No One But You by Carly Bishop

Author:Carly Bishop
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

When his mouth opened, she bit his lip, not too hard, but hard enough. As she eased the pressure he bit hers, just as hard. They were wild and angry nips, deadly silent, separated by heated thrusts of their tongues dueling, tasting, staking possession, claiming shelter and abandon.

Frantic to get closer, to feel safer, to create between their bodies the punishment they both dished out in that fierce and hungry kiss, she thrust her arms beneath his and took hold of his shoulders with her hands. She uttered a growl of her own and curled a long leg around the back of his and pulled herself up, climbing him until she could lock her legs around his waist.

He took a step back to rebalance, but misgauged and they fell to the forest floor together, not a far distance for the steep angle. Pilsner stamped and snuffled and the wind howled in the trees above them. She lay straddling Matt, closer and safer in his arms but in another realm of danger altogether, and still their lips never parted, save for ragged gaping breaths.

He brought his hands up to frame her face. Cold and roughened and scraped, his gentle touch simply took her breath away. And the angry kisses, the biting and tearing at each other, grew into something less frenzied, far deeper, a kiss to end all kisses.

Emotions of every stripe clawed at her. Fear and sheer terror. Anger, gratitude, shame. She lifted her mouth from his and looked into his beautiful dark eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He cupped her neck with his fingers, stroked her chin with his thumb. “I’m not.”

She swallowed back tears. “Will we ever agree on anything?”

“Not so long as the kissing and making up is this swell.” He gave a pained grin. “Makes me hurt.”

She blushed. One of those acquired skills to be dispensed with care and feminine cunning, perhaps Year Seven in the sequence of flirting and curtsying, patting masculine cheeks, and saying no prettily. This blush arose without the first thought of any artifice at all. “We should go.”

“Yeah. We should go.”

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