Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

through her body like a fireball, pooling low and wicked so that she sought relief by rubbing harder against him.

    “You have too many clothes on,” he whispered. “We both do.”

    “Kiss me again.” She needed his kiss, craved it with the same terrible ferocity as his touch. She wrenched at his hair in an effort to pull his head up, in an effort to retain reality. Teeth tugged her nipple, his tongue laved, easing the sharp bite of pain that only seemed to add to the fire building in her.

    “I want your clothes off.” His teeth nibbled and scraped around the mound of her breast, underneath, tormenting her until she was desperate for him, her leg wrapping around his waist in an effort to ride him.

    The things he could do to her body with his mouth and his hands were incredible, unbelievable things she had never experienced or thought would heighten her pleasure.
    He was by turns rough and then tender, his hands hard then soothing, his mouth biting, then hot silk. She would lose herself in him, lose her sanity, need him. She would need him. Flame stiffened, jerked back, stumbling, nearly falling off the airboat.

    “What am I doing?”

    There was terror on her face. In her eyes. Gator drew in a ragged breath and attempted to force his body under control. She was trembling, shaking her head, looking at him as if he had suddenly become her enemy. Her hair was disheveled, spilling in wild abandonment around her face, her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her breasts gleamed at him from her gaping shirt, faint red marks of his possession on them. It was impossible to control his body when everything in him urged him to take her right there in the bottom of the boat.

    “Nothing happened, cher ,” he assured, keeping his voice low.

    “What do you mean nothing happened? Something happened here and we can’t take it back.” Her voice shook.

    She was right. He knew she was. He would never, ever, as long as he lived, stop craving the feel and taste of her. He wouldn’t walk away satisfied from another woman. He wanted Flame. Only Flame. All of Flame. Her heart, her body, maybe even her soul, whatever he could take for himself and hold on to. The same knowledge was in her eyes and she looked so scared he couldn’t stop the step toward her.

    “It’s addiction. Obsession. Everything but what it should be.” She couldn’t back away from him but she shrank against the seat.

    His fingertips deliberately caressed her breasts. “What should it be if not this?”

    “Simple physical attraction. Normal physical attraction.”

    “I’d rather have this. I’d rather have you.” His hands cupped her breasts possessively, his thumbs stimulating her nipples. “Normal is never going to be enough for you, Flame, any more than it will be for me.” He leaned in to her to claim her mouth.

    The moment his lips feathered over hers, his tongue teased the seam of her mouth, she felt an electrical charge running from her mouth to her breasts and to her groin. His fist was suddenly in her hair, holding her in place as his teeth tugged at her lower lip, demanding entrance. Her brain went into meltdown as she allowed his tongue to sweep inside her mouth, to tangle with hers. They seemed fused together, so hot and so addicting she couldn’t stop kissing him. Her bare breasts mashed into his chest and she could hear their combined heartbeats, smell the musky scent of their combined need.

    His mouth became rougher, more demanding, his hand tightening in her hair, but it only added to the intensity of her desire for him. Fire raced up her belly to her breasts, spread through her body until she wanted to cry with need. He tasted hot and wild and it was almost more than she could bear. To want him. To be made to want him. It should be her choice. Hers .

    Flame pushed at his shoulders until he allowed her to escape. Dragging the edges of her shirt together she wiped at her mouth. It didn’t help. She could still taste him there. Her body felt swollen and achy and unfulfilled.

    “Why?” Gator could barely breathe. Barely think. It took every ounce of willpower, of discipline and control to keep from taking what she wouldn’t give him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him if he persisted.

    “Whitney.” She whispered the name.

    She may as well have shouted it. Dead or alive, the man haunted them. Gator fought to drag air into his lungs as he stared at her, fighting back the need to just overrule her