Passion. There it was. Surrounding her. Consuming her. She’d never been kissed like this before. Except…wait, that wasn’t true, because she’d experienced this very same thrill the other night when she’d kissed him. This time, however, there was no doubt in her mind that he was attracted to women—the hard cock pressing against her ass was all the evidence she needed.
Dylan continued to drive her wild with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth as he nibbled on her bottom lip before sucking on it. His hands traveled down the bumps of her spine, callused fingers snaking beneath the hem of her shirt.
She shivered as he began sliding the material up, those strong hands caressing her stomach, moving closer and closer to the undersides of her breasts.
When his exploration came to an abrupt halt, she voiced her disapproval in the form of a groan.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle. “I have every intention of playing with these gorgeous tits, but first I want to enjoy the view. Up you go.”
In the blink of an eye, he was helping her to her feet.
“What are you doing?”
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Me? Well, I’m going to lie here like this—” he fell back on his elbows, looking mighty pleased with himself, “—and watch while you undress.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “You want me to do a striptease? Am I supposed to dance or something?”
“Naah, no dancing required. And you don’t even have to go slow. Rip those clothes off if you want.”
“Do it for me.” Her brazen order came out of nowhere, surprising them both.
“Nope. Like I said, I’m just gonna enjoy the view.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He licked his lips. “Come on, honey, show me some skin.”
Although the two of them had worked everything out, a part of her still felt slightly wary, wondering if he was playing a cruel joke on her. Like she would take off her clothes, let him see her naked, and then he’d jump up and say, “Gotcha! I still hate you!”
Dylan must have read her mind, because he let out a breath and stood. “How about this? I’ll go first.”
He’s returned from the dead…and he wants her back.
Gone
? 2014 Annabel Wolfe
Jack Templeton was dead. Or so everyone thought. Red-carpet welcome aside, he knows returning from a highly secret year-long mission won’t be easy. He’s even prepared for the possibility that his girlfriend, whose face carried him through the hellish months alone, has moved on. But he never expected she’d move into the arms of his best friend.
Nicole is beside herself with joy to learn that Jack is alive, but there’s a small complication. Actually a huge one, and his name is Eric Janssen. Now her tangled feelings are stretching her heart to the breaking point.
Eric has always been sure of what he wants, but now he’s off balance on shaky emotional ground. He’s relieved his best friend is home…but he loves Nicole. And he’s not about to just hand her over.
There’s only one way to hash this out. And the battleground is about to move from the boardroom to the bedroom…
Warning: Multiple sexy heroes, a heroine who seems demure but really isn’t, light bondage and mild violence.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Gone:
Stepping out of the shower, Nicole reached for a towel, slowly drying off, seeing the slight redness on her breasts and remembering the erotic feel of Jack’s beard on her skin as he made love to her.
He’d come home.
It was still difficult to process, to accept that he’d stepped back into her life, to remember all those lonely, miserable evenings when she thought he was gone forever. But he was there in her bed, so sound asleep he hadn’t moved so much as a muscle when she woke and eased out from beneath his encircling arm. In the morning light, his face and body in repose, she had stood there and just looked at him, absorbing the changes. His face, all-too handsome, was more angular, his ebony hair unruly against the white sheets, his torso tanned a dark bronze, the vivid scars on his leg and chest indicative the injuries were healed but fairly recent.
Her exact state of mind was difficult to define. Happy…God yes, ecstatic, overjoyed, but it felt surreal, and she had no illusions. This wasn’t going to be easy. She looked into the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection, wondering who that woman was, so different from the one who had looked back at her just yesterday morning.
At least it was Saturday, which meant she didn’t have to go to work. She wrapped the towel around her hair, brushed her teeth and went back into the bedroom for some clean clothes. Picking out a pair of white linen shorts and a light blue sleeveless blouse because the forecast said it was going to be in the mid eighties, she dressed in the bathroom, dried her hair and put on a minimum of make-up—kiss of light foundation, gloss on her lips and a touch of mascara.