Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

“Mmm,” she agreed with a mock solemn nod. “Baby steps.”

“Yeah, exactly.” He trailed an index finger along her wrist, all the way up to the inside bend of her elbow and back down again, then peered at her and asked, “Feel anything?”

The thumping vein beneath Marc’s fingers told him Allie felt a whole lot, but she shook her head. “Nope.”

“That’s a good sign.” Holding her gaze, he lifted her palm to his mouth and placed a slow, lingering kiss there, hiding a smile when she shivered and bit her lip. “How about now?”

Allie swallowed hard enough to shift her throat. “Nothing.”

“Mmm, you don’t say.” It was time to dial it up a notch. Scooting nearer until their thighs touched, he swept back her dripping locks, then bent down and brushed his lips back and forth over her ear. He flicked his tongue along the rim before gently biting her lobe and whispering, “Now?”

A whimper was her only reply.

He was sure starting to feel something. Right behind his fly.

He worked his way down the side of her neck. When he found a weak spot at the top of her shoulder, he teased it—licking and sucking and nibbling until Allie’s low moans vibrated the skin beneath his lips.

He’d always wondered what she tasted like, and now he knew. Clean and savory, like honeydew. Marc couldn’t hide the lust in his voice when he tore his mouth away from her and asked, “Feel anything now?”

Allie’s breath came in shallow gasps. She tilted her head for more of his touch and murmured, “Not a thing.”

So he made love to her throat until she writhed in pleasure and leaned back onto the bed, sinking her fingertips into his shoulders to pull him atop her. A distant voice warned Marc he was going too far, but the blood drained from his brain and rushed between his legs, smothering his conscience with lethal force.

Distractions eliminated, he covered Allie’s body with his own and pressed her soft curves into the mattress, then nibbled a path from her shoulder to her jaw. He reached the corner of her mouth and pulled back to look at her—sodden curls fanning out around her flushed face, eyelids heavy, lips parted in need. Lord have mercy, she was so gorgeous, he ached deep inside where nobody had stirred him before.

“If you still don’t feel anything,” he whispered, “we can probably try that kiss now.”

“No lightning here.” Allie reached up and unfastened his hair, sending it spilling down like a curtain. “How about you, baby?” she asked with a seductive grin. “Anything scary happening in your pants?”

Chuckling softly, Marc aligned their hips and rocked, long and slow, against the terry cloth between her thighs to demonstrate exactly what was happening inside his pants. He must have hit the right spot because her eyes rolled back, mouth widening as she arched her neck and strained against him. Marc seized the opportunity and lowered his face to hers in a gentle kiss.

Or at least he tried to be gentle.

Once their lips met and she sighed into his mouth, he lost all control. A growl emanated from the back of his throat as he took her mouth with the force of nine years’ pent-up longing. She fisted his hair and angled her face to take his seeking tongue, luring him deeper into her mouth in wet thrusts that mimicked the unconscious motion of his hips.

If he thought Allie’s throat tasted good, it was nothing compared to her candied lips. He fed from her mouth, dizzy with the sensations of her warm scent and the noises rising from her chest. When she broke from the kiss and moaned his name, Marc quit caring whether or not the curse was real. If he woke up tomorrow with his head on backward it would be worth it.

“Marc,” she repeated, bucking against his erection, her eyes closed in rapture.

His body heated, and he rushed to shrug out of his captain’s jacket without leaving the decadence of Allie’s embrace. With that accomplished, he gazed past his waist to the long, tanned leg wrapped around his hips . . . the very bare leg.

“You naked under there?” Marc asked in a husky voice, not sure if he wanted to hear yes or no . It would be so easy to untie that white robe, unzip his fly, and slip right inside her.

But part of him knew it was a bad idea.

She answered by taking his hand and leading it up the length of her thigh, stopping where their clothed bodies met. He shifted aside so he could continue all the way to the top, and when he arrived at his destination he found her exposed, waxed baby-smooth, and already slick with desire.

God bless. He was going to burst in his drawers.

Bending to kiss her again, he ran one fingertip along the length of her slippery seam and stroked her with a whisper touch, teasing and tickling until she spread herself wide and dug her heels into the mattress in a silent plea for more pressure.

“How ’bout now, sugar?” he whispered against her mouth. “Feel anything?”

She only groaned and slurred a strand of incoherent Creole.

He didn’t need a translation to know what she wanted, and he gave it to her—massaging circles over her slippery flesh and swallowing her cries of pleasure. She was petal-soft and hot beneath his touch. Marc wanted to watch his fingers as he worked more tension into her coiling muscles, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the sweetness of her mouth. So he let his fingertips send images to his mind, imagining the sheen of arousal glistening at the juncture of her thighs, the pink pout of her sex as he slid a finger deep and felt the first wave of orgasm clench around him.

Then in the worst imaginable timing, someone began pounding on the bedroom door.

“Don’t get that,” Allie gasped, thrashing her head from side to side.

“I have no intention of stopping,” Marc promised. Nothing short of a fire would get him out of Allie’s room—or her body.

He added a second finger and pumped deeper, then twisted his hand palm-up to massage her sweet spot. The next surge crested in a climax twice as hard as the first. Marc covered her mouth with his, smothering her moans of release. Her pleasure rang inside his head like music, pride washing over him until he nearly burst with it. He loved making Allie shudder in ecstasy; his only wish was to take her higher.

He had to join himself with her completely, to bury his throbbing erection where she was blazing hot and wet enough to take all of him in one hard thrust. Allie must have sensed his need, because even in her weakened state she reached for his belt buckle.

Oh, hell yes.

He helped her with the belt, then jerked free the button at his waist, his gut clenching in anticipation of finding his own release.

The pounding on her door grew louder, but Marc let the thumps and distant shouts fly to his mind’s periphery. All he could think about was freeing himself from the confines of these damned pants . . . until the smoke detector split the air in a series of shrieks.

Only then did Marc lift his head and focus long enough to hear someone from the hall shout, “Fire!”

“It’s a miracle nobody was hurt.”

Allie frowned at the snowy layer of fire extinguisher foam coating the surface of Regale’s double bed. Thank God the flames hadn’t spread beyond this room, or the Belle ’s wooden decks could have caught like a tinderbox. Amazingly, the damage was contained to one ruined comforter and a few smudges of smoke staining the ceiling.

They were lucky.

Too bad no one else saw it that way.

“What rotten luck,” Nick said from the hallway, still clenching the handle of the cherry red fire extinguisher.

Marc ran a shaky hand through his hair and studied Regale, who leaned against the wall by the open window, both arms folded over his barrel chest. Allie noticed from her position near the bathroom door that the hair on Chef’s forearms was singed off, his only injury—remarkable, considering he’d awoken in a burning bed. The man could have been flambéed like the Steak Diane that had made him famous.