Mad About the Man by Tracy Anne Warren

Author:Tracy Anne Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-08-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Let me go,” she implored as he slipped the rest of her buttons free and spread her shirt open.

“Not yet.” His hand went to her waistband and unfastened her pants as well, sliding the zipper down to its base. “I rather like having you at my mercy.”

“Maddox,” she said with a warning growl, shifting against his hold.

“Shh, you’ll like it.” His breath whispered over her skin, her stomach muscles tightening as he wet the tip of his little finger and dipped it into her belly button.

Her toes curled inside her shoes.

Kissing her there first, he began journeying upward, licking and nibbling on his way. Every so often he would pause to suckle on a particularly tender bit of skin, leaving more marks than she already had from last night.

As before, he didn’t unhook her bra. Instead, he eased her breasts free, first one, then the other, so the two mounds were supported by the elastic and silk, yet plumped together.

He buried his face between and started kissing and suckling again.

Her back arched, her arms straining against the big hand he had gripped around her wrists. He didn’t hurt her, though, careful to restrain but not injure her in any way.

His teeth grazed against her, raking her nipples, one, then the other, before he started the whole kiss-lick-suckle routine again.

She bit her lip, wondering if she might go mad from the heated torment.

Then his free hand started sliding low, teasing its way across her bare skin, caressing and exploring with sinful intent. His fingers stopped when they reached the lacy waistband of her panties, sliding sideways back and forth, but going no farther.

“You’re wearing red today,” he said, lifting his head from her round, throbbing breasts to slide his gaze along her body. “Did you do it for me?”

“No.”

But maybe that was a lie? Maybe subconsciously she had.

“Either way, I like them. Red suits you, kitty cat.”

“I’m not a cat,” she said, meeting his eyes and seeing the desire burning in them.

“Oh, I think you are. A sweet, pretty little cat. Shall I make you purr?”

“Maddox.”

He slipped his hand inside her pants and covered her mound, threading his fingers into the short, soft nest of curls he found there.

Of its own volition, her body pressed toward him.

He smiled. “I loved the way you came for me last night. I’m going to enjoy watching you do it again.”

Instantly, she turned wet.

“You’re a beast,” she told him.

“And you love it.”

To her shame, he was right.

She did.

Her restrained breasts trembled, her wrists flexing within his hold.

He locked his eyes with hers, then slid a finger, inserting it deep, up past his knuckle.

She moaned.

“You’re so hot and wet,” he said. “It’s like touching heaven. I wish you could feel yourself as I do.”

“I’ll have to take your”—her breath hitched in her chest as he massaged her—“word for it.”

Pulling back, he eased out, then slipped in two fingers this time, filling her.

Slowly, he began his massage again, varying his strokes as he paused to scissor his fingers wide in a way that sent shivers coursing through her frame.

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