Pleasure coursed through him like a drug. Her tongue stroked over his, rubbed against it, fought for supremacy of the kiss, and the resulting pleasure sent a wave of heat rushing through his body.
His cock was so damned hard it was nearly agony. The need to release it from his jeans, to strip her bare and take her right there in her kitchen, rode him hard. His hand slid from her neck to the hem of her T-shirt. Gripping the material, he pulled it up with a desperation he couldn’t remember ever feeling. Lust burned through his system, wiping away caution, finesse and reason, pushing him to take her, to mark her.
As he slid his lips from hers, her protesting cry barely registered before he had his lips at her neck, tasting her, licking against the satiny flesh before his teeth raked against it.
She bucked in his arms, lifted closer, her head tilting to the side to allow him access to the sensitive skin as he bit and licked at it demandingly, needing every nuance of taste, every cry of pleasure she released.
And he wanted nothing more, needed nothing more than to taste more of her, to pull more of those heated little cries from her lips and strengthen the scent of her arousal.
As his lips reached the bend of her neck where it met her shoulder, his hand found the curve of her breast, the warmth of her flesh, the pebble hardness of her nipple barely covered by the thin lace of her bra. That fragile barrier was more than he could bear, though. He wanted to feel her skin to skin. He wanted the swollen bud of her nipple between his fingers, his lips.
The thought of the taste of her nipple against his tongue had his hands sliding back to her hips, gripping, lifting her to the counter and pushing between her thighs as he pulled the cup of her bra beneath her breasts.
The lace frame was damned pretty, but he wasn’t about to waste time admiring the sight of it, not when he needed the taste of her with a hunger he found himself powerless against. The need for her was killing him. All of her. He wanted to taste every inch of her. No, he needed to taste every inch of her.
“Cullen—” Whether protest or a cry of pleasure, he wasn’t certain, and he wasn’t asking as his lips covered the taut, cherry-flushed tip and drew it firmly against his tongue.
Chelsea couldn’t hold back the sharp cry or the sensation that rushed through her senses with a strength she couldn’t fight against.
She told herself she could hold some part of her response back, that she could return to reality whenever she wanted to.
And she was fooling herself. She had been fooling herself all along. Each stroke of his tongue against hers was so hot, so good—the feel of his lips and teeth against her neck burned through her flesh straight to her nerve endings, where explosions of incredible pleasure detonated with devastating results.
But when he lifted her to the counter, pushed between her thighs, and his lips surrounded her nipple, any molecule of common sense or reality she might have possessed disintegrated.
“Cullen—” She couldn’t hold back the cry as his tongue licked over her nipple, sending
fingers of sensation racing straight to her womb.
Lips, teeth, tongue, he devoured the nerve-laden point until she was shaking with need. Between her thighs the engorged length of his cock pressed against her sex, their clothing a hated barrier between them as he rubbed against her, inciting the needy heat seizing her vagina.
Panting for breath, locked in an inferno of arousal she had no intention of resisting, Chelsea could only hold on to him and pray she survived it. Because there was no escaping it. She didn’t want to escape him. She wanted nothing more than the feel of his touch, his kiss, over every part of her body.
Each deep draw of his mouth on her nipple sent heat rushing through her system. His tongue stroked over it each time he sucked at her and rubbed over nerve endings linked to her womb.
When he moved to her other nipple, the fingers of one hand captured the tip he’d abandoned, keeping it on the edge of ecstasy as his lips surrounded the other and drew it into the heat of his mouth.
Each draw of his mouth, each tug of his fingers, sent waves of sensation coursing through her, arrowing between her thighs, heating her vagina and striking at the swollen bud of her clit. Rolling his hips between her thighs, Cullen stroked the agonized knot of nerves with each press of his engorged cock, amplifying each pulse of pleasure tearing through her.
“Oh God, yes,” she whispered, her voice strangled as his teeth grazed over her nipple before delivering a quick little nip and sucking it into his mouth once again.
His tongue stroked and rubbed over it. It was incredible, so good, so hot she could barely stand the heat. She could barely stand it, but she wanted more.
Her breasts were swollen, the mounds tight and aching. Each suckling caress, each stroke of his tongue against her nipples only increased the need for more. The roughened touch of his tongue against it sent shudders tearing through her, flames racing over her nerve endings.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered as his head lifted, the blinding pleasure still suffusing her even as her body demanded more.
“Stop? I have no intentions of stop—” His head jerked up, nostrils flaring.
Before Chelsea could process what was happening, her shirt was jerked over her breasts and Cullen had turned, a furious snarl sounding from his chest as he braced himself in front of her.
In the doorway, two Wolf Breeds watched them curiously as they leaned against the door frame, their faces hard, gazes locked on Cullen.
“You told us to be here on time, Chelsea,” the taller of the two reminded her as he crossed his arms over his black T-shirt, his gray eyes mocking. “Did you forget?”
Forget? Her brain was mush.
But she could feel the tension in the room; it radiated from Cullen in waves. And no matter how Draeger and Tobias appeared to be, they were anything but relaxed.