Hot Under Pressure (24 page)

“A lot of memories in that old thing,” Beck observed, staring at the futon and remembering how the divot in the center of the mattress had meant they spent every night twined around each other, a tangle of arms and legs and curly red hair.

He wouldn’t have been able to throw it out, either.

She raised her pale brows at him. “It’s still pretty comfy. Want to take it for a spin?”

They hadn’t turned on any lights, and there was something terrifyingly intimate about the moment. Her face was so close to his, the tips of their noses brushed when he breathed. It was exhilarating, as if the two of them were alone in the universe, and the outside world had ceased to exist.

There was nothing but this, nothing but her and the tide of longing swelling inside him.

She licked her lips again, and the wave broke over his head and dragged him down into the undertow.

In two long strides, he was at the edge of the navy blue futon, reluctantly lowering his armful of woman to the mattress. She reclined against the raised back, white arms folding behind her head in an unconsciously sexy pose as she stared up at him with those big blue eyes.

The futon was still in couch-mode, the back propped at an angle instead of lying flat like a bed, but Beck was too impatient to wrestle with the mechanism to unfold it, which he’d bet hadn’t gotten any less temperamental and sticky over the years.

All he could focus on right now was Skye, sprawled in front of him, luscious and curvy … and wearing far too many clothes.

He wanted to kiss her some more. He wanted to clutch her close, as close as he could get her, and never let her go. He wanted to touch her bare skin, lick every inch of her from head to toe. He wanted to be inside her.

He wanted … too much.

Remember your training. Prioritize
, he ordered himself, setting one knee on the futon by Skye’s hip and leaning over her.

First order of business was obviously dealing with the clothing issue. Once she was naked, everything else would follow.

The problem was how damned distracting Skye was being. The way she arched her back as his hands went to the hem of her clingy tank top; the trembling satin of her belly against the backs of his knuckles as he peeled the stretchy material up and over her head.

The fact that once he’d wrestled the tank top off, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

He clenched her shirt in his fist and stared down at what he’d revealed, breathing heavily.

Skye’s breasts had always been glorious, big and round and silky soft, capped with high, pink nipples that begged for his mouth.

Now, ten years later, the abundant reality of them put his memories to shame.

Red suffused the porcelain skin of her cheeks, flooding down her neck and into her chest. Beck caught the way her hands twitched, as if fighting the impulse to cover herself up, and he couldn’t help his instinctive growl.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told her, hearing the rough husk of his own voice but unable to smooth it out. “Even more than you used to be. I could look at you for hours.”

Her breath caught—he could see it in the way her chest stilled, the sudden shift in her breathing doing amazing things to the soft orbs of her breasts.

With the blush still heating her flesh, she lowered her eyes and peeked up at him through her long golden lashes. “Is that all you plan to do? Look at me?”

Beck defied any of the hard-ass, tough-as-nails sailors who’d drilled him at recruit training camp to stick to the mission plan with a distraction like Skye Gladwell staring up at them.

*   *   *

Until Beck had started lifting the hem of her tank top, Skye had completely forgotten that she’d gone for comfort today and worn one of her shirts with the built-in shelf bra instead of a real bra.

So when he got that tank off and she was completely bare underneath, it threw her a little.

After all, her wet pink bra hadn’t provided much in the way of coverage in the bay the night before, but it had at least been something.

She could feel herself coloring up, an uncomfortable rush of blood stinging her skin. The urge to hide her breasts like some bashful virgin was immediate and overpowering—and also ridiculous, considering Beck was the guy who’d relieved her of her virginity more than a decade ago.

Besides, Beck obviously didn’t want her covering anything up. And when he told her she was gorgeous, all it took was one searing look at the intense heat in his eyes to convince her that he liked what he was seeing.

An unfamiliar but highly welcome surge of confidence flooded her system.

“Is that all you plan to do? Look at me?” The instant leap of flames in his eyes dried her mouth, and she had to lick her lips before she could continue, her voice gone breathy and hoarse. “Because if that’s the game we’re playing, I think you ought to strip down, too. Just to keep things fair.”

That got her a twisted grin, wicked enough to tighten everything low in her body. Skye shifted on the cushion, her thighs rubbing together damply, making her ultra aware of the sensitive, throbbing wetness between her legs.

With a slow, teasing smirk, Beck backed off the futon and stood up, one big hand lifting over his head to grasp the back of the black T-shirt’s neck. He pulled the shirt off in one fluid move, shoulders hunching forward and suddenly revealed abs tightening in a swift crunch as the cotton lifted and was tossed away.

Skye stared. At least her mouth wasn’t dry anymore, she thought nonsensically, as the sight of the slabs and dips of thick, ridged muscle covering Beck’s torso brought on a craving to taste the salty, smoky flavor of his smooth olive skin.

Beck had always been strong, and she knew from the night before that he’d bulked up over the last ten years, that he’d grown into his big, rough frame.

But she hadn’t had the chance to really savor the changes in his body. From his powerful shoulders to his hard, defined abs, Beck was all man.

He looked like some ancient warrior king, savage and brutal, the scars she glimpsed telling the story of his conquests. There was a small nick on his left shoulder, she noticed, and what looked like a burn mark slashing over his right bicep, which flexed as his hands came up to unbutton the fly of his jeans.

Skye sucked in air, eyes riveted on the long, blunt fingers toying with those buttons.

But nothing happened.

“Your move, Skye.”

Gaze flying up to meet the heat of Beck’s expectant stare, Skye reached for that new confidence and hung onto it with all her might.

She hooked her thumbs in the elastic waistband of her long tiered skirt, snagging her underwear at the same time, because if she was going to go for this, then she was by God going to
go for it.

For a moment, the awkwardness of lifting her hips off the cushion so she could work the skirt and panties down her legs almost paralyzed her.

But then she saw the way Beck’s eyes followed every move she made, like a hawk tracking a rabbit through the underbrush, and she got over it.

With a last tiny jingle from the brass bells on her ankle bracelet, Skye pulled her knees up and kicked her clothes away, and she was naked.

The canvas covering the futon mattress was scratchy and cool against her heated skin, and every shift of her muscles made her shockingly aware of how exposed she was, how much of her body he could see.

To distract herself from worrying about the changes he must see in her, she went back to cataloging the marks life had left on him. She needed to see more; she needed to see everything.

“Now you,” she urged, barely recognizing the thready husk of her own voice.

He didn’t hesitate, peeling the jeans and boxer briefs down his long, muscular legs, revealing crisp, dark body hair sprinkled over the delicious all-over natural tan she’d envied like crazy back when she was still coming to terms with her own doughy paleness.

Beck looked like he spent an hour a day doing naked push-ups and sit-ups in the full glare of the sun.

And when he twisted at the waist to drop the pants behind him, Skye caught a glimpse of something she’d missed the night before—a tattoo, all black swirls and lines, covered his left shoulder and ran halfway down his back.

It looked like writing, like words, and a bolt of heat shot through her as she considered the possibilities.

Surely not … surely there was no way he’d had that particular poem inscribed on his body …

She didn’t get a chance to see exactly what the design was, because Beck turned back to face her, and the entire question was wiped from her mind. All she could see was miles of smooth, hard flesh, the biteable divots cutting over his hips … the heavy, flushed spear of his cock, dark with blood and hard enough that the engorged plum of the head slapped against his ridged stomach when he moved.

Her mouth watered, the memory of his taste stinging the back of her throat. Giving up all pretense of being playful and lighthearted about this, Skye lifted her arms in mute appeal, begging for the hot, crushing weight of his body against hers.

Beck didn’t disappoint. With a low sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest, he swooped down on her like that hungry hawk had finally gotten a clear shot at the doomed rabbit.

Skye had never been so happy to be pounced. He felt like heaven, warm and big and there, the reality of him undeniable.

This was no dream, like the thousand other times she’d woken alone in her bed, gasping and sweating and reaching out for something she was sure she’d never feel again.

This was happening. And her body responded to Beck as if it recognized him on a cellular level.

Ten long years were wiped away in the space of one loud, pounding heartbeat.

Her legs fell open naturally, welcoming this man into the cradle of her hips, which pushed up into the delirious pressure of his thick, heavy erection dragging against her slick folds.

Beck’s arms went around her, pulling her up and close until there was nothing between them, not even a whisper of air—only the damp, throbbing pulse of passion.

Skye let her head fall back against the futon. It felt too heavy on her neck, outside her control, as all her consciousness shifted to what was happening lower down. Until Beck called her attention back, upward, into her throat as he kissed, licked, and nipped his way across the shivery, delicate skin of her neck.

Someone moaned, a high, reedy sound, and Beck closed his mouth over the thumping pulse in her neck, stilling the vibration before Skye could do more than register that the sound had come from her.

He sucked at her skin, worrying the spot gently, and Skye groaned even louder as she felt blood rushing just under the surface, marking the spot.

Marking her.

The possessiveness of the move should’ve scared her, or pissed her off—but it didn’t. Instead, she was vaguely aware of a tingling rush of heat between her legs that made her want to move, thrust, wriggle her hips until he touched her there.

It was as if Skye’s desire, her need, passed directly from her body to Beck’s brain. He gave her what she wanted before she could gather the words to beg him for it.

Letting out a deep growl of his own, Beck slid one large palm down her spine and under her hips, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.

One spinny, disorienting moment later, he had his back to the futon and Skye settled atop him, her knees on either side of his lap.

Nice.

Fully enjoying the feeling of being in control, Skye raked her hands down Beck’s chest. She tested the thick pads of muscle with her fingertips, taking note of the way Beck narrowed his eyes and clenched his rock-hard jaw when she brushed past a nipple.

The small, brown circle of flesh went taut and needy under her touch, and Skye couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. Bending down, she replaced her fingers with her mouth and the complicated, savory taste of him exploded across her tongue.

His hands wandered up and down her back, sending chills over her whole body as she devoted herself to relearning the texture of Beck’s skin. It was all too seductively easy to lose herself in sensation, every one of her senses trained on the man below her.

But Beck didn’t seem to be satisfied with a leisurely exploration, and when his fingers brushed down and over the globes of her behind, his fingers curling in to trace where it split like a ripe peach, the hunger for more lashed Skye as if he’d taken a whip to her.

She jumped a little, startled at the liquid response of her body, and Beck gasped out a husky laugh as her sudden movement jolted his fingers further into her cleft.

The naughty, forbidden touch electrified Skye, every hair on her body standing on end, and she sat up so quickly, she overbalanced and nearly crashed to the floor.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Beck soothed, his grip on her never wavering, holding her steady.

Which was a good thing, because all the squirming around on his lap and almost-toppling-over business had prompted Skye to grip his hips with her knees like a rider trying to stay on a bucking bronco—and the resulting pressure of the iron length of his cock against her clit made lights flash behind her eyes.

White noise rushed through her ears and when she opened her eyes, she stared down at Beck, panting, open-mouthed, every part of her trembling and yearning for more.

His hands were still cupped around her ass, low down near the tops of her thighs, the tips of his fingers so, so close to where she wanted them.

Maybe the mental telepathy thing would work again.

Giving a tentative thrust of her hips to nudge things along, Skye shuddered anew at the thick wedge of him forcing her folds to part.

The way the silk-skinned penis rubbed at her made her insane with desire, overtaking everything else until all she could hear was her own hoarse voice spilling crazy babble—things like, “Now, please, come on, inside me, Henry, I missed you…”

The tightening of his grasp on her ass startled a squeak out of her that thankfully cut off the stream of begging words.

God, his hands were so hot, the palms broad, the fingers long. She wanted them inside her.