Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📕

other hand, impatient, pushed inside her panties again, Tate marveled that she didn’t simply dissolve.

“We… oh.” Suddenly her feet were off the ground, her legs wrapped around his hips.

“We what?”

“Huh?” she said as his teeth found her ear, his tongue the sensitive spot just behind it.

“You said we need to do something.”

She could feel him, the shockingly hard length of him, pressing against her center.  “We need to hurry.”

He made a noise, something guttural, then strode across the room. Shoving aside the toss pillows, he dumped her on the settee.

And muffled her gasp of surprise by closing his mouth over hers.

The kiss exploded into frenzy.

Open-mouthed, hot, wet – it wasn’t the least bit polite.  Tate felt the rasp of beard stubble against her chin, and shivered at the rough thrill.  This was Clay, defenses down.  No more cool-eyed agent or charming player.

He was raw.  Open.

Hers.

For however long it lasted.

“Clothes,” he breathed, when they had no choice but to come up for air.  Grasping the edge of her gown, he pulled it over her head.  “You’re wearing entirely too many.”

And at the sight of her bared breasts, feasted like a man starving.

Everything in Tate went hot, fluid and rushed toward the promise of more.  She clasped his head, heart swelling as she gave herself over, because she knew that this was right.  This night, this man, hell, even this sofa felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Until the elastic of her panties yielded to Clay’s fingers with a resounding rip.

“You… tore my underwear.”  She twisted around, watched the ice blue nylon fall to the floor.

“I’ve lost the ability to be civilized.”

When she looked back, she saw he was right.  His tousled hair, the feral gleam in his eyes, gave the impression of something untamed.

And something a little wild, a little untamed in Tate knocked against the gate of her desire. “Guess I better go get my whip.”

With a strangled sound, Clay practically ripped open his pants. She barely had time to appreciate the sight when he pressed forward with his hips, pushing the tip of his erection against the entrance to her body.

“Condom.”  He strained the word through gritted teeth. Fumbling his wallet from his back pocket, Clay tossed it aside, opened the foil wrapper with his teeth, then hastily covered himself.

Before she could touch him, kiss him, say his name, do something to add to the proceedings, he drove into her so fast and hard that she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.

CLAY held himself still as Tate’s liquid heat surrounded him, trying not to weep with gratitude.

The noise she’d made when he entered her nearly made him explode.

He wanted to take it slow, wanted to do everything exactly right, but she felt so good and he craved her like air, and he thought he might die if he didn’t start moving.

So he pushed her legs wider and drove himself deeper, again and again, giving into his baser instincts.

It was so unbelievably erotic – her totally naked, still damp from her shower; him totally clothed and smelling vaguely of sweat. He couldn’t slow down even if he’d wanted to.  She was…

Light, and goodness, and beauty.

Everything that had been missing from his life.

It was… mind blowing.

With the certainty that he was only going to last maybe three seconds longer, he reached down between them to help her join him.

That was all it took – just his touch in the right spot – and she proceeded to shatter around him.

It triggered his own personal explosion.

He saw lights.  Hell, he saw stars.

He saw Tate, head thrown back, damp hair spread like black silk against the brocade cushion, eyes closed tight against the surfeit of pleasure, and gathered her into his arms as he climaxed inside her.

He never – never – wanted to let her go.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her.

When he came to his senses, he was pretty well embarrassed, because he’d lasted all of about two minutes.  It was a personal all-time low. Hell, he’d even performed better in Sara Carlson’s bedroom closet when he was sixteen.

Way to make a first impression on the lady, Clay.  Tie one on, ravage her in her living room, and then barely make it worth her while.  He lifted his head, met her dancing eyes, and was relieved to see her smiling.

“Sorry,” he said.  Mortified.  “I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

Tate tilted her head to the side and ran her fingers through his hair.  “I’m pretty sure we just had sex.  You know – tab A goes into slot B?”

“No.” Clay shook his head, loving what she was doing to his hair, loving the feeling of still being inside her.  “That was more like spontaneous combustion.  I’d like to blame it all on the alcohol, but I’m pretty sure it’s actually your fault.”

“My fault?” One perfect brow arched heavenward as a lazy smile curled those lips.

“Yep.  Your fault entirely.  You’re just too damn sexy for your own good.”

She laughed, and Clay found himself smiling.  He could listen to her happiness forever.

“I’m also very, very naked.  Dicey, when there’s a houseful of paying guests upstairs.  Speaking of which, you’re fresh out of luck, Speedy.  The only bed currently left unfilled is mine.”

“Well now, it seems to me that that’s actually quite convenient.  You’re naked and you have a bed.  What more could an inebriated traveler ask for?”

“So you think you’re going to just sweet talk your way into my bed, all drunk and smelly?”

“As a guest, I could offer to pay you for the pleasure, but you might find that offensive.”

Tate shivered as he kissed her, made a little mmmm in the back of her throat, and Clay felt like a king.

“We should probably go upstairs,” she whispered.

Looking around, Clay realized how very badly he’d behaved.  Some king. This was the public parlor, for heaven’s sake.  He shifted his weight so that Tate could scoot out from beneath him.

Suddenly the smell of his own sweat didn’t seem quite