Badd Kitty Page 8

  “Her name was Jenna Dooley, and—don’t laugh, but she was a waitress at a Hooters near where we were training. We’d go in every weekend and she was our waitress every single time we went in. I was head over heels for that girl.”

  She wasn’t laughing. “What happened?”

  “I tried to score with her, and she shot me down. Told me I wasn’t ready for the big leagues quite yet—I was just barely eighteen, and she was…I don’t know. Midtwenties. She let me down easy, though. Told me I was cute, and that I had potential, and to look her up after I’d fought a few fires.”

  “And did you?”

  I laughed. “Oh yeah.” I met her gaze. “But you don’t wanna hear about that.”

  “I don’t?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. It’s my turn anyway.”

  “Your turn?” She was searching me, her eyes darting from mine to where my fingers were still resting, hesitating on the tender skin of her inner thigh, the very tips of my fingers edged under the hem of her dress. “For what?”

  I grinned at her, a wolfish, hungry grin that did nothing to hide my desire, or my intentions. “My turn to ask you a question.” I slid my fingers forward, under the hem of her dress. “What did you think I meant?”

  “I—I don’t—I don’t know.” She sucked in a breath. “What—what’s your question?”

  She was expecting me to ask something personal, like when she lost her virginity or something like that. Not what I was interested in at all.

  I inched my fingers along her thigh, and she bit her lip again as my touch slid closer to her center. “Favorite place to be kissed?”

  Her eyes widened. “Um. Like bedroom versus living room?”

  I rumbled a laugh. “No, like your throat, or the side of your neck…” I kissed each place as I named it. “Or your lips…” Another kiss, a light one, a teasing touch of my lips on hers, before continuing. “Breasts?” I bent, kissing the apex of the valley of her cleavage; I nudged her dress higher, baring almost all of her thighs, and a hint of white lace between them. “Thighs?” I shifted backward and leaned over, touching my lips in a skipping line of kisses from knee to mid-thigh before pausing to glance up at her.

  She wasn’t breathing, just gnawing on that lower lip of hers.

  “Told you about biting that lip,” I muttered, and lifted up to lean over her—she lost her balance in rearing away from me and fell back onto the couch, and now I was levered over her.

  I bit the offending lip, nipping hard enough to elicit a squeak of protest from her, and then soothed it with my tongue, licking and sucking on the lip again.

  Her hands caught at my shoulders, clinging to them as if torn between pushing me away and pulling me closer. She’d clamped her thighs closed as she fell, her knees draping to one side. Now, one knee rose up, and her dress fell away. White lace appeared, stark and pure against the tanned skin of her legs, and my eyes were drawn down. French bikini cut, covering her pussy while baring her hips. The white lace was…god—it drove me wild. Made her seem innocent and pure, somehow. An illusion, but one that made me snarl in maddened desire.

  “White fucking lace,” I growled.

  “Something wrong with white lace?” she murmured.

  “Everything is right about white lace,” I answered, letting my eyes devour the sight of her spread out underneath me. “Problem is, it’s wreaking fuckin’ havoc on my self-control.”

  She blinked up at me. “Self-control? What self-control?”

  I laughed, a bark of amusement that wasn’t exactly kind. “Sweetheart, this is me very tightly controlling myself. If I did even half of what I really want to do to you, you’d run screaming for the nearest priest.”

  “I—I’m not religious.”

  “You’d still confess by the time I was done with you.”

  “Confess what?”

  I traced a fingertip along the waistband of her underwear, and she sucked in her stomach even as she gasped at my touch. “How much you fucking loved all the dirty, sinful things we did.” I hooked a finger into the elastic and tugged. Not down, just away. Teasing. “Things you’ve probably never even dared to fantasize about.”

  “I’ve fantasized about a lot of things,” she breathed. “Especially lately.”

  “Oh yeah?” I removed my finger from the elastic and traced the strap from her hipbone down inside her thigh—she quavered, and her legs fell a little further apart. “Like what?”

  “Like what?”

  “Yeah, like what. Tell me. Close your eyes and whisper your dirty little secrets to me.”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?” Her voice held a note of snark, a hint of tease; I almost wanted to piss her off a little just because that angry sass of hers was like a drug to me.

  “It’d still be a secret—our secret.” I braced my weight on one hand, my fist buried in the couch cushion beside her head, using my free hand to draw the strap of her dress down over her shoulder, tugging until a hint of matching white lace bra peeked up above the neckline of her dress—and a plump expanse of breast. Not enough, but a start.

  She bit her lip again, and then abruptly let it go, almost guiltily. “I don’t talk like that.”

  “Then you have to answer my question.”

  “Which one?”

  “Favorite place to be kissed.”

  She breathed out sharply. “What if I don’t answer either question?”

  “I’ll torture you till you do.”

  “Torture me? How?”

  I grinned down at her. “Don’t tempt me, Kitty.”

  “I’m not trying to.”

  “Well, you may not be trying to, but you are driving me crazy, and that’s dangerous for you, babe. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” I lowered my mouth to hers, and I was satisfied to see her lips part, anticipating the kiss.

  I avoided her mouth, kissing the corner of her lips, and then when she twisted to catch my mouth, I kissed the other corner. “I’m trying to be good. You seem so sweet and innocent, and I don’t want to scare you.”

  “I’m not innocent, Roman.”

  I smirked down at her. “Oh, I know. You’re just innocent enough to be awful fucking tempting for a man like me.”

  “A man like you?” Her eyes met mine. “What’s that mean?”

  Ignoring her question, I teased her with another kiss, this time letting my lips ghost across hers before ducking away, laughing at her huff of frustration. And then, when she opened her mouth to protest, I actually kissed her. Only, the moment she got over her surprise and started kissing me back, I pulled away. Slid my lips down to her chin, and then down the fragile column of her throat.

  “Here?” I asked, breathing hot on the delicate skin. Downward, to the exposed valley of her cleavage. “Or here?”

  Her fingers danced, her hands fluttered, trailing over my back and up to my shoulders, to the back of my neck, and then she feathered her fingers over the closely shorn fuzz of hair on the back of my head—and the delicate sweetness of her touch made my head spin, my heart squeeze, and my cock throb all at once.

  I slid my lips to the plump curve of one breast, right where it hid under the neckline of her dress and the cup of her bra—and I tugged those down just a bit farther, letting my tongue tickle her skin with the kiss. “Here?”

  “Yeah…” she breathed, her voice faint.

  I wanted to crow in triumph, but I didn’t. I kept my voice even, low, slow. A little bit of Oklahoma drawl crept into my voice. “Right there, huh?” I tugged a bit further, nipping at the skin as I bared it, until I knew she was about to fully pop out of her bra. “Or a bit further on, maybe?”

  “God, you—you can’t.”

  “No?” I backed away, letting the neckline of her dress fall back into place.

  “I’m not sure if I’m—” She cut herself off, and her fingers dug into the back of my head, pulling me back down. “There. Right where you were. That’s my favorite place to be kissed.”

&
nbsp; I touched my lips to the upper swell. “Here?”

  “Lower.”

  I grazed my mouth downward, to where the neckline of her dress lay flat against her firm, supple flesh. “Here?”

  She let out a breath in a soft pant, cupping the back of my head. “Lower.”

  I tugged her bra strap off her shoulder and hooked two fingers into the cup of her bra, tugging down slowly, gently, until her breast was all but free of the enclosure of the cup. “Here?” I kissed the curve of the inside, near the tip—her nipple and areolae were all that remained hidden inside the bra, and I wanted to see more, taste more. How far could I take this? How far was she willing to go?

  I’m nothing if not bold enough to find out, ballsy enough to risk rejection.

  “That’s…that’s pretty close,” she breathed.

  “Pretty close? But not quite far enough?”

  Instead of tugging that same side free, I transferred my weight to my other fist and tugged down both dress and bra straps, and then slid kisses against her other breast, down from the upper swell to the very front, around the inside, kiss after kiss, my tongue leaving wet trails and spots on her flesh.

  God, I wanted to see those tits bare. Fuck. So plump, so firm, just begging to be fondled and cradled and nuzzled and kissed. I should slow down, not rush her, not push her too fast—but she was panting, arching her back, staring up at me with wild, lust-hazed eyes. I groaned—I was a fool to think I could restrain myself where this girl was concerned. For such a sweet, innocent little thing, she was a damned devil woman, beguiling me, bewitching me.

  With both hands, I yanked her dress down, freeing her tits.

  She yelped in surprise, clutching herself with both hands, covering them protectively. “Roman!”

  I pinioned her wrists, but didn’t try to pull them away. Let her cover herself for a moment—she’d let them go soon enough. “Damn shame to keep tits that perfect all covered up.” I let go of her wrists and pressed both fists in the cushion on either side of her head. Bent over her. Kissed her, full on the mouth, tongue slashing against hers, going from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

  And goddamn if the sexy little creature didn’t respond with breathy, whimpering eagerness. She lifted up against me, groaning, taking my tongue and giving me hers with a hunger that spoke of wildfire-hot need burning under that good-girl exterior. I left it all up to her—all I did was kiss her, but I kissed her with everything I had, using every trick I knew to make her dizzy, make her weak, make her faint with need and ache with barely restrained desire. I nipped her lip and sucked her tongue into my mouth, I teased the kiss and when she pressed hard for more, I gave it to her. When she paused to gasp for breath, I stole her oxygen with a kiss so searing and full of dirty promise we both moaned.

  Her hands released, lifting, cupping the back of my head, pulling me closer to demand the kiss never end—and fuck, I didn’t want it to either. How long did we kiss? Minutes? Hours? Forever, and not long enough. She gasped a sigh as our lips ghosted against each other, both of us breathless, and I took that opportunity to snag her hands in mine, tangling our fingers together, palm to palm.

  And press her hands to the arm of the couch, over her head. Exposing her to my gaze.

  She squirmed as I reared back, keeping her hands pinned in place; not hard—if she’d struggled, tried to tear free, I’d have let go. But she didn’t. She squirmed in place, putting up a fake fight. For the sake of appearance—for the ruined dregs of her conscience, maybe. I don’t know, don’t care. I just know that fake squirm was like a drug hitting my veins, making me growl in feral, hungry need. I let my gaze rake with deliberate slowness from her eyes downward, to the uplifted peaks of her breasts.

  “Fuck,” I snarled.

  “Roman, I—”

  “Perfect.” I pinned both hands in one of mine and gingerly, reverently cupped a breast. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

  “Ohhhhh god. Ohmygod.” Her eyes slid closed as I softly caressed her breast, and then the other. “Your hands are so rough. Like sandpaper.”

  “Hard work all my life, sweetheart. Not much about me is soft.” I caressed, stroking a finger around one pebbled nipple. “My hands too rough for you, Kitty?”

  Her eyes flew open, and she bit her lip briefly before answering. “No…” she breathed. “No. I—I like it.”

  I loosened my grip on her wrists. “Then keep your hands there.” I let go, shifting my weight back to have full use of both hands. “Don’t move.”

  I kissed around one breast, around the base upward in a concentric spiral. “This is your favorite place to be kissed?” I asked, stopping just before my lips closed on her nipple. “Right here?” I flicked my tongue against the erect flesh, the sight of her and the taste of her making me throb so hard my balls ached as they never have before in my life.

  She gasped, nodding.

  “Is that it? Right there?” I suckled her nipple into my mouth, lapped at it, flicked it with my tongue, and she lost her breath in a whimper. “Let me hear you say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Tell me what you like. Talk to me.”

  “That—what you’re doing. I like that.”

  I cupped a silk-delicate, heavy, firm globe in one hand, thumbing over the peak. “You fantasize about this?”

  She shook her head. “Not this, no.”

  “Then what?”

  I watched her cheeks flame. “Being kissed just like that, but…somewhere else.”

  I released her, trailing my fingers southward. “You fantasize about me kissing you…elsewhere?”

  She tilted her head back, gasping as I danced a fingertip over the white lace between her thighs. “No.” She caught at my forearm, but more out of desperation than to stop me. “Just…no one. A man, someone. Anyone. Kissing me.”

  “Where?”

  Her blush deepened. “Down…down there.”

  I trailed my finger over the lace again, tracing the hint of her seam. “Here?”

  She nodded. “Yeah…”

  “Did you touch yourself while you fantasized about that?” I brought my finger to the edge where the lace touched inner thigh, teasing my touch along the tender flesh and rougher lace.

  She nodded, gasping.

  “Did you?” I demand.

  “Yes!”

  I slide a finger under the gusset, tracing the soft, damp, delicate flesh. “Like this?”

  “God, Roman—what—what are you doing?”

  “Whatever I want.” I trace upward. “Whatever you want.”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  I laughed. “Yes, you do.” I halted my touch. “Want me to stop?”

  “No,” she murmured.

  “Do you want more? You like how I’m touching you?”

  She nodded, eyes closed.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, I like it.”

  “You like what?”

  “The way you touch me,” she answered, annoyed.

  I met her eyes, and then raked my gaze over her body, her bared, beautiful tits, her lace-covered core, her long, firm legs, one of them bent up and tilted to one side, the other angled past me between my body and the couch. To the gusset where I was teasing her with my touch—I tugged the lace aside, baring her. She squirmed, foot digging into the couch, back writhing—but she didn’t stop me, didn’t pull away. Just writhed under my gaze, under my touch.

  “Goddamn, Kitty,” I snarled. “I’m this fucking close to absolutely devouring you right now.”

  I let go of the lace, running my palms over her belly to the undersides of her breasts, watching her. “You want that, don’t you?”

  “Too fast—too soon.” She was breathless, struggling for words.

  “But you want it.” I leaned over her, one knee between her thighs. I touched my lips to her breast, to the pale, fragile, velvety underside, and then between them. “Don’t you?” Ran my finger over the lace again, outside, over her seam. I centered my touch where I knew
she was most sensitive. “Right…here.”

  She just whimpered, nodding. Clinging to my shoulders, fingers digging into my muscle, she gasped. “God—how the heck do you know how to touch me so perfectly? You’re driving me crazy.”

  “How crazy?”

  “Crazy enough to be letting you do all this.” She moaned as I stroked that seam over the lace. “I don’t recognize myself, letting you do this—letting this happen. I don’t know you.” She whimpered, eyes shutting in pleasure as I pressed against her clit over the lace. “I’m not like this. I don’t do things like this.”

  “But you’re loving every single fucking second of it, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes snapped open, blazing. “You’re so damned arrogant, you know that?”

  “I’ve heard that before, yes.” I held her gaze evenly, confidently. “Am I wrong?”

  A rhythmic increase and decrease in pressure over her clit, over the underwear. She shut her eyes and clenched her teeth together over a moan, as if embarrassed by the sound—and her helplessness in making it. Lips to her breasts, nuzzling her nipples, my middle finger against the scratchy lace covering her core; she whimpered, gasped, bit her lip and cried out, and then finally, her hips flexed upward, pressing her against my touch.

  “Roman…” Kitty breathed. “God, please…”

  I dragged my hands down her body, hooking my fingers to catch in the strap of her underwear. I didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, just dragged that lacy little scrap of virginal white right off of her. She whimpered at the sudden assault, the abrupt removal of her underwear, but then she was bare, and holy Jesus was she perfect—absolutely as perfect and pretty as the rest of her. That little pussy of hers was tight and pink and the dark golden fuzz was trimmed to a modest but sexy little triangle. Her clit was prominent and begging for me—and I had no capacity to do anything but oblige.

  “Please what, Kitten?” I asked. “What is it you want?”

  Her eyes on mine were so conflicted, as need and desire warred with…whatever silly, misguided notions were holding her back from just enjoying what I was offering. Which, in all honesty, I truly was offering without expectation of return. I wouldn’t demand or expect or even ask for her to do anything to me in return—the sight of her body, the sound of her cries of pleasure, the addicting, erotic, instinctive way she responded to my every touch…that was more than enough for me.