

      She gasped and strained to get closer. Her skin burned for more and her body throbbed with pent-up need. She dug her fingers into his back, then moved lower so she could cup his rear. His arousal surged against her.

      He shifted her onto her back, unfastened the front of her jeans and shoved his hand under her panties.

      They were outside in the middle of the day, with her horse standing close by and the sky above them. She should have been shocked or embarrassed, but she could only hold her breath until his skilled fingers slipped between her legs, into her wet, waiting heat.

      He didn’t disappoint. Even as his thumb settled on that one, sensitive spot, he pushed two fingers inside of her. She was already swollen and desperate. The second he began to rub, she felt herself losing control.

      It was too fast, she thought as he stroked her, at the same time moving his fingers in and out of her. Too fast and too much and so incredibly perfect she didn’t want him to stop. She arched her hips to get closer, to take more. She moaned and writhed. Wanting filled her.

      He abandoned her breast, then shifted so that he could kiss her again. She welcomed him in her mouth, then closed her lips around his tongue and sucked until it was his turn to groan.

      He moved his hand more quickly—rubbing and pushing, taking her closer and closer. When she was within sight of her release, he drew back.

      “You’re going to have to get on top,” he told her.

      What?

      He rolled onto his back and undid his jeans. Rational thinking returned just enough for her to realize he probably didn’t know how to be on top. Not yet, anyway. And who on earth cared?

      She jerked off one boot, pushed down her jeans and panties, pulled one foot free, moved the clothing out of the way and settled herself on his erection.

      He filled her completely, perfectly, and her body responded with a sigh. She rode him a couple of times, letting herself stretch around him, taking in the sense of being with a man again. This man who had taught her the pleasures possible.

      “Lean forward,” he said.

      She did as he suggested. He reached under her shirt and unfastened her bra, then cupped her breasts in his hands.

      Rocks cut into her knees and her palms, but she didn’t care. Even as he teased her nipples, she moved up and down, filling herself with him, letting the heat rise between them. The wanting. Everything faded except the feeling between them.

      She felt him getting closer, felt herself responding to each deep thrust. The sun was hot on her back. Muscles tensed, she strained forward. Then he dropped one hand, slid it between them and rubbed her with his fingers.

      She came with a sharp