Lori Foster - Dash of Peril

His absorbed gaze moved all over her. “Damn, I love it that you’re so small. It makes everything easier to reach.” Leaning forward, he licked her nipple while his fingers returned to playing between her legs, parting her, teasing back and forth in her slick moisture, then slowly pressing two fingers deep.

She couldn’t help but react, stepping back from the intense pleasure.

“No, none of that,” Dash whispered. Opening his other hand on her behind, he kept her close and pulled his fingers free, now glistening wet, to touch them to her nipple. “You want this, so don’t fight me.”

His breath brushed her skin seconds before he drew her nipple in, sucking gently but insistently. At the same time, he wedged his hand back between her thighs, then twisted his fingers deep again.

She was already so ripe with need that, between his mouth on her breast and his stroking fingers rasping her sensitive flesh, she felt the start of a climax building. She tightened, her body clamping down on his slippery fingers. “Dash...” she groaned.

“So soon?” Dash asked with sympathy and a bit of awe. “I guess I’d better get right to it, then.”

Margo didn’t know for sure what that meant until he began kissing his way down her body. Expectation held her breath; she knew he’d use his mouth on her and she was so very anxious for it she almost couldn’t stand it.

“You are so soft,” he said between open-mouth love bites down her ribs, over her belly, her hip bones. Sliding one arm around her waist, the other splayed over her backside, he held her still—and nuzzled between her legs.

Crying out, Margo locked her knees and held on to him. His hot, rough tongue stroked repeatedly over her, in her, then came up to curl around her clitoris with a hungry growl.

He gave only the slightest tug and she lost it, the orgasm crashing through her, stealing her breath and strength with an explosion of scorching sensation. She cried, and didn’t care. She clutched at him, and didn’t care. She pressed closer to his mouth, begging, and didn’t even realize it.

Seconds, maybe minutes later, she became aware of Dash lowering her boneless body into his lap, cuddling her close and kissing her hair, rubbing her back. Beneath her hip she felt the very solid rise of his impressive boner.

Astounding. Almost shocking. And so wonderful. She would have laughed if she’d had the strength.

Instead all she could say was “God.”

“Yeah,” Dash murmured, lust keeping his voice rough. “You’re fucking amazing.” He continued kissing her, his touch both affectionate and tender and hot.

Trying to catch her breath, she said, “That was...”

“I know.” He curved a big rough hand around her breast, his palm to her galloping heartbeat. He kissed her again, leaving his mouth pressed to her temple as he hugged her close.

“It was even better than before.”

“Good.” He kissed her neck, her shoulder.

“And to think I expected sex with you to be boring.”

Dash froze.

Margo realized what she’d said, knew she owed him an explanation, but at the moment she still struggled for air.

Levering her back a little, Dash studied her. “Boring?”

Damn her postcoital babbling. “Not boring exactly.” Her brain had a hard time catching up. “I didn’t mean that.” But never, not at any other time, had a sexual encounter left her so limp or affected her so strongly. She leaned in, but Dash turned his head.

“What did you mean?”

Putting a hand to his jaw, she brought his face back so she could kiss him—and tasted herself. She tucked her face into his throat, overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth. “I... You realize...”

“Tell me.” He scooted to sit up a little higher against the door, Margo held secure in his lap. “You thought I was a two-minute man? You thought I was a selfish pig? What?”

“No, none of that.” She tried to keep hidden against him but Dash didn’t let her.

Holding her shoulder, his expression enigmatic, his tone devoid of emotion, he said again, “Tell me.”

“I assumed you would be...competent—”

He laughed without humor.

“—but conventional, and maybe not up to my...preferences.” Preferences that she now realized didn’t matter, not with Dash. He could go for plain-old missionary and she thought she’d probably go wild with enjoyment.

He seemed to be considering that while studying her breasts. With one fingertip, he circled her nipple, then, still in that flat way, asked, “Your arm is okay?”

“Yes.” The change of subject felt evasive, but she wanted to stay on track, to reassure him, to... What? Keep him interested? Was she really that insecure? That pathetic?

The possibility annoyed her enough that she scowled. “Stop asking already. I’m a big girl. If something hurts, I’ll take care of it.”

As if her acerbic attitude didn’t faze him, he looked at her quivering belly, then down between her damp legs. “Your body is still flushed.”

She didn’t understand him at all. “Like I said, it was an amazing climax.”

“So you feel better now? Less wired? More relaxed?”

Damn him and his impersonal interrogation. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Good.” Suddenly he rearranged her, moving her off his lap and onto the floor as he stood. “I need to check our dinner.”

Her jaw loosening, Margo stared up at him. “Now?” He was still hard. And though she’d found release, she was far from done.

He touched his hand to the top of her head. “Yes—now. Get dressed and then come to the kitchen.”

Margo gasped. How dare he give her an order?

How dare he leave her sitting naked on the damned floor!

She had to scoot out of the way when he opened the door and walked out of the bedroom.

At first she felt hurt—and then her temper ignited.

Enough already. No way would she let him get away with this.

Why did he have the ability to leave her so befuddled?

Shoving to her feet, she snatched up the quilt from the bed and stalked after him. Voice raised and mean, she spoke to his retreating back. “What is wrong with you?”

Several feet ahead of her, without haste, Dash entered the kitchen and used a pot holder to remove the chicken from the oven.

Brows drawn, she stared at him. “Damn it, Dash.” She wanted him to react. She wanted to get a rise out of him.

“Stay back,” he told her as he set the heavy cast-iron skillet on the stove top. “I don’t want you to get burned.”

Because her legs were still shaky and weak, she dropped back to the wall. “You’re being impossible.”

Nothing.

She watched him turn the chicken and return it to the oven, then put on vegetables to steam. “Chicken is one of my favorites.”

“I know.”

Vaguely she remembered him questioning her during his routine check of her concussion. And now, knowing her preferences, he’d been considerate enough to cook for her.

She felt like the bitch others often called her. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He turned to her. “Dinner will be ready in ten.” His gaze went over her. “You going to eat in that?”

Would it bother him? Unlike her, he hadn’t yet gotten his jollies. “Why not?” He might be pissed, but still her body kept drawing his notice. She liked that enough that she even let the quilt droop lower on one side until a nipple almost showed. “With this stupid splint it’s difficult to get a shirt on.”

When Dash pushed away from the stove, his own expression unreadable, a new thrill danced up her spine. Even now, with him obviously disappointed in her early perceptions of him, she knew he was determined to make her hot.

As he approached, she resisted the urge to back up. “What are you doing?”

He stopped in front of her and his big hands took hold of the quilt near her breasts. “If you want to turn me on, it’s working.” The way he curled his fingers over the material meant his knuckles brushed her skin. “But you know what would work better?”

She shook her head.

With a small smile, he slowly pulled away the quilt, leaving her naked. “God, you have a kickin’ body.”

The way he looked at her made her feel sexier than she’d ever imagined.

His hands went over her, stroking her breasts again, caressing down her belly. One hand moved over her ass and then up between her legs. He bent and kissed her, a slow, thorough kiss with plenty of tongue that made her legs weak all over again.

He kissed her until she clung to him, her breath rushing, her skin hot.

Gently he pulled away. “Let’s see how we’re progressing here.” He stared into her eyes while the fingers between her legs examined her, then his eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Nice. It seems we’re both in the same shape again.”

“What...”

“I’m still rock-hard. It only seems right for you to be bothered a little, too, right?” Pulling off his shirt, he dropped it over her head, easily working her splinted arm through first, then her other arm.

It smelled of him, hot and delicious, and cocooned her in his scent.

So unfair. Now she was covered, but she had the view of his solid shoulders and wide chest.

He pulled out her chair as if he expected her to sit. “I hope you’re hungry, honey. I made plenty.”

Margo didn’t know what to do. He just stood there, waiting oh-so-patiently, his gaze unwavering, so damn hot that she wanted to jump him.

He was right. Carnal need again racked her body.

“Trust me,” Dash whispered as he held out a hand to her, and the gesture was so sweet, a way to help her give in, that she blew out a breath and did as he asked.

Gratified, he bent and kissed her forehead—then went back to cooking as if the standoff hadn’t happened at all. And damn it, that turned her on, too.

It seemed Dashiel Riske had her completely figured out. The man had the most diabolical way of turning her inside out, making her nearly frantic to have him. Margo didn’t know if that was a good thing, or very, very dangerous...for her heart.

DASH FELT HER WATCHING him as he put two aspirin next to her plate and filled her glass with iced tea. “You can ask me anything, you know that, right?”

Confusion kept her brows pinched down. She tossed back the aspirin. “The chicken smells good.”

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Mom is an okay cook, but my grandma could put twenty pounds on anyone.” He smiled as he served first her, then himself. “But we both know that’s not what you want to talk about.” He joined her at the table.

It was the oddest thing, watching Margo screw up her nerve. She was a fearless woman who would put herself in the line of fire to save someone else, but now, with him, over chicken dinner, she seemed so uncertain.

Dash sat back. “Out with it, honey. Then we can both enjoy our meal.”

Predictably enough, her chin lifted and she met his gaze. “Fine.” It took a second as she seemed to search for the words. “You said...you said you loved it when I was...” More searching, and she settled on, “Passive.”

Now what was she thinking? Dash crossed his arms over his chest. “I love seeing how turned on you get. So?”

“So I’m seldom like that. It’s not really me, it’s just—”

“It’s you,” Dash corrected her. No way would he let her deny how good the sex was between them.

That she’d once thought him boring...yeah, that burned his ass big-time. Hopefully he’d already disabused her of that notion. But it bothered him enough that he thought about giving in to her tonight. He worried for her injured arm, but he could take extra care—and utilizing that care would, in itself, be another form of foreplay.

“You know what I mean, Dash.”

“I do.” He knew her far better than she realized. “Occasionally enjoying a submissive role during sex is only a small part of who you are. But it’s honest, and important.” Catching on to her concern, he sat forward, his arms folded on the tabletop. “I love seeing you all warm and aroused, waiting for me to take care of you. But I also love it when you’re cocky like you were today with that idiot in the truck. Much as it scared me, it also impressed me.” He grinned at her. “I even like it when you’re all prickly, giving me a hard time.”

She shook her head, maybe in disbelief, maybe in confusion.

Dash reached for her hand. “And I love how you are right now, uncertain but straightforward with me, determined to draw some boundaries in our relationship.”