Lori Foster - All Riled Up

His five o’clock shadow rasped against her belly as he turned his face inward to kiss her, leaving small, tingling love bites. By slow degrees, he went lower and lower until taking a single breath was too difficult to accomplish.

Rosie struggled to assimilate all the new feelings—and then he pushed one finger into her and she jerked, her eyes rounding, her body rioting with sensation. “Ethan.”

“You’re tight.” His voice was nearly soundless with arousal. “And wet.”

She bit her lip to keep her groans to herself, but she couldn’t stop the automatic rise and fall of her hips. Ethan had large, hard, wonderful hands.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I want.” He worked another finger in, stretching her, just as his breath touched her most sensitive flesh.

“Ethan?” This was all very new to her, though he couldn’t know that. “I...”

With his fingers buried deep inside her, he covered her with his mouth. The scalding heat struck her first, then the gentle damp rasp of his velvet tongue. The sensation was so intense she couldn’t bear it, but she couldn’t stop him, either. No matter how she twisted, how she moaned, Ethan didn’t stop.

If anything, he pressed closer, holding her motionless with the weight of his broad shoulders, and then his mouth closed around her clitoris, suckling at her while his fingers pushed, withdrew and sank in again.

Her climax hit her without warning. Rosie had thought about this moment so many times, about how she’d act feminine and sexy and she’d lure Ethan so that he wanted to have sex with her again and again.

Instead she shouted like a crazy person, her body arching hard, uncontrollably. His hold tightened and he drove her until every nerve was alive, tingling.

As the spiraling explosion faded, she heard Ethan moan, felt his hands settle on her hips, tenderly squeezing. When she lay flat again, stunned and more or less quiet, he pulled away.

Rosie couldn’t move. Her legs were sprawled around him, her thoughts scattered. She simply hadn’t expected such a thing, such a wild bombardment on her senses.

Ethan rested his cheek on her belly and hugged her. She still gasped for breath, astounded by what had just happened, when he whispered, “I love you, Rosie.”

Her heart slammed to a halt. It took her two tries to catch her breath, to believe he’d actually said those special words, and then she started to sob. She didn’t mean to, but once the tears started, she couldn’t stop them. And damn it, she wasn’t a pretty crier. She wasn’t very quiet, either.

Ethan lifted his head to look at her, and his smile was lopsided, a little silly. “I’ve never seen you cry, Rosie.”

“Shut up.” She sniffled, wiped at her eyes and stretched her arm to the nightstand for a handful of tissues.

Watching her with that endearing grin in place, Ethan said, “So surly.”

“I’m embarrassed, all right?”

“Why?”

“I’m not very dainty about crying.” Her brother used to tease her that she sounded like a drunken walrus when she wept.

“You’re not very dainty about coming, either, but hey, I’m not complaining.” He stood beside the bed. Rosie froze in the middle of blowing her nose.

Dear heaven, he was gorgeous.

He lifted his jeans from the floor, pulled his wallet from the back pocket, located a condom and, casual as you please, opened the package and put it on. Rosie bolted upright in fascination. She’d never seen an erection in a raincoat.

Then she remembered she’d never seen an erection—not up close and personal anyway.

She started to comment on the process, but then Ethan was there, pushing her back down on the bed, crowding over her.

He kissed her cheek, up to her damp eyelashes, to her temple. Very softly he said, “I love the way you cry, and I love the way you come.” He cupped her face. “I love you.”

The tears came again, this time in a torrent. “Ethan.” She wrapped her arms tight around him and bawled. She felt stupid for her loss of control, but she couldn’t count the nights she’d lain awake and prayed that someday he’d say those three special words to her. Now that he finally had, her heart wanted to burst.

In a butterfly caress, he kissed her shoulder—and nudged her thighs wider apart so he could settle between them. “Shh,” he rumbled lowly, sounding indulgent. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I don’t—”

He pushed into her.

“—care!” Rosie clenched down hard as his cock slid deep inside her. It burned a little as he filled her, and felt so good she lost her breath again. “Oh, my—Ethan. Ethan.”

He actually laughed. But the laugh trailed off into a groan. He kept his hips flexed, straining against her, maintaining the pressure, pushing deeper and deeper. “Relax for me, honey.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I want you to take all of me.”

All of him? Rosie bit his shoulder, trying to silence her roar of pleasure as he rocked against her, slowly giving her more, then more still. Without thinking about it, she lifted her legs and locked them around his waist—and he sank in another inch.

Just when she thought it would be too much, he stopped and rested against her. “Rosie?”

She swallowed, shivered and finally choked an indistinct, “Mmm?”

“You were a virgin?”

There was only one answer she could give. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

Ethan didn’t tease her, didn’t crow about his conquest, he simply gathered her closer against him, kissed her mouth in a long, slow, deep kiss—and began moving.

The friction proved beyond incredible. Ethan kept kissing her. Long, lazy, consuming kisses. Hot, frantic kisses. He started to move faster and his breathing deepened, his muscles tightened.

Suddenly he levered himself up on stiffened arms. His thrusts were hard, slow, deep. Rosie stared at him, enthralled by the sight of his corded neck, the bunched muscles in his shoulders and biceps. His narrowed eyes were golden brown, bright, fevered. His jaw clenched.

And then she knew he was coming. She watched him through a haze. Their labored breaths mingled and she moaned with him, so excited to see him like this.

Moments later Ethan dropped sluggishly onto her, his face in her neck. Her legs went slack and slipped to the mattress. He was still inside her. It wasn’t easy, but Rosie managed to lift one hand to stroke the nape of his neck down to his sweaty shoulder. “I love you, too, Ethan.”

He gave an incoherent reply and tightened his arms.

Smiling, happier than she ever thought possible, Rosie asked, “When can we get married?”

He stopped breathing.

One second he was sucking air, sounding like a marathon runner, the next he was perfectly still. She barely felt his heartbeat—until it started drumming madly against her breast.

He raised his head, eyes agog. “Married?”

He appeared so horrified by the idea that Rosie considered slugging him. “Don’t say it like a dirty word, Ethan.”

“Well, no, but...marriage?”

Oh, she didn’t feel like crying now. She was spitting mad and very determined. “I’m marrying you, Ethan Winters, so you might as well get used to it right now. And, by God, we’ll live in my house and plant flowers in the summer and get a damn dog and eventually have some kids and—”

The shock cleared from his face and he started to laugh. Rosie shoved at him, but he didn’t seem inclined to stop. “You think me being a mother is funny?” she demanded.

“No,” he gasped around his chuckles. “No, I swear.”

“Buffoon! Get off of me.”

Instead he dropped his whole weight on her and got his chuckles under control. He wore a tender smile and his eyes were twinkling when he said, “Rosie.”