The Departed

threads of his control snapped. His hands grabbed her, hauled her against him. Breathlessly, she laughed against his mouth and whispered, “My bedroom’s down the hall.”
    But she didn’t think he even heard her.
    Five seconds later, Dez wasn’t even sure she remembered where her bedroom was. She went from standing pressed against his body to sitting on the cool marble of the kitchen island, with him standing between her thighs.
    Always, always, always Taylor Jones presented a remote, impassive mask to the world, but the man staring down at her now was anything but remote, anything but impassive. His steely blue eyes glittered with hunger, and harsh flags of color stained his high, elegant cheekbones.
    As his mouth crushed down on hers, Dez barely had two seconds to think, to realize…all that hunger, it was for her .
    But for all that burning hunger, his hands were gentle as he stripped away her shirt, infinitely gentle as he peeled it away. “Your skin is so soft, so fragile,” he whispered, dipping his head to press a kiss to her shoulder.
    “I’m not the least bit fragile,” she said, her voice husky. She fisted a hand in the silky, short hair at his nape and guided his head to her breasts. “Touch me, Taylor. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.”
    He buried his face between her breasts as he reached around and unfastened her bra, drawing it away and dropping it to the floor. When his mouth closed around one swollen nipple, Dez groaned. She started to arch her head back but the tender, healing flesh at her neck protested and she hissed out.
    Taylor stiffened, pulling back.
    But when he would have pulled away, she fisted a hand in the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare,” she said. Catching his wrist, she guided his hands back to her, lowering her gaze. “I want to see you touching me.”
    His hands, tanned, lean, and elegant, looked so damned nice against her darker skin, she decided.
    “You’re not up to this,” Taylor muttered.
    But that didn’t keep him from stroking his thumbs around her nipples and when she sneaked a look at him from under her lashes, she saw that he was also staring at the way his hands looked on her flesh.
    Arching into his touch, she said softly, “Isn’t that kind of up to me to decide?”
    “You’re supposed to take it easy.”
    She reached down and undid his belt, slowly released the button on his trousers, lowered the zipper. “Then we’ll just have to drag out the whips and chains next time, huh?”
    Slipping her hand inside, she closed her fingers around his cock and stroked. With a groan, he crushed his mouth to hers.
    Those wicked, wicked fingers would drive him out of his mind if he wasn’t careful, he realized.
    Or maybe they already had, because there was no way in hell he could be sane and still be doing this. If he were sane, he wouldn’t have stripped Dez out of her clothes, wouldn’t be easing her body back so that she lay spread out over the cool white marble of the kitchen island. Her flesh glowed a soft, warm brown, her breasts round and full, her belly softly rounded. Her hips flared out, a sweet, sweet curve that had driven him insane pretty much from the beginning. Her legs, strong and sleek, parted for him as he moved up closer.
    Dez stroked a hand down the front of his shirt and said, “You’re still dressed.”
    He knew. He needed to do something about that, but first…
    Between her thighs, the flesh of her sex was glistening and pink, already wet. Wet…for him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Reaching down, he cupped her in his hand and as he pushed a finger inside her, he watched her face.
    “I don’t have anything with me,” he said, his voice ragged. This had been the last, the absolute last thing he had planned on doing—even though it was the one thing he wanted more than anything else on earth.
    He was so unprepared, it was laughable. He had his hand between Desiree Lincoln’s thighs, one finger inside her snug, wet pussy, and his cock ached like a bad tooth and the nearest fucking gas station was fifteen miles away.
    Her lashes drooped low over her eyes. “I’m on birth control.” Then she arched her hips against his hand, a shuddering sigh rolling out of her. “And that’s not the only consideration…but I’m clean. Broke up with my last serious boyfriend a few years ago and haven’t been intimate with anybody since him.”
    He knew she’d broken up with the guy—he even knew the date. He knew