Must be why folks call it temptation…
Brea searched his face, fighting her own impulse to touch him. And the fire in his black stare told her he knew it.
If she dared to repeat her desire, he’d be all over her. She wasn’t sure she would have the will to resist him when he pushed her for everything she’d never given a man, then demanded more. But if she chose the coward’s way out, she’d be lying, letting them both down, and leaving herself to forever wonder what if.
Which was really the bigger sin?
The truth was, Cutter didn’t need her right now. His wounds weren’t mortal. Even if he had a concussion, he would wake up tomorrow to live another day, secure in the knowledge that he was surrounded by community, family, and friends who loved him.
Who did Pierce have?
Tonight, he had her.
“I want you to kiss me,” she whispered. “Now.”
He tensed. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Even though it’s wrong?”
According to Cutter, it was. Her father and God would concur, too. Pierce would probably break her heart in the end. Right now, none of that mattered more than giving him her honesty.
“Yes.”
“Even though this could get out of control?”
“Yes.”
“Brea. Baby…” Desire darkened his expression. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Pierce’s breaths came fast and harsh as he thrust his big hand in her hair, fisted the strands, and lowered his head.
She’d been kissed a few times, mostly by polite boys who hadn’t taken things too far because they’d been afraid to incur the wrath of Reverend Bell or Cutter Bryant. Once, she’d made out on a bus ride home with a football player after a game in Baton Rouge. He’d kissed her with a lot of gusto and very little finesse before he’d tried to feel his way under her shirt. When she’d shoved away his wandering hands, he’d called her a prude and told his teammates she was a waste of time. Afterward, she’d felt angry, ashamed, and determined not to suck face with a boy again.
But the instant Pierce covered her mouth with his, she realized she’d never truly been kissed.
He pried her lips apart, surged inside, and touched her somewhere deeper than she’d ever felt. Sparks flared and zinged. Her skin stretched tight. Heat burst into a bonfire in her belly, awakening more of this dizzying need.
Brea threw her arms around Pierce, pressing her throbbing nipples against his chest in search of relief. He was hot and impossibly hard. Rubbing against him only increased her torment.
Their shirts were in the way. She needed his bare skin against hers. Ached for it. Craved it.
With an impatient fist, she tugged his camo T-shirt up his torso. The velvety skin and rigid muscle across his abdomen and ribs tempted her. She dug her fingers into his back, pulling him closer, feeling him deeper. It still wasn’t enough.
At her touch, he groaned, twined their tongues together again, and reached behind his head. He interrupted their kiss just long enough to yank his shirt off and toss it to the floor.
She got a glimpse of his bare torso—big and hair-roughened, littered with tattoos and the scars of war, panting with desire—before he covered her mouth again and took her lips.
He seized her soul.
With shaking fingers, she braced herself on his steely shoulders and crashed into him, returning every jagged breath and stroke of his tongue as she curled her leg around his. As if he shared her desperation, he grabbed her thigh in his big hand and dragged it over his hip before backing her against the kitchen table and nudging her needy feminine flesh with his erection.
Pleasure spiked. Pierce swallowed her cries.
Under him, she wriggled, her blazing need burning through her misgivings and modesty. It demanded she get even closer, feel more of him—now.
Brea grabbed his steely biceps and writhed shamelessly. He ground his erection against the spot that made her wild for him. Pierce tore his mouth from their kiss, tossed his head back, and groaned out a curse.
Then he met her gaze. Instantly she knew if he’d been wearing gloves before, they were off now.
Good. She wanted to taste him, to feel him, to give herself to him.
She wanted to be his, even if it was for a night. Even if it was a sin. Even if she burned in hell for this desire. It couldn’t be any worse than twisting in agony without him.
His hands took a rough plunge down her body, skirting dangerously close to the sides of her breasts before he filled his palms with her backside and lifted her off her feet. Her flip-flops fell to the floor as he set her on his kitchen table, spread her legs, and made himself at home in between. “Want your shirt off?”
“Yes.”
Pierce gripped the hem of her floral tank and yanked it over her head. His stare fell on the skin he’d exposed. Beneath the lace-trimmed cups of her white bra, her nipples tightened and stabbed the modest cups. She shivered.
His rapacious black gaze skated down her bare belly, to the denim shorts clinging to her hips, to her bare feet with their painted pink toes. Then he settled his big palms around her hips and dragged her flush against him again. The sensations jolted her system. The longing between her legs torqued up, becoming pure torment.
“Pierce…”
“Jesus, pretty girl. You’re perfect.” He swept one hand across her abdomen, searing wherever he touched, before he dug his steely length right against her ache again. “Oh, fuck, yeah… You with me?”
Brea didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
“I want to suck those pretty nipples. What do you say to that?”
His demand sounded immoral. Wicked. Sublime. “Please.”
“Tell me to take off your bra, pretty girl.”
Her head was spinning. Her heart was chugging. She felt ready to burst into flames. “Take off my bra. Hurry.”
Pinning her in place with his hungry gaze, Pierce lifted one hand to the strap bisecting her back and unfastened all three hooks in the blink of
