Power: Special Tactical Units Division (In Wilde Country Book 3) by Sandra Marton

Author:Sandra Marton [Marton, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B013FOSNVU
Published: 2015-09-21T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

What in hell did Superman think he was doing? Did he figure he could get out of this by kissing her into silence?

Ridiculous.

The arrogant idiot.

He owed her an apology. Okay. Maybe not. Why would she give a damn what he believed about her? The point was, she was not into machismo and she was certainly not into hot, sweaty sex with a stranger, and if that was where he thought this was—where he thought this was—where he thought…

Dio!

Who cared what he thought?

Alessandra’s brain blanked out everything but the kiss.

The hot demand of Tanner’s mouth.

The strength of his embrace.

The beat of his heart against hers.

And, oh, the hard thrust of his erection against her belly.

She moaned.

He drew her closer.

Her hands slid up his chest, to his shoulders; she wound her arms around his neck, dug her fingers into his dark hair, and the world tilted.

He groaned with satisfaction, cupped her ass, lifted her into him, changed the angle of the kiss, took it deeper, darker, hotter.

She sucked on the tip of his tongue and he groaned again. The sound was one of raw, pagan want. Her body responded with a rush of molten heat between her thighs and she fisted her hands in his cotton T and leaned into him.

He said something low and harsh as he thrust his leg between hers.

Oh. Oh yes. Yes…

She rubbed against his leg.

He slid his hands under her shirt.

His hands were big. Warm. Rough from work.

He stroked one hand down her back. Lower. Lower. Slid it inside the waistband of her scrubs. His fingers on her naked flesh.

She shuddered. Shoved up his shirt. He made a little sound in the back of his throat as she explored him. The tautly muscled shoulders and pecs. The swift beat of his heart. The toned, exciting washboard abs…

He pushed her hands away.

She whimpered in protest until he tore his shirt over his head and yanked her into his arms again. She caught her breath at the feel of him. Hot skin. Hard muscles.

He caught her wrists.

“Wait,” he said in a low growl. He grasped the hem of her T-shirt. “Raise your arms.”

A second later, her naked breasts were against his bare chest.

He pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. Nipped her throat. Soothed the tiny wound with a lick of his tongue.

She heard herself sobbing. Pleading. She wanted more. This wasn’t enough. It wasn’t…

His hands cupped her breasts.

His thumbs flickered across her nipples.

Her legs buckled and he swept her into his arms, carried her into their tiny shelter and lay her down on the bed of soft palm fronds.

He stood above her, silhouetted by the light of the fire. He was beautiful, a magnificent male animal, and she had never wanted a man, never wanted anything as she wanted him.

He toed off his boots. Undid his belt. Unzipped his camos. Shoved them down. His penis, swollen and proud, tented his jockeys.

“Tanner,” she whispered.

It was the first time she’d used his name.

She said it softly, but it

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