Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

her ass in his rough palm. The hot brand had her gasping, her pelvis tilting, wanting him closer, even though he was wearing far too many clothes.

He was wearing one item of clothing.

It was still too many.

Speaking of which, she shoved down her leggings, their limbs tangling as she kicked them off her feet, as she shimmied her panties down behind them. And since his chest was right there, she took the opportunity to kiss it.

His skin tasted of sunshine and the gentle, cool breeze that gathered on one’s skin just before the sun started to set.

Lower and lower.

Until his chest existed only for her gaze and mouth, until he halted her explorations before she could taste every inch of him like she desired. Capturing her hands in one of his, he brought them up to his mouth, kissed the back of them, dragged his teeth along the sensitive insides of her wrists.

She shivered, flexed against his grip. “I want to touch.”

“And I don’t want to come in my underwear,” he countered, lips moving up her forearm, light kisses along the way until he made it to the inside of her elbow, and fuck her if that spot didn’t seem to have a direct line connecting straight to her pussy.

A shudder wracked her frame before she could tease him about his threats of prematurity. “You could come in me,” she said breathlessly, as he continued kissing up her arm and then down her chest, drifting closer and closer to the hard buds of her nipples.

He froze, groaned, dropping his forehead to her collarbone. “Killing me, sweetheart.”

“I’m the naked one,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said. “And I’m the one without a condom. So, I’ll say again”—his finger trailed down her chest—“killing. Me.”

“Is that all?”

He sputtered, and her amusement was a joyful, buoyant thing, setting her heart fluttering, her lips twitching. “Is—”

She nudged him back, sliding from the bed.

Somehow, she didn’t feel self-conscious striding over to her purse, where it had fallen when she’d gone all cavewoman by the door, unzipping it and pulling out her emergency toiletry kit. Probably because when she glanced over her shoulder, it was to see his hot gaze on her, desire evident on his face. No derision. No disgust.

Just wanton need.

And she suddenly wasn’t shy.

It was like all the heavy, gaudy varnish on a piece of furniture was sanded off, the beautiful grain of the wood below finally visible.

She was . . . finally herself.

“You’re doing makeup at a time like this?” Ethan asked, his tone light, making her realize that she’d been acting like a statue again, bag open in one hand, a tube of lipstick in the other.

She tossed the latter aside, clenched the bag in her hand. “It’s your fault,” she muttered, climbing onto the bed next to him.

He was lying there like a tasty morsel she wanted to taste every inch of.

“What’s my fault?”

“You’re too fucking attractive.” More muttering, though this time it was accompanied by her rustling through the contents of her bag. “Too damned distracting.”

“I’ll circle back to your need for my sexy body in a moment.” He sat up, trailed his fingers along her shoulder. “For now, tell me what you’re looking for.”

“I’m . . . looking . . . for . . . ah-ha!” Her fingers closed around the plastic square, she pulled it out with a flourish and held out the condom. “This!”

His lips turned up. His eyes went even hotter. “You’re a fucking goddess.”

More joy bubbling inside her. So much that her face actually hurt from smiling so wide. “This, I know,” she said lightly, thinking that in this moment, in this bed, with this man, she really could be a goddess, could go after what she wanted and not be a fucking coward. “I’m—”

His mouth found hers for a kiss that stole her breath, had her melting down to the mattress, him coming on top of her.

“You taste like temptation,” he murmured, kissing his way back down her chest. “And the woman who has captured my soul.” Those words bounced around her chest, bringing pleasure in their wake. Love and need and desire all wound together, lifting her higher than she ever thought possible. His lips dragging over her skin as she basked in that, his heated, damp mouth a fraction of an inch from her nipple.

“I—” His head lowered. “Oh, God—”

She groaned, lost her train of thought for long minutes as he lavished her breasts with attention, before slowly drifting lower. Her hands found his hair, stalling his downward progress when she found a particularly sensitive spot.

He obliged her unspoken request, stroking and kissing, nipping and tracing the area beneath her ribs, delving into her belly button, using his tongue and lips to create patterns on her skin that had her nerves prickling, her temperature rising. Fingers and mouth along the curve of her stomach, over her hip bones, drifting down between her thighs, coaxing them apart and settling his shoulders between them.

And then he paused, hot breath on her pussy, hands beneath her ass. “Yes?” he asked, his voice a rasp that made her nipples bead tightly, her toes curl against the mattress.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Thank fuck,” he said, the curse against her labia, vibrating through her, gathering slick heat in her center, taking her dangerously close to an orgasm even before his tongue traced through her folds.

That single slide through her pussy was the best sensation of her life.

One that was quickly eclipsed by the next, and then the next, and then the next, desire pooling, need spiraling higher as he ground his mouth against her and set about wringing every drop of pleasure from her body. Her head fell back, her hips bucked against his lips, moans tumbling from her mouth one after another.

That beard . . .

Fuck, it was everything.

Sensitizing her nerve endings, ramping her pleasure. She gripped his head, held him tight, and just hung on for the ride.

And what an incredible ride it was. She was shooting through the sky