Handsome Devil (11 page)

“
You never back away from a challenge,” he murmurs. It's like he takes personal pride in the fact.

“
Sometimes,” I correct. My heartbeat is picking up speed, of course. No ice princess here. “This is not one of those times.”

His ocean eyes are practically making love to my lips. This is where we left off in the corridor, right? I thought this was a non-issue, but it turns out that was just the prelude. I should be able to put my hand on his chest and set him to rights.
It's not happening. We talked about it, get over it.
Something like that. “You're no good for me,” I tell him baldly.
 

“
I disagree.”

“
Awfully convenient. Go on, tell me all about how we'd be amazing together. That it's worth exploring.” It's nothing I haven't heard before.

This is where the poetry and promises come in. I'm so over that, and yet I'm actually shocked when all M'anu does is say, “No.”

And he kisses me.

Kisses. Me.

An oh-my-god, is-this-happening kiss. He closes the distance between our mouths over the course of a breath and knocks mine right out of me. This is a melding of lips that blows my mind. He takes over in his unique way, tilting my head with a firm hand so that we're perfectly angled, his thumb under my jaw. When fireworks go off in my blood, I realize my eyes are closed. My heart rings in my ears and I sway closer. My whole universe just contracted to M'anu and the sum of his parts, his lips—warm, certain, tender—owning mine.

Holy dear mother of all that is sacred.

It's...amazing.

He's right. He doesn't have to say a word. It's obvious.

When he pulls back I stay right where I am. Gobsmacked. Thunderstruck. Dumbfounded. It reached up and hit me right between the eyes. I blink, staring up at him with my jaw slack.

M'anu's grin is pure feline. How can a guy be so pretty and look so lethal at the same time?

He swoops down and hauls me up. “Holy—” I yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

He sets me up on the bench. He looks up at me. “Much better.”

When he kisses me this time, I'm prepared. Sort of. The whoo-hoo rollercoaster feeling isn't quite so startling but just as solid in impact. Not once but twice now. Man, I'm in trouble.

Like in all cases, though, I'm not going down without a fight.

I kiss him back. I lay it on him like I've never kissed anybody before, threading my fingers through his short hair and holding him where I want him. I taste, lick, and explore every inch of his mouth, which seems to be just the right size for mine. He makes a sound of approval, his grip tightening on the waistband of my jeans.

He tastes so good. Mouths taste like mouths—like saliva and toothpaste of choice. Not M'anu. He's commitment and determination, velvet smoothness and tangy spice. Biochemistry? Maybe, but who cares? It's addicting.

I turn my head and go deeper for a split second before I have to come up for air.

Pretty boy just turned beautiful man, his lips swollen and his eyes drowsy with pleasure. I brush his bangs back, drinking him in. I can't believe an exotic male like this can manage to appear inviting, but he does. He watches me, hiding nothing. It's a raw, open moment. I think he can see more of me than I can of him right now, and that's a lot.

Nobody has to tell me this is crazy or sudden or probably not going to end well. I figured that out on my own. Yet I think that this moment will stay crystal clear to me even when I get old. I'll always be able to remember the way he smells, the slight parting of his mouth as he pants, and the steady pressure of his hands on my hips. The big bad open and available to me. All I have to do is reach out. “You scare the hell out of me,” I admit quietly, studying every nuance of his expression.

He makes a sound under his breath that might be called a chuckle, except no human has ever made that kind of noise before. His chest vibrates against my sternum. His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, spreading wide. “Do I make your heart beat faster, female?”

My breath hitches. His touch is so vivid my shirt might as well not even be there. “Yes.”

Gold-flecked eyes grow more hooded, tracing the curve of my cheek. His palm smooths upward until the pads of his fingers rest on where the shirt stops and the skin between my shoulders is exposed. “Do I make your skin pebble?”

It does, right on command. Even my nipples. “Y-yes.” Where did that frog in my throat come from? Grown woman, have had sex before with both genders, turned on by two sentences and a rumbling voice.

Well, we've all got our vices.

His face is very close to my chest. If he lowered his chin just a little, he'd be looking right at the tight buds my bra isn't doing too much to hide. He doesn't though, gaze trained very purposefully on my throat and shoulders. Every bit he looks at feels ultra sensitive.  

Oh, he's got me good.

It's always been hard for me to look into a lover's eyes during an intimate moment. It felt like I was bearing my soul for them scrutinize and judge. I have secrets, deep ones, and the possibility of someone unintentionally discovering them was too frightening to risk.

I find myself searching for that connection now, almost afraid that
he
won't look back. But then he does, and it's like something that was empty is now full. It's still terrifying—I'm vulnerable, more open than I've ever been with someone, and he seems like the last person I should be like that with.
 

I bite my lip, my uncertainty broadcasted loud and clear.

I wish I had better words to describe M'anu's eyes. The exact shade of deep blue, the scattering of otherworldly yellow glimmers in the orbs—every descriptor I come up with just seems inadequate. Then again, maybe someone else wouldn't see them the same way I do. Maybe they would look at him and see a big, deadly alien with sharp teeth and not much in the brains department.

When I look into them, I see a stillness that's watchful and waiting. It's quiet but vast, just like space. Beneath that is lust, purpose, and more than a little of his own vulnerability.

He blinks in that characteristically deliberate way of his, and his mouth quirks. Before I know it, my mouth is stretching to match him smile for smile.

M'anu knows my secrets. He knows my hair is really green and straight. He won't freak if I go too long between colors and the roots start to show. He'd probably dig it, actually. He's already skimming up my spine and tugging at the bun I created, trying to find the hair elastic. I love the feel on his fingers cupping my nape. They're strong, sure fingers, the kind I could lay into and not worry about.  They tangle with my hair and it feels sublime.

I let my eyes slid closed and I tilt my head back with a sigh.

He kisses the base of my throat, which I unconsciously bared to him. He nuzzles the skin with his nose, breathing deep. I tighten my grip on his hair, letting him know that I like what he's doing, though I think the shiver gave it away. I turn my chin and rest it against the side of his face. He smells like soap and man. I like the softness of his bangs in contrast to the short stubble of hair that rasps against my fingers at his temples.

I'm cuddling a Ferissian. Never thought I'd see the day.

I'm hot and fuzzy at the same time, if that makes any sense, my desire to see M'anu naked at war with my need to explore him just as he is. It's a total teenager feeling, that anxious anticipation of the main event but wanting to do everything else at once too.

I press my mouth against his temple in an open mouth kiss. He moves under my touch, his hold on me tightening. His chest is pressed against my stomach, his ribs begging to be cradled by my pelvis. I'm dying to wrap my legs around him, but I make myself wait while I trail kisses down the curve of his face. I tilt his chin up and I nibble my way over, coming up to his lips and taking them. Yep, taking them. I want to leave my mark after I show that I'm just as much a part of this as he is. Whatever this is.

He takes it like the champ he is.

A laugh unexpectedly bubbles in my throat. I kiss him again and again. He smiles reflexively, probably not all too sure what amused me but willing to go along for the ride anyway.

He runs his tongue out and licks my bottom lip, and the kiss changes. There's a straight shot of lust to my pussy. I arch into him. His other hand goes to my ass and squeezes one cheek, bringing me into his body. Yeah baby. I wrap my arms around his shoulders again and hold on, drinking him in. He takes control of the kiss and dances with me when I try to take it back. There's not a crevice of my mouth he isn't intimately familiar with by this point.

I don't know how it happens, but I come alive for him then. Want starts to ride me harder than before. I'm not close enough, and yet there's only a few ways it's physically possible to be so. I go for it, hooking one leg around his torso. Too many freakin' layers of clothes between us still.

“
Yes,” he says against my mouth.

Did I voice my thoughts? I don't remember. Who cares? He's sliding an arm under my ass and hauling me up, causing me to wrap the other leg around and locking behind his back. I'm high up and he lets me shimmy lower until my pussy is flush against his stomach, his kiss following me down.

It's a zillion degrees of heat between us, too hot for clothes. Clothes must come off.

His
clothes must come off. Best idea I've had all day.
 

I want him, and I want him now. I reach down with one hand and drag up his shirt. I don't get anywhere, as I'm sort of sitting on the thing.

He solves the problem by putting me on the table. He sets me right on it and lets go, breaking the kiss and leaning back to grab the shirt himself. I don't release my leg hold on him, and he doesn't say anything about it. He just gets the hem and pulls it up.

Whoa.

He tosses it away.

Did I say whoa already? I can't think of a better word.

M'anu is layer upon layer of muscle—not the gym kind, but the kind that comes from being naturally barrel chested and designed for delivering beatdowns. He doesn't have a six pack because that's too much concentration on one area. He's buff everywhere. Hips. Chest with defined pecs. Biceps, triceps, and a whole lot of other muscle groups that tell me he's the real deal.

My eyeballs are stuck to his skin and I'm gaping like a fish. I don't care. He's clearly amused by my ogling, and I'm currently inclined to indulge him.

He's so beautiful in his harshness. His body is not pretty like his face. It's scarred. There are marks everywhere, with stories attached I'll discover at a later time. That's what's so gorgeous about him—he's real. He's just...M'anu.

He picks up my hand and places it on his chest. Not on the left. On the right.

I feel his heart beating there. It's steady but excited, and his cock is already pressing into my crotch through both of our pants. Every move he makes, every time he shifts, I feel and see the muscles play under his skin. He's poetry in freakin' motion.

I drop my hand, pull my tank over my head, and throw it after his. “Now we're even,” I tease, leaning back on my elbows.

He studies me closely. “Not quite.” He hooks a finger over the front of my bra.

He's so damn hot. I look down at his finger and marvel at the size of it. I'm delicate next to him physically. He could crush me with one hand if he wanted.

I feel the age old surge of power all women experience when a man like this wants them. It's dangerous and seductive. Just like him. “Why don't you do something about it?”

His lips purse in thought. Well, who knew that would be adorable? “I believe I would rather watch.” His finger skims down my torso and over my hips, until he reaches my thighs. He skips the most important part of that journey (i.e. my very empty pussy) but he doesn't seem all that concerned, massaging my legs lazily.

I hook a finger over one strap and then the other, sitting up to drag them off of my shoulders, watching through my lashes. I reach behind to unclasp the bra, and moments later it was gone, dangling from my thumb before I let it drop.

B-cups are not going to impress anybody for size, but a boob is a boob is a boob, and M'anu's appreciative gaze proves that yet again. They're called fun bags for a reason.

I thrust out my chest so he can get a better look, loving the way he takes me in. “Like what you see?”

“
To speak the plain truth, female,” he replies in a gravelly voice,
“like
is too mild a word for it.”
 

He puts a hand square on my shoulder and pushes me to the table. Two seconds later he swoops down and sucks one nipple into his mouth.

I arch, one big shiver shaking my frame. I grab the back of his head and hold him where he is. He sucks hard, which is just how I like it, and his tongue swirls. Instant flooding of my pussy, which was already pretty wet. His other hand palms my cheek while he humps into the cradle of my legs. The friction, licking, and touching are amazing, but it's not enough. “M'anu,” I demand. “Fuck me.”

He breaks suction—then moves to the other nipple, totally ignoring me.

The table is cold but he's sunshine and animal focus. He thrusts against me stronger, a growl building in the back of his throat. My skin is trying to stick to the table, resisting the upward motion almost painfully. I scatter desperate kisses against his crown and forehead, any part of him I can reach. My legs unlock and I spread them wide, balanced on the table, trying to provoke him into taking this to the next level. I run my hands up and down his chest, his shoulders, his arms, everywhere. I can't reach his pants, damnit. He's too tall and my wingspan isn't long enough.

So I reach for the button of my jeans.

Blue eyes flash up at me an instant before he seizes my wrists and pins them to the table, one on  each side of us. He swirls the tongue, raising up so I can see what he's doing. “
No
.”