Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 by Maisey Yates (inspirational books .TXT) 📗

friction of his tongue against hers. The way their breaths would mingle, the way she could feel his heart raging through his chest and against hers. Those rough hands, moving over the fabric of her T-shirt, and then under it, against her skin. His body was so very hard.

No, she hadn’t counted on this. The intensity of it. The reality of it. It was blindingly brilliant and beautiful, and was making her into a version of herself she hadn’t known was possible—a wild creature, which in many ways she’d always been, but with aim, with purpose.

Because her wildness was pouring out of her and over him. She didn’t feel embarrassed. Didn’t feel nervous.

There was no inhibition at all. She bit his bottom lip and he growled. And she didn’t know why she’d done it, only that it had felt right. And she didn’t question it. Didn’t question anything. This felt natural. This felt right in a way that nothing else ever had in her entire life. He felt right, fitted against her, the softness of her body seemingly made for the hardness of his, and she couldn’t recall a time when she had ever felt so…right. So real. So complete.

So certain that the things about her that were different were what made it all so good.

For all her life she’d felt like the lone misfit toy on an island of beauties, and now, she didn’t feel misfit at all.

No, she fit just right.

He carried her up the front steps, stumbled slightly on a board, then braced her hard against the door, and she gasped. His erection pressed firmly between her thighs, hitting her right where she was the neediest for him. At the place where she was desperate with longing.

He rocked against her, growling as he took the kiss deeper. She gasped, letting her head fall back, arching into him, rubbing her breasts against his chest, reveling in how sensitive she was.

She had been so ashamed, so embarrassed of her every desire for a great many years—to feel a total lack of that shame was a revelation she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for.

He pushed the door open, then propelled them both down the hall and toward his bedroom. Toward the little twin bed there.

She doubted he fit on it by himself, she had no idea how the two of them were going to fit. But her bed wasn’t any larger.

He didn’t seem concerned at all. Just like a loose board hadn’t caused him to make a false move, the bed size didn’t do it either.

With knowing, competent hands, he pulled her top off over her head, and with one deft motion took her bra with it.

She was standing there, totally topless in a pair of jeans, and mesmerized by the look of abject hunger in his eyes.

He wanted her. More than a little. He wanted her, and it was obvious.

And she, with all her slight curves and frizzy hair, felt desired. Felt beautiful.

She closed the space between them, pushing her hands beneath his shirt, loving the feel of his hard muscles, the rough hair that covered his hot skin. She’d never thought much about sex in general. Only sex with him. But he was far and beyond anything she’d ever fantasized about. Far and beyond anything she’d ever dreamed she might have.

She pushed his shirt up and over his head, revealing his body. So much more beautiful and perfect than she could have ever imagined. That broad chest, lean waist and perfectly defined muscles. He was all things masculine and glorious, and everything feminine within her bloomed with glee.

And suddenly, she wanted to cry. Because Cricket Maxfield never got what she wanted. Cricket Maxfield never got the best or the brightest. She had the leftovers of her family’s gene pool. She wasn’t brilliant or beautiful, particularly ambitious. She wasn’t the one the sun shined down on with favor.

But she had wanted Jackson Cooper for as long as she’d known what it meant to want, and she was getting him.

Whatever happened after this didn’t really matter.

Because this was the most perfect moment she’d ever felt. Ever experienced.

Oh, she’d tried to pretend that her feelings for him could be something other than this, but they couldn’t be. This was the connection. For her, this was what it was. What it always would be.

“What?” he asked.

“You are just stunning,” she said.

He laughed. Honest to God. A chuckle rumbling in his chest. And then she found herself caught up in those big, strong arms, her bare breasts brushing against his hot, rough skin.

“Well I’m glad you think so.”

She found herself being kissed again, and all the while his hands worked on getting rid of her jeans, her panties, socks and shoes.

Until she found herself stretched across the bed with his big body over the top of hers. She completely naked, he still in his jeans. The denim was rough between her thighs, the delicate skin there scraped by the raw material. And she could feel him, right there, so hard and insistent and…

She ached.

And he just kept on kissing her. And kissing her. He shifted slightly, putting one hand between her thighs, finding her slick and wet, each pass of his fingertips over that sensitized bundle of nerves creating a white, electric heat that nearly left her blinded.

She had never felt anything like this before. And yes, she’d put her own hand between her legs plenty of times, but it wasn’t like this. His skin was rough, and she had no control over how fast he worked, how slow. How much time he took. And when he pushed a finger inside of her before drawing her wetness back out over the source of her desire, she gasped. He did it again, and again, adding a second finger to the first, until she was sobbing. Until she was begging. For what, she didn’t even know.

She fumbled for the front of his pants, tried to get his jeans open.

He chuckled. Husky and knowing.

“Not yet,” he